“Yeah.”
“I’ll book a flight.” He sighs, a sad, ragged sound. “How are you?”
“Um, I mean…I don’t know. It’s…I can’t do anything, and it’s…it’s hard. Really hard.” I rub my face. “But I…I’m here for her. No matter what.”
“Westley, my friend,no matter whatis gonna get tested, big time. And sooner than I think any of us are ready for.”
“I know.”
“You don’t, though. Not really.”
“I know enough to know I don’t know, but I’m not…I’m not a flake, Mr. Park. I’m here for her. For you guys.” I clear my throat. “Don’t book a flight. I’ll get you one. I have an extra bedroom.”
“Um, I think…I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“I’ll text you the flight info. I can get you a private flight way faster than you could book on your own. Trust me on this.”
“Okay.”
“There’s a hotel ten minutes from me, if you don’t want to stay with…with us.”
“Thank you.” A pause. “When it’s…um, time—” his voice breaks, recovers, “…her best friend and grandmother will need to be close, too.”
“Of course.” I clear my throat. “She said this isn’t…that. She won’t let it.”
“She’s stubborn like that.”
“So I’m discovering.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Next, I call Jen.
“Hey, Wes,” she says, by way of greeting. “Martin and I were planning on coming over around six this evening. I’ll bring carryout with me. Sound good?”
“Actually, no. Jolene is, uh, sick.” I let that word sit in the silence a moment. “I need a private flight chartered for her family as soon as possible. Include her best friend Bethany and Bethany’s guardian, Macy, and Jolene’s grandmother. Best solution for accommodations would be a house for them all in this neighborhood, as close to mine as possible. I don’t care what any of this costs.” I pause again. “Next, when Jolene feels better, I’m going to need a real showstopper of a date planned out. The most magical, the most romantic evening possible. A private table somewhere incredible, candles, roses, music, a limo home.”
“Wes…”
“What?”
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. I’m not leaving her side until she’s back on her feet. Not for anything. Not for the president or the pope, not for anyone or anything. Consequences be damned.”
“But, Wes—”
“Nope,” I cut in. “I don’t play the boss card with you very often, Jen, but I am, now—no. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not doing interviews. I’m not doing choreo. I’m not blocking. I’m not rehearsing lines, or table reading. I’m not available.”
A sigh. “Got it—I got it.”
“Keep Martin away from me. I love the man, he’s great at what he does and I appreciate him, but if he tries to badger me on this I’m gonna snap.”
“Understood.” A pause. “This…date. Have anything in mind?”
“Dinner, but not, like, the inedible fancy bullshit. Good, simple food. A bottle of wine. Roses. Somewhere private. Maybe, like, a classical music trio or something. She’ll need a fancy gown and shoes. Someone to do her makeup—she may not want to wear makeup because she doesn’t, usually, but I want her to have the option.”
