the pressure of the line behind me, I headed toward my seat, unable to reply.
I wasn’t sure if he was just trying to keep her happy or if the whining had finally gotten to him (probably both) but about ten minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Steve, who appeared slightly stressed and far less jovial than the first time we’d met. Swapping his reclining leather seat for mine, he left the free booze, personal T.V. screen, and aromatherapy oils behind. Since Brooke and I hadn’t yet spent any time together outside of the makeup chair, it was the perfect opportunity to get to know one another a little better. Within seconds of being seated, Brooke whispered into my ear with a hushed giggle.
‘I’ve never flown first class before!’
‘That’s okay.’ I smiled. ‘I haven’t either.’
As we flew across the country, talking nonstop the entire way, I was thoroughly amused by her wide-eyed wonderment. She was giddy, and seemed to be fascinated by everything. The truth was I felt equally awestruck by this new world.
‘Aren’t these so cute?’ Brooke squealed with excitement every time she came across something new, pointing out terrycloth eye shades, tiny tins full of mints, pairs of blue cotton socks, or sticks of shea butter lip balm. It was all actually quite endearing. As Brooke navigated through hundreds of channels on the interactive screen in front of her, sliding her finger from one title to the next, she came across an old Disney film that caught her attention.
‘I used to love this movie when I was a kid,’ I told her looking up. Going head-to-head on screen were two golden-topped twins in The Parent Trap.
‘I have younger twin brothers, but I always wanted a twin sister of my own, didn’t you?’ She grabbed at a tuft of blond hair that was sprouting out of her messy bun and twirled it around her finger.
‘Well, I’m an only child so I always thought that any brother or sister would be better than having none,’ I told her.
She ripped her hands away from her head and fluttered her arms up and down in excitement, not because I was an only child, but as if she hadn’t been paying attention at all, she said, ‘Look, look–this is my favorite part!’
I shifted my attention back to the movie, watching as the twins served veal parmigiana to their recently reunited parents before a voice onscreen announced:
Well, without…further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you direct from Boston…playing Beethoven’s ‘Fifth Symphony’ on the piano…
‘That’s crazy…’I said, a strange déjà vu settling over me.
‘What is?’ Brooke replied, wide-eyed.
‘Besides being direct from Boston,’ I laughed, ‘this movie, and more specifically, this scene, was the first time I saw the big black countertop in my parents’ dining room as the grand piano it actually was…unfortunately for them.’
‘You play too?’ Brooke was exuberant, nearly leaping out of her seat.
‘Yeah, Beethoven’s “Fifth” was actually the first song I taught myself. I think it was the one time I truly amazed my father,’ I said whimsically. ‘Not looking to a Disney movie for profound insight or anything like that, but isn’t it funny when you pull a bunch of things like that together in your head?’ I asked her. ‘I know it doesn’t mean anything,’ I said, chuckling.
‘Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?’ Brooke asked, now all of a sudden glassy-eyed and hanging from my every word. I didn’t know exactly how to answer that question–sometimes I did and sometimes I didn’t. Believing in fate had always sort of been a matter of convenience for me. If I’d gotten sick to death of harping on a single issue with my mother for hours, I’d find my way out with the words ‘what will be, will be.’ Watching a friend wail on in hysterics the sixth time her boyfriend had broken up with her, I found myself repeating ‘everything happens for a reason,’ because no one likes being told outright their boyfriend’s a dick, no matter how true it is. I wouldn’t play along with asinine explanations. (He hasn’t returned your calls because his phone’s just dead; those gold earrings on his night table are his mother’s, of course, not some other girl’s…) Fate was often the perfect scapegoat, always there to take the pressure off difficult discussions or decisions. So, I guess, I didn’t really believe in it. Brooke, however, from the look on her face–expectant eyes, mouth hanging just slightly open–was dying to believe in something, and that something today was fate. She was ready, eager even, to find proof to support her theory through the most mundane events, and she looked like she needed my approval to cement her belief.
‘Some of the things that happened over the past year, when I think about them, I figure there’s just got to be a reason for them,’ she said. ‘I mean, look at how you and I met?’
‘Through work…’ I said. Excited as I was about this new job, I wasn’t about to chalk it up to the stars aligning or anything like that.
‘Not just through work,’ she said almost defensively, as if I were treating her like a silly little kid. ‘I mean, we both get along well and the fact that we have so much in common, like how we both love music and stuff…’ While I didn’t think anyone would be hard-pressed to find someone who could simultaneously find their way around a makeup chair and appreciate song, I had to admit the circumstances here were oddly fortuitous. I thought about the woman in Florida with arthritis-stricken hands who usually did Brooke’s makeup, and Sheryl’s very public disgrace. In a sad way, their misfortune was the best thing that had ever happened to me. If there is such a thing as fate, I took note that it could be very cruel as well.
Brooke sat there for a moment, making a nervous clicking sound with her jaw, which I would later associate with Brooke being lost for words. ‘I get homesick real easily, but I’m gettin’ to do what I love most–dancin’ and singing my heart out–so I gotta believe that this is all happening for a reason.’ In a blink, that certain sense of seriousness that had prompted her to wax philosophical had disappeared and was replaced with a boisterous laugh she was unable to contain. She shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her fingers, coated in globby purple nail polish, before pausing entirely.
Then she was off to the next thing.
Although we’d been up since the crack of dawn, we were the last to arrive. Eyeing the snowflakes that danced on the wind as we exited the terminal, I zipped my coat up as far as it could go. I had almost forgotten how bitterly cold East Coast winters could be. Brooke, who hadn’t traveled outside of Florida until this year, was excessively unprepared, under-dressed, and consequently, unhappy. Standing next to me outside the airport, blue lips chattering, she clutched white-knuckled on to a cologne-drenched blazer Steve had draped around her shoulders.
‘All right ladies, just two more minutes, I promise!’ Steve said, struggling to compose a BlackBerry email with his right thumb alone, while his left hand juggled a stack of papers that kept dropping one to four sheets at a time. Brooke’s eyes darted back and forth in search of the town car that would whisk us away to safety.
‘There it is!’ I exclaimed, nudging her just a few seconds later.
‘Thank goodness. I am fr-e-e-e-z-i-n-g!’ Brooke squealed as it came to a stop and we leapt into the back seat. The heat blasting, it was nice and toasty inside. Without breaking his gaze from the screen of his BlackBerry, Steve followed behind us.
Rows of pine trees freshly sprinkled with snow surrounded us as we made our way to Saratoga Springs to join our tour mates. Shifting his attention from his inbox for the first time, Steve looked up at them while Brooke, head propped against the window on the opposite side, dozed off; a halo of condensation forming where the warmth of her face met the chill of the glass.
I felt miserable–my eyelids were heavy with exhaustion and my head throbbed–but even the worst aches and pains couldn’t deter my anticipation. My first real job–one that actually came with a substantial paycheck–and I had gotten it myself! Even