The Set Piece (17 page)

Isabella opened the door with a wide grin that mirrored her son’s. She immediately took him into her arms with an excited squeak. “Gracias a dios, hijo mío! Te lo merecías.”

“Don’t jinx it, Mama. I haven’t made the team yet.” Diego laughed happily, but his tone suggested that in his mind he was already wearing the red, white, and blue of the national uniform.

“Come in. Everyone’s here.” Isabella stood back for them to enter. She cupped Amy’s cheek as they crossed paths. “His good luck charm.”

Nausea whirled in her stomach, but she managed a wan smile. This was so much different from the first time she had come here. Then she had been pretending to be someone that she wasn’t; now she was pretending to be someone she didn’t want to be. She wasn’t entirely sure what the difference was, but clearly it involved a stomach that did flip-flops.

Luckily, the attention wasn’t on her, and she managed to stay in the background, even sidling up to where Abuelita sat on her throne in the living room. The language barrier would ensure that she could disappear into her own thoughts, which were whirling around herself and Casey and their predicament. Who knew when or if they would have any alone time together to discuss how to manage the unmanageable.

When everyone raised a glass to Diego’s success, Abuelita’s bony hand reached for hers. She squeezed it lovingly. Amy fought back tears. She was the woman who had survived her parents’ death without crying even once, and now this simple touch from an old lady was almost enough to send her over the edge? What the hell was going on here?

Abuelita squeezed her hand again when she noticed Amy’s eyes filling up. “Qué lindo que sientes tanta emoción por eí.”

Amy didn’t understand a word of what she said, but got the tone immediately. Abuelita’s approval came with another rush of nausea.

The afternoon couldn’t end too soon for Amy, but Diego’s family, who grabbed any excuse to come together, celebrated long into the afternoon. She allowed herself to look at her phone only twice. No texts from Casey. When the summer light started to fade in the backyard, Isabella asked, “What does everyone want on their pizza?”

Amy bit her lip rather than respond. There was no way she could choke down a slice with her stomach still rolling.

“We can’t stay, Mama. We have that thing, right, Amy?”

Amy blanked. What thing did they have?

Isabella noted Amy’s expression. “Don’t make her lie, cariño. See how uncomfortable she is telling fibs for you? If you both want to be alone to celebrate, just tell us. We can take it.”

“No it’s not that, although it does sound tempting.” Diego rushed the last part out almost too quickly. “Isn’t your friend playing at the Roadhouse? Is that tonight? Did I get it wrong?”

“Simon? He is playing, I forgot all about that! We need to go. I mean I’d like to go, if you still want to.” It was the last place she wanted to go, but she had the tickets in her wallet and it would get her out of this frying pan.

“You kids have fun tonight.” Isabella directed them to the door. “Oh, Amy, are we still on for tomorrow? At your house?”

That’s right. She wanted to come over to set the date for the wedding. “Of course, Isabella.” Another thing to get out of.

In the car, Amy expertly stuffed her hair back down her blouse while Diego chattered on about his future. As she half-listened, she twisted the engagement ring she had put back on earlier. The big, fake diamond glittered in the street lamps that were just starting to flicker on. It felt heavy on her finger.

Diego shifted in his seat. “You know, maybe Casey can come out and join us. I need to go over that paperwork I asked her to get, and tomorrow I have a session with Rob and then practice with the Atoms. That wouldn’t be too weird, would it? They’ve got tables there right?”

He wasn’t really asking her, but Amy’s heart soared anyway when she gave her answer. “A little weird, maybe, but you need to use your time wisely now.”

“Yeah. We’ll just have to make sure that whoever Paul sends out to take those Facebook pictures gets the fun part of the evening not the work part.”

“We can totally make that happen.” She would see Casey tonight after all. She stopped fidgeting with her ring.

The Roadhouse was right off the freeway just outside of the Los Angeles county line. It looked like nothing special from the outside: a big wooden warehouse with a dilapidated sign built into the roof and a huge, free parking lot. Amy wouldn’t have given the place a second look if Simon hadn’t talked about it non-stop from almost the moment she’d met him.

“You’re either going up or coming down if you play at the Roadhouse,” Simon had said at least a million times. The intimate club was known for booking the next great band before they hit the big time, and Simon had spent most of his few free nights there studying the acts. A gig here was his dream come true, and Knight had delivered on it. Simon must be over the moon. Maybe they could push the restart button on their friendship tonight? She’d love for that to happen. She was missing him too much.

“Who are you guys?” The middle-aged rocker at the front door gave Amy an appreciative look as he took the two VIP tickets from Diego’s outstretched hand.

“He’s the VIP,” Amy said.

“Really? Who are you, dude?”

“Diego Torres.”

“Who?”

“The pro soccer player?” Amy jumped in. The last thing she needed was a moody Diego.

“Cool, you know Pele?” The man’s voice sounded like he had smoked way too many cigarettes.

“No. I’ve never met him.”

“Oh.” His gaze returned to Amy and lingered on her body.

“Where are we sitting?” Impatience crept into Diego’s voice.

“Over here, dude.” The man lead them through the standing crowd to a roped off section with tables and chairs. Their table was only a few feet from the stage.

“Here you go Mr…VIP.”

“Look, we’re going to need another ticket.” Diego handed over a wad of cash. “Could you leave it at the door for a Casey Palmer.”

“Um.” Amy looked around the club. “Can we have that table over there?” She pointed to the one other empty table in the back of the VIP section. It was up by the bar. She wasn’t sure of how Simon would feel about her coming here at all. And here she was, right in his face. She would hate to put him off his game on his big night. Besides, she was pretty fragile herself and hiding by the bar didn’t sound half bad, especially if Diego wanted to sneak in some paperwork.

“That one’s a restricted view. This is the one that’s reserved for you. It’s our best table.” The man’s face crinkled with confusion.

“Then we’ll take it.” Diego sat down as if he owned the place. “Two Perriers please. I’m in training,” he added as if the man needed an explanation.

Amy sighed and joined him, twisting her ring as she sat down. The lights dimmed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Roadhouse is proud to present Plastic Zippers!”

Simon and his bandmates rushed onto the stage. Amy was close enough to see the excitement blazing from his eyes. He lifted up his guitar, stared into the audience and struck his first cord to wild applause.

Amy had heard Simon play countless times, but never with such energy or passion. Talk about moving forward. He’d found what he loved to do in life, and the crowd was eating up every note he played. At the end of the first song, they cheered loud and hard.

“Thank you! Thank you. Believe me, we’re so, so happy to be here.” Simon’s English accent rang out over the sound system. The crowd applauded. He seemed to grow at least two inches on the stage as he surveyed the crowd with a smile a mile wide. Then his gaze hit Amy sitting directly below him. His smile vanished.

Amy met his stare and shrugged in a “how could I not come” way. His answer was loud and clear. Simon looked away as if he hadn’t seen her at all.

The opening riff for the next song rang out, and Amy’s heart dropped. This day was turning into a disaster.

“Maybe we should go.” She turned to Diego, shouting to make herself heard over the music. She tugged at her blouse. The heat of all these people crowded together was becoming overwhelming.

“Why? Your friend’s pretty good. And there should be a photographer here somewhere.” Diego yelled back at her and slung his arm around the back of her chair. He took Amy’s hand and dropped it on his thigh. His muscles were hard and strong and so very different from the sleekness of Casey’s. She was like a panther to his bull. “Besides, we need to wait for Casey,” he added.

Amy flinched in her seat, her nails almost digging into Diego’s leg. Diego’s mentioning Casey the exact moment she was thinking about her drove her deeper into her funk.

“I think I’m going to need a real drink,” she said, looking around for a waiter.

The Roadhouse special, a frozen mojito, went down far too easily. Amy hadn’t had anything to eat all day, and when the rum and lime hit her stomach, she sat back a little easier and let Simon’s music roll over her. Booze. No wonder they called it liquid courage.

Amy spotted Knight’s photographer before she’d taken her first picture. She might as well have had
I’m a plant
tattooed onto her forehead. She swung toward them with a cell phone sporting a fancy clip-on lens bigger than the phone itself. Amy smiled lovingly at Diego and dropped her head to his shoulder. Above them, on stage Simon spun on into a dance move that placed him close to their table. He took in their lovers’ embrace with a face sour with resentment. And then Casey came through the door.

The club was crowded with standing room only outside of the fancy VIP seating area. But somehow Amy knew the moment Casey appeared. She felt her presence as a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, as if all her senses were on fire. When she looked up Casey was striding purposefully toward them.

Amy clamped her hands to her chair to prevent herself from leaping up and running into her arms. Simon, the heat of the club, the fake relationship with Diego, and now Casey, it was all too much for her little mojito’d brain to take. Way too much.

As soon as she saw Amy, Casey tilted her head in both warning and concern. When she arrived at the table, she thrust a plain white folder at Diego.

“Hi!” Diego shouted as he took the folder. “Thanks for coming up.”

Casey stood lamely at Diego’s side and looked across to Amy.

“Sorry, I don’t think he could wait,” Amy said. “He’s really excited.”

“Who could when their dream’s within reach?”

“Down in front,” someone yelled.

Oblivious, Diego rifled through his paperwork. “Is that all the national team and FIFA want?”

“Yeah. You need to sign here. And here.” Casey pointed to two lines on two different pieces of paper, and when Diego patted all his pockets in vain, she produced a pen as well.

Above them, Simon registered disbelief as the loud conversation continued right in front of the stage. He glared at Amy and moved away to the other side of the platform.

Amy slid farther down in her seat. How much worse was this going to get?

“Is that it?” Diego asked, folding up the papers and stuffing them back into the folder.

“Paul just needs to send over your birth certificate to prove you’re a US citizen. I don’t have it. But yeah. That’s it.”

“Okay. I’m sorry you had to drive all this way.”

Casey nodded but didn’t move.

Diego looked unsure for a moment. “Do you want to join us?” he eventually asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” she answered as she’d planned on staying anyway. Casey grabbed the only open chair and squeezed in between Diego and Amy.

Diego and Amy both had to scoot over as she wedged herself in. Casey’s leg slid against Amy’s as she sat down. The pressure was comforting, even though Amy wanted so much more. If she could just stay like this and let Simon get through his song list without any more disturbances, the night could still be salvaged.

The Plastic Zippers ran through their set. The crowd clapped and hooted louder with every song until Simon struck the last chord with a flourish. “Thank you very much,” he told the crowd. “You’ve made our gig something special. I’ll never forget tonight at the Roadhouse.”

Amy willed him to look at her, but he jumped off the stage and walked right past her into the crowd that surged to meet him. He was soon surrounded by people slapping him on the back and shouting compliments.

“What’s going on?” Diego asked, snatching up the folder that held his dreams as people pushed past their table.

“That’s the gimmick here,” Amy said. “The bands always hang out with their fans afterwards. The new bands cultivate a following, the fans can talk to their heroes, and the bar sells more drinks.”

“Did you want to go say hello? Because I should get home. I start early in the gym tomorrow.”

“Oh my God! Are you Diego Torres?” Knight’s plant jumped to their side, playing the part of a thrilled soccer fan. She had ditched the lens and now held the bare cell phone out with a hand shaking, pretending excitement. Everyone close by turned to look at Diego, and some people drifted over.

“Who is he?” someone asked.

“He plays for the Atoms.” Someone else had actually recognized Diego.