“I just look like an open book, honey. I gotta keep a few surprises to make your life interesting.”
“Where’s Amani?” I asked, before setting the glass of champagne on the kitchen table. A furball snaked around my legs, so I bent down and gave Bootsy some love and attention. “I know. You must have felt abandoned all evening.”
“I was abandoned. You were at work. Amani was at work.”
“I was talking to Bootsy, goofball.” I looked up at Johnny’s little pout and burst into laughter. “Do you want me to pet you, too?”
“Only if you rub my belly,” he joked back.
“When do rehearsals begin?”
“First week of February. I’m getting the score next week. The director wants everyone off book by the first day of rehearsal.”
“Oh, wow! But then, when you have the genius material of a Sondheim show, you know there won’t be changes to the master’s work.”
“All hail Sondheim.”
“To Sondheim,” I said as I grabbed the champagne flute from the table and clinked it with Johnny’s glass. I sat the champagne on the table and said, “I’m going to make some hot chocolate to warm me up. Interested?”
“With or without marshmallows?”
“With, of course. Why bother if you aren’t going to have the marshmallows?”
“Then, by all means, I will partake in both hot chocolate and champagne. I swear that sounds like a song on a Rufus Wainwright album.”
“It probably is,” I said as I pulled out the teapot. I added some water to the kettle, set it on the stove, and turned on the stovetop burner.
Johnny sat down at the table and kept Bootsy company while I prepped the mugs for their chocolaty goodness. Even though it was only instant hot chocolate, I’d at least splurged on a high-end brand that came with the tiny baby marshmallows already in the powdered mix.
“How was the show tonight?” Johnny asked as I leaned back against the kitchen counter, waiting for the teakettle to boil.
“A few minor bumps, but nothing problematic. The new eleven o’clock number will blow your socks off. I’ve never been lucky enough to have a show-stopping number before, so it’s kind of fun.”
“Didn’t you have the eleven o’clock number inThe Faith Healer?”
“I did, but it was a powerful, yet depressing song,” I said. The tea kettle whistled, so I grabbed the kettle and poured the water into the mugs. I put a silver spoon in each mug and handed it to Johnny. “Gotta stir it yourself,” I said. I sat down at the table and leaned back, relaxing for the first time. “What were we talking about?” I asked.
“Your new number.”
“That’s right. This is the number Eugene had me run over to his apartment on Sunday to learn. He’s a talented composer. I’ve had more direct interaction with him than either Tyreek or Mable, but the three seem to work well together. I know they have other projects lined up, so I’ll be interested in seeing what they do next.”
I decided I needed something to nibble on while I double-fisted my cocoa and champagne. There was a package of pizzelles on the counter. I reached over from my chair and tried to grab them, but I was about six inches too short.
“What are you doing?” Johnny asked.
“Getting cookies,” I said.
“Do you want me to get those for you?” he asked from his seat on the opposite side of the table, which was even further away from the package.
“I can manage.” I stood up and grabbed the cookies, unwrapped them, and set them between us.
Johnny reached over, grabbed one, and immediately took a bite. “Whoa, these are fantastic. What bakery did you buy these from?” Johnny asked.
“The one next door,” I joked. Johnny gave me a befuddled look, so I added, “Kirk made them.”
“Oh really? And how are things with Mr. Tall, Gorgeous and Plays Well with Kids and Animals?”
I let out a deep sigh. I leaned forward and hit my head against the kitchen table. “I’ve been such an idiot.”
