Being Hartley (15 page)

I make it through to the end of the song, when Noah gives us a big finish by leaping up onto the lamppost again as the song ends.

Which is also right when the security guard walks up and makes everyone burst out laughing, because it's just like in the real movie when the police officer arrives to give Gene Kelly the hairy eyeball. Playing along, Noah shrugs, then jumps off the lamppost, walks backward a few steps toward me and offers the "extreme shooters" guy his imaginary umbrella.

Then he takes my hand, whispers, "That was the best time I've had in ages.
But we better go before I get arrested."

And then we run back
toward the hotel, to the fading sound of applause.

-
17
-

Dinner at Le Cirque goes well
—everyone behaves, Rory seems fine, and there's no mention of the incident with the hair. Sure, every time someone talks to me, they have to repeat themselves because I'm busy re-living my close encounter with Noah, practically fizzing with excitement. Luckily, they put my spaciness down to jetlag.

After dinner, Mom and I head up to bed.
When we get up to the suite, she brings up the incident of the guy at the door again and apologizes, but doesn't seem to want to talk about things any more than that. We Skype with Dad for a few minutes, and then we're showered and asleep by ten thirty.

When I wake up at the more normal-ish time of seven a.m. the following morning (rather than my three a.m. stints of late), I practically have to pinch myself.
Who would have thought my vacation would turn out so good? Just last week I'd been gearing up for two weeks of mooching around the back country of Tasmania, and now I'm here, in Las Vegas, at the Bellagio, dancing with Noah Hoffman, who held my hand part of the way back to the hotel from the fountain.

Yes.
Part of the way back to the hotel.

But what does that mean? I don't know. I mean, we'd been running from the security guard. Had he been pulling me along to make me run faster? Was that what he was doing? Or was he holding my hand? As in, properly? I really don't know.

One thing I
do
know—it's making me completely confused trying to work it out.

With a groan, I roll over, grab my cell
, and text Rory and Allie.

Pancakes?

Allie's response comes zinging back within seconds.

There's another sort of breakfast food? Upstairs, or downstairs? Rory here too. Dad busy.

I text back, smiling at her response.

I'll order. Come over in 20. Mom won't want to go downstairs.

I wouldn't mind a cruise around the breakfast buffet, but I can't do that if I'm eating with my mom. She loves her fans, but I can see how having one hundred of them gawk at you while you're trying to pick out a nice-looking piece of bacon, construct yourself a fruit plate, or sneak in a little treat of a bowl of Lucky Charms, could be a tad annoying.

I jump out of bed and pull on some clean undies, three-quarter jeans, a white cami
, and a matching sheer white blouse, pull my hair back into a ponytail and yell as I make my way over to my mom's room. "Mom, I'm ordering breakfast for me and Allie and Rory."

"Lovely!" she calls back.
"Fruit plate and whole wheat toast, please!"

"Okay!" I do a quick double-time step as I make my way to the phone
, and I keep going after I pick up and even as I request three orders of pancakes, three orange juices, a fruit plate, and whole wheat toast. It's only when I place the phone back down again, that I realize my mom has been watching me the whole time.

"What on earth are you doing?"

I shrug and start up again. "Tap."

"Why?"

"Don't know. It's infectious?" True enough, though there's no way I'm telling my mom that it's Noah who's passed on this deadly disease.

Mom observes for a moment or two longer before nodding.
"Well, keep going, it seems to be making you happy."

"Oh, it is," I say, with a grin.
"It is."

And, with that, I get another weird look as I tap my way to the bathroom and out of sight.

* * *

"So, agenda?" I glance around the dining table after I've scarfed down two pancakes with whipped butter and maple syrup and am about to start on my third.

Rory answers me first. "I have to be downstairs at ten for the show at eleven."

Next to her, my mom puts her fork down.
"I'm sorry, Rory, but I won't be able to make it to this one. I've got a couple of phone interviews lined up this morning."

Rory spears another piece of pancake.
"Don't be crazy. I hardly expect you to come to every show! One was more than enough. Really."

"One was more than enough for me, too," Allie pipes up, beside me. "I'm trying out the sauna."

"Allie!" I shoot her a look and nudge her with my elbow.

"Don't worry about it," Rory tells me.
"I don't blame her. She's only seen about a hundred live shows now, and they're all pretty much the same."

"Well, I haven't," I say, "and I'm coming.
Both this morning and to tonight's show. Except, this time, I'm going to try the audience side of things." I glance at my mom as I say this, expecting her to freak out about me being in the audience, but surprisingly, she doesn't.

"Great!" Rory says.
"That'd be fun."

"Rory booked a private poolside cabana for after the first show," Allie says.
"So we can hang out, drink mocktails, and read trashy magazines. They even have WiFi and cable. We can check out if there's been any celebrity hoodie malfunctions in
TMZ
. I heard it through the grapevine that some celebrity's daughter had one at LAX the other day."

My mom groans.
"No.
TMZ
. Really?"

Allie grins.
"Really."

I try and hide my glee that
TMZ
thinks I'm worthy. "Oh, no. Oh, dear," I say.

Allie, who's taking a sip of orange juice at the time, explodes with laughter at this, then gets a look of shock on her face, jumps up
, and runs toward one of the bathrooms. After a second or two, she yells out, "Orange juice! Nose!"

At the table, Rory sighs, shaking her head.
"Princess O.J. She's all class."

* * *

Mom leaves to meet up with Deb and Allie, and I hang out until ten thirty or so, when my escort arrives to take me downstairs. "See you at the pool!" I say to Allie as the elevator closes shut. When it does, the escort I'm with turns to me.

"So, looking forward to this?
It should be a great show." It's not the guy Mom and I had yesterday, but a girl with a blond swingy ponytail.

"I am!" I say, trying to sound cool and relaxed, but the words come out with a squeak, probably completely giving away the fact that my heart is racing like I'm on some kind of illegal substance and not just super-sugary maple syrup and the thought of seeing Noah again. Me?
Looking forward to this? Looking forward to seeing Noah? Oh, yes. Maybe just a little bit. Still, every so often, I make sure to bring myself down a little. Tell myself this is all nice and everything—to be living my dream—but that I'll be going home soon. Wherever home is.

The escort guides me into the already buzzing ballroom
, and I'm taken right up to the very front row where my seat is located, and then left on my own. I entertain myself by checking the messages on my cell (not that there really are any other than a couple of ones from Dad in Rome) and I delete some old ones. Before too long, I start to notice people noticing me. Self-consciously, I pull my ponytail back a bit tighter and wind my hair into a loose bun, securing it back with the hair band I've already got on. It's as I'm doing this that someone in the row behind me leans forward.

"Excuse me," she says
, and I twist around slightly in my seat to look at her—a mom with two little girls beside her. "I know it's nosey, but I have to ask. Are you Rory Hartley's sister?"

"Um, no." I pause for a second, actually quite pleased with the question she asked me.
I don't even have to lie.

"Oh," she says, a bit disappointed.
"It's just…your hair. It's very Hartley-esque."

“Yeah, I get that a lot," I tell her.
"But my last name is Wallis. Hope you guys enjoy the show!" I say to the two little girls before turning around again. And then I sit back and wait for the real fun to start.

* * *

This time around, I experience another kind of show entirely. Being in the
SMD
audience is so much fun I can't believe I let myself catch the first show backstage. The audience really does go nuts, as I'd witnessed at the first show. They're up and dancing to the music even before the cast hits the stage and the air around me has this charge of excitement running through it like a current.

When the cast finally runs onto the stage and are introduced, it takes Rory only one-tenth of a second to spot me and grin and Noah only nanoseconds longer to find me as well and smile that amazing smile of his.

Oh.

Oh, wow, oh, yep, oh, yeah.
It's going to be a good show.

* * *

The show seems to speed by today—much faster than things seemed to go when I watched from backstage. Seeing as I had a decent practice at yesterday's show, today I get the dances down easily and even add a few embellishments of my own. I watched a couple of clips on YouTube this morning of Madonna, live, singing "Lucky Star", and now I copy a few of her moves that aren't in the original video clip. Finally, the show starts to wind up, and we get to audience participation time. I can't wait to see who Rory picks out today and if she'll find anyone as good as her six-year-old wunderkind partner from yesterday. I seriously doubt it. That kid was like nothing I've ever seen before.

Once again, Valentina is asked to choose first.
I crane my neck so I can see over the heads in the audience to who she's pointing at. When I follow her finger, I think she's aiming for this teenage girl, but I must have been seeing what was going on from an angle, because it's someone else entirely that Sonja, the producer, has brought up onto the stage. Cooper picks out another grandfather (they must be his specialty!). Lucia decides on a boy of about eight. Tobias's turn sees another boy of about the same age on the stage. Mara chooses a guy of about my age, one row to my right, who I'd noticed before seems like a really good dancer. José goes for a mom. It's Rory's turn then, and she whispers to Noah for a moment, then nods and points toward me.

Every single cell in my body freezes.

I shake my head, no.

But then Rory shakes her head back and points sort of around me.

There's a sudden whoosh of relief as I realize she's not trying to freak me out. It's the mom behind me, the one who'd spoken to me before, that she's pointing at.

Immediately, her two girls go crazy.
"Go on, Mom!" they yell at her, whooping and clapping. They push her toward the aisle where an escort is waiting to take her up onto the stage. As I watch her go, I catch her eye and smile at her. She tries to smile back, but the look she comes out with is more "lamb to the slaughter" than "mom to the stage." My eyes stick to the poor mom like glue as she makes her way up in front of the audience. It's only as the host calls out Noah's name that I remember it's his turn to choose a partner now, and I move my attention back to the stage.

Phew, I think as I face forward again.
Close call. Mom would
kill
me if I went up there. I mean, it would be amazing and all, but no. It can't happen.

There's only one thing I don't get as my eyes move to Noah on the stage, waiting to see who he'll pick.
He's pointing at the mom's spot now, the mom Rory had pointed at and chosen, but she's not there anymore. I swivel on the spot to glimpse her empty seat, not understanding.

Then, as I slowly face forward once more, I get it.
As, it seems, did everyone else about five minutes ago.

This time, I'm really being pointed at.

My eyes move to Rory's, on stage, but she simply gives me a "Hey, I didn't know he was going to ask you" shrug.

"Are you crazy?" The girl sitting beside me grabs my right arm in a vise-like grip, breaking my eye contact with Rory and making me look over at her.
"You can't say no to Noah Hoffman! Don't just stand there. Go, already! Or I will! It's my dream to dance with Noah Hoffman!"

"Me too," I say, my mouth forming the words before my brain can even register them.
My eyes are fixated on the girl’s sparkly purple nails, digging into my arm.

"Thea?" a voice says from the aisle then
, and I look left to see it's Sonja herself come to escort me. She's standing in the aisle, one hand on her hip and grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Would you like to come up on stage?" she asks me. "Would you like to dance with Noah?"

Ear-piercing whistle!
Time out!

Okay, so you know that whole thing you see quite a bit in cartoons where a character has a devil sitting on one shoulder, whispering into his or her ear and an angel on the other shoulder whispering into the other ear?
That's me in this moment.

Devil (aka Sonja): Would you like to dance with Noah?

Angel (aka Mom): Don't go up on the stage! You'll be outed. And you could be kidnapped (or worse!).

Devil (aka Sonja): It's your dream to dance with Noah Hoffman on
SMD
! Your dream!

Angel (aka Mom): And when you wake up from that dream, it'll be your worst nightmare.
I'll send you to military school.