fur.
Big teeth.
Sitting down, Megan dismissed the image knowing the unfair judgment came only because Brittany was a former flame of Bryant’s. And, that she was gorgeous. And nice.
Grrr.
A waiter approached. Everyone usually did the buffet but Brittany preferred a waiter.
“Eduardo, do you have freshly squeezed orange juice?” The enamel sentinels stood at charming attention.
“Si.” Eduardo smoothed his hair.
“How long ago was it squeezed?”
“Half an hour.”
“Can you have them squeeze some fresh?”
“Si, Senorita Brittany.”
“And bring the two American specials,” she inquired at Megan. “I ordered ahead and had them kept warm, is that all right?” Megan nodded. Brittany turned back to Eduardo, smiling again, who bowed and with a lingering deferential look, made for the kitchen.
Megan played with her water glass.
Brittany shifted in her seat. “Listen, I haven’t had a chance before now to really talk. It’s been a bit crazy with the board and their constant networking needs, with all they’re trying to change up. Seeing as my mother has an ad-hoc seat, I get roped into a lot of things.”
Megan couldn’t figure out for the life of her where this was going. Brittany ran a finger through her sweeping white-blonde bangs.
“What I wanted to say was—well, to apologize for opening night.” Brittany stared straight at Megan without flinching. “It was my fault, all mine. I already spoke to Clint about it.”
Megan opened her mouth slightly. “Really? I—”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind. Some things, wonderful things, are happening and I did not have my head in the game. It wasn’t like me. Well, not usually on opening night.” She shrugged. Disarmingly sweet and genuine. Bummer.
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” said Megan, cautiously. “I was fairly sure it was me. Likely still was, in some form, anyway.”
“Well, I wanted to clear the air. About a few things.” She paused, tipping her head to one side slightly, as if thinking how to approach her next thought. “I understand—I’m aware of some conversation, and, well, let’s just say, in case people are wondering, Bryant and I are”—she paused for the right words—“not an item. Not in any sense, not for a long time now.”
Conversation? Ah, the girl chat at the Meet & Greet.
Megan hoped her face didn’t bely panic, and immediately wondered how much Brittany knew. Thankfully, Eduardo arrived with the fresh juice and breakfast plates, then excused himself with a low bow. Megan busied herself with the food. Not an item. Not for a long time.
Brittany opened a salt substitute packet, easily continuing the conversation. “It actually helps us better now. You know men, when you’ve had an emotional connection it helps when you dance. Makes it seem more real. Like the way he holds me, or looks at me, like he’s really looking. But that’s just performing. It helps for others to know it doesn’t mean anything in particular.” Brittany looked at Megan purposefully.
At that moment, Brittany’s words felt true. At least, Megan wanted them to be true. She remembered the way he had looked at Brittany during the dance—close, caring, romantic. But as soon as they were done, he broke apart, like they’d been studying calculus. She felt momentary solace.
But then, what did that mean for the way he had been with her in the Green Room, winking at her on stage, talking with her in the cinema? Was that just performing? Did it not mean anything?
“So did you two date a long time?” Megan ventured as far as was wise. She focused on cutting her eggs.
“Oh, you know how it goes, especially in the performance business.” Brittany carefully scooted out ham chunks from her egg whites and pushed them to the side. “We met at Three Pines College and hit it off right away. He was more gung-ho than I was, but, that’s Bryant. When he sees what he wants, he’s kind of laser beam about it.” She
Big teeth.
Sitting down, Megan dismissed the image knowing the unfair judgment came only because Brittany was a former flame of Bryant’s. And, that she was gorgeous. And nice.
Grrr.
A waiter approached. Everyone usually did the buffet but Brittany preferred a waiter.
“Eduardo, do you have freshly squeezed orange juice?” The enamel sentinels stood at charming attention.
“Si.” Eduardo smoothed his hair.
“How long ago was it squeezed?”
“Half an hour.”
“Can you have them squeeze some fresh?”
“Si, Senorita Brittany.”
“And bring the two American specials,” she inquired at Megan. “I ordered ahead and had them kept warm, is that all right?” Megan nodded. Brittany turned back to Eduardo, smiling again, who bowed and with a lingering deferential look, made for the kitchen.
Megan played with her water glass.
Brittany shifted in her seat. “Listen, I haven’t had a chance before now to really talk. It’s been a bit crazy with the board and their constant networking needs, with all they’re trying to change up. Seeing as my mother has an ad-hoc seat, I get roped into a lot of things.”
Megan couldn’t figure out for the life of her where this was going. Brittany ran a finger through her sweeping white-blonde bangs.
“What I wanted to say was—well, to apologize for opening night.” Brittany stared straight at Megan without flinching. “It was my fault, all mine. I already spoke to Clint about it.”
Megan opened her mouth slightly. “Really? I—”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind. Some things, wonderful things, are happening and I did not have my head in the game. It wasn’t like me. Well, not usually on opening night.” She shrugged. Disarmingly sweet and genuine. Bummer.
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” said Megan, cautiously. “I was fairly sure it was me. Likely still was, in some form, anyway.”
“Well, I wanted to clear the air. About a few things.” She paused, tipping her head to one side slightly, as if thinking how to approach her next thought. “I understand—I’m aware of some conversation, and, well, let’s just say, in case people are wondering, Bryant and I are”—she paused for the right words—“not an item. Not in any sense, not for a long time now.”
Conversation? Ah, the girl chat at the Meet & Greet.
Megan hoped her face didn’t bely panic, and immediately wondered how much Brittany knew. Thankfully, Eduardo arrived with the fresh juice and breakfast plates, then excused himself with a low bow. Megan busied herself with the food. Not an item. Not for a long time.
Brittany opened a salt substitute packet, easily continuing the conversation. “It actually helps us better now. You know men, when you’ve had an emotional connection it helps when you dance. Makes it seem more real. Like the way he holds me, or looks at me, like he’s really looking. But that’s just performing. It helps for others to know it doesn’t mean anything in particular.” Brittany looked at Megan purposefully.
At that moment, Brittany’s words felt true. At least, Megan wanted them to be true. She remembered the way he had looked at Brittany during the dance—close, caring, romantic. But as soon as they were done, he broke apart, like they’d been studying calculus. She felt momentary solace.
But then, what did that mean for the way he had been with her in the Green Room, winking at her on stage, talking with her in the cinema? Was that just performing? Did it not mean anything?
“So did you two date a long time?” Megan ventured as far as was wise. She focused on cutting her eggs.
“Oh, you know how it goes, especially in the performance business.” Brittany carefully scooted out ham chunks from her egg whites and pushed them to the side. “We met at Three Pines College and hit it off right away. He was more gung-ho than I was, but, that’s Bryant. When he sees what he wants, he’s kind of laser beam about it.” She
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