Lex
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I am somewhat overwhelmed with the way Calypso moves. It’s an interesting thing to notice, and it isn’t really any of my business to be noticing it so thoroughly, but after the first three weeks of acquainting ourselves with our roles, it’s all I can think about.
Calypso, as Calypso, keeps entirely to herself. She has a way of moving that appears designed to keep attention at bay. When she’s nervous, which is often, her breath becomes so fragile I fear it might break as she toys with one of her braids. I’ve never seen those stupid things undone, and the mystery of how she looks with her hair down haunts some of my quieter dreams.
Calypso, as Harriet, unravels. She stands a little taller and becomes someone else entirely. Bold, daring, sure. Nothing fazes her, until the scene cuts or her partner shifts from their role or anything breaks the carefully constructed set she’s painted around herself. When she snaps out of Harriet, she is somehow evenmoreCalypso than normal.
Like, if she could, she would willingly disappear completely.
Graceful in a way that isn’t obvious, she glides through all her roles, just like her fingers do across the keys. The only definable differences lay in her motivation. After all, to glide unnoticed seems a mutual point for the shy girl and the lady thief.
“You’re staring,” Calypso murmurs, turning a page in her book. Without lifting her eyes, she calls me out, and I’m almost too used to the feeling that she knows everything by now.
Seated at the gazebo outside Grazioso with her, I rest my elbow on the picnic table and smile. “Can’t help it, Harriet. You entrance me.”
“Ha.” The corner of her mouth quirks, the soft lines of herlips curving gently.
Generally, my interests move on by now. It has been four weeks. I wasn’t expecting to still be this deep in wanting to do the play or looking forward to every moment we might practice together. Even though nothing overtly shocking has transpired since our first week of knowing each other, the scent in the air still vibrates with the sensation that, at any moment, such a thing could change.
“You know, I could take you home so you don’t have to wait out here every day for the bus.”
She turns a page, the simple motion of her hand accompanying a slight turn of her head. “You know, you could stop lingering with me while I wait.”
“What’s so bad about knowing where you live?” After our ice cream excursion, she made me drop her off at a bus stop. The only reason I gave in was because she made me promise I would before she got in the car. It was either take her there or let her walk there herself.
“I’m positive it would make someone like you shudder. No doubt you and all your cars live in a castle.” Her gaze shifts to the next page. “That’s the only image of your home I can come up with, since I’m almost certain your garage isn’t bigger than your house.”
It isn’t. “You’re welcome to visit whenever you’d like and see for yourself.”
For the first time since she opened that book, she breaks her attention away from it. “What?”
“I’m inviting you over. Just let me know when.” Only after I make the offer does my mind consider the consequences. My father doesn’t much care for Jason, and while I am almost half-certain the only issue he could possibly have with this studious girl is her heritage, the idea of any of the house staff seeing me with a girl makes me cringe. I’ll be swamped with rumors inseconds. Then my father will be on my case for reasons outside of business school, grades, and getting my life together so it matches his plans for it.
“Unless it’s actually a castle, I’m not interested.” She straightens slightly, lowering her book. “Actually, unless it’s actually a castle or you have a horse, I’m not interested. I’ve always wanted to ride a horse, and I’d hate to pass up that opportunity.”
The burst of a laugh erupts out of my chest. “If the reason behind you not wanting me to see where you live is because you think I have similarly outrageous expectations about how people who aren’t rich exist, I don’t know that you have anything to worry about. I picture you in a normal little house with a normal little family who all sit together at a normal little table to eat normal little meals.” Put that way, I’m a tiny bit envious, seeing as I can’t quite remember the last time I haven’t eaten alone at home. Maybe when Jason was there? How many months have passed since I’ve been allowed to have him over?
“No pony then?” She forces a pout. “Darn.”
“Does a Mustang count?”
Her brows shoot up. “Okay, how many cars do you actually have?”
“Me personally? Seven. My father lets me borrow some of his when he’s not using them, though, so—”
“Seven,” she repeats, not letting me finish. “One for each day of the week?”
I point, wink, and click my tongue.
She trembles into a full-bodied laugh that shakes her shoulders, brightens her face, and makes her glasses slip down to the tip of her small nose, and there I go, watching her every little movement again.
“I don’t know that there’s a ‘normal little’ house large enough to compare with how you must view the world.”
“I’m insulted.”
“Pity. Do you need a cashmere tissue?”
