Let's Get Lost (13 page)

“What? Where?” The paper cover on the table ripped as he stumbled off. He followed Leila out of the room, past an orderly wheeling an empty gurney and a man whispering into a cell phone.

Leila didn't say anything until they were back in the ER waiting room and headed toward the exit. “We're going to get the girl.”

* * *

“Slow down,” Elliot said, as she pushed the doors and led them to the parking lot. “What do you mean, get the girl?”

“Look, in all romantic comedies, there's always a scene in the movie where we think the boy's lost his chance before he gets the girl.” She was still pulling him by his good hand toward her car. “That's this, right now. You think you've lost the girl. But not yet. Not if I have anything to say about it.” She opened the passenger door for him as if he were still drunk and bleeding. “I have a feeling that's why we—forgive the choice of words—ran into each other. I'm gonna help you get Maribel.”

“That's very nice of you to offer, but I think I should go back in there and deal with my parents.”

“No. Your parents will be there to deal with in the morning. It's prom night. What you should do is go after the girl.”

“You keep saying that,” Elliot said. He was shaking his head, even though he could feel a small part of him flaring with hope. “But life's not like the movies. You try to live your life like the movies, and you end up with a bloody hand and a broken heart.”

“That actually sounds like a line from a movie,” she said, walking around to the driver's side. She opened her door, then looked at him over the roof of her car. “What would Lloyd Dobler do?”

“I'm not Lloyd Dobler.” He felt like screaming, but instead the words sounded sad, defeated. Leila ignored the comment and slipped into the car, forcing Elliot to sit next to her to continue the conversation. “I'm more like Duckie from
Pretty in Pink
, and maybe it's time I accept that. Maribel said no. I should let it go.”

Leila leaned across the center divider and reached for Elliot's seat belt, buckling him in with an assertive click. “You don't have to be Duckie, whoever that is. You don't have to give up. Would Lloyd Dobler ever give up?”

Maybe the look Leila was giving him should have come across as crazed instead of enthusiastic. Maybe she should have seemed more delusional than inspiring. But, as she turned the key in the ignition and the engine started, Elliot couldn't help but feel that life could still be like the movies. With this girl's help, he might still have a chance at that orchestra-swelling kiss.

“Let's go get the girl.”

 

3

TOP-FORTY MUSIC
filled the dark of the hotel ballroom where prom was still raging on. Candy-colored lights roved the walls manically. A stage had been built in the far side of the room for the band, with a sizable dance floor. All the couples danced close together to make it hard for chaperones to know who was pressed against whom.

Elliot and Leila were in the men's bathroom. Elliot had excused himself to go get cleaned up, but Leila had just followed him in, checking the counter for wet spots before hopping onto the marble surface.

“So, what's the plan?” She had to say it loudly, since the walls practically pulsed from the music from the ballroom. The stained-glass lamps hanging by the mirrors were rattling like snare drums.

Elliot slid out of his jacket and started wetting some paper towels. “Um, I don't know, actually. I guess the declaring-my-love-for-her strategy didn't work so well, so I should probably try something else this time. Something...”

He gestured with his hand, as if trying to draw the next word out of the air. “I don't know,” he said. “Something more successful, hopefully.” He tried not to gag as he brushed chunks from his tuxedo.

“Something bigger,” Leila said. Then she reached into a pocket in her dress and pulled out a pack of gum, offering it to Elliot. “Bigger and maybe a little minty. No offense.”

He took the pack and popped two pieces into his mouth, grateful and embarrassed. “Sure. Bigger would work.” He added a dab of hand soap to the fabric, half hoping it would miraculously make him look spotless. “Something more cinematic.”

They were quiet for a second, listening to the music through the walls while Elliot tried his best to make his tuxedo look presentable. Then they heard the crowd cheering as the band stopped playing. “We're gonna take a quick break and then come back for our last set of the night.” Another roar ensued.

A few moments later, three of the band members walked into the bathroom, congratulating themselves on how it was going. Elliot knew all three of them from school. Two of them were fellow seniors. The drummer, Kurt, was in his English class. The third guy was a sophomore who was somewhat legendary because of his guitar skills. Rumor had it that the band had gigs booked on the East Coast for the rest of the summer, mostly thanks to the guitarist. They stopped in their tracks when they noticed Leila sitting on the counter.

“You're in the right place,” she said, waving them in.

They looked over at Elliot, who shrugged. They hesitated, then returned the shrug and walked toward the urinals. Kurt said hi to Elliot as he passed by. “What the hell happened to you?” He eyed the tux and the bandaged hand.

“That's a long story,” Elliot said, now scrubbing at his pants, trying not to use too much water so it wouldn't look like there was also urine on the tux, the one body fluid he'd managed to avoid.

“I hit him with my car, and then he threw up,” Leila said.

“Okay, so it's not that long a story.” Kurt chuckled. “I thought you were in here the whole time.”

“I left for a bit,” Elliot said, not wanting to get into the whole thing.

Apparently, Leila didn't mind getting into it. “Maribel turned him down.”

Elliot gave her a disbelieving look.

“What? You're not James Bond,” Leila said. “There's no reason to keep it a secret. If you love the girl, you let the world know. That simple.”

Kurt zipped up and came over to wash his hands. “Everyone kinda knows about that anyway, man. So, what, she friend-zoned you?”

The other two band members, ignoring the conversation, were discussing what to play in their last set. They flushed and approached the sink, and Elliot moved aside to let them use the faucet.

“No,” Elliot said. “That's not what happened. ‘Friend-zone' takes all the heartbreak out of it. Call it what it is: The girl I love rejected me.”

“Prematurely rejected,” Leila said. “He's gonna win her over.”

Kurt used the automatic hand-drier for a few seconds before patting his hands dry on the back of his pants. “Yeah? How are you planning to do that?”

“We don't have a plan yet,” Leila said to Kurt. “We just know it's going to be big.”

Elliot laid his jacket down on the counter, giving up on the stains and just placing paper towels over the parts that were still wet. He looked from Kurt to Leila and then to the other band members.

“That leaves us with five minutes to kill,” the guitarist was saying when the hand-drier turned off. “We could stretch out the banter a little, or I was thinking it'd be kind of funny if we play that ‘Don't You Forget About Me' song. You know, ironically.”

“We've never practiced that song,” the singer answered, his eyes wandering to where Leila was sitting.

“How about a Weird Al song?”

“Damnit, man, we need something we've practiced before.”

“Shit, forgive me for trying to think of ideas. I don't hear you coming up with anything,” the guitarist grumbled.

“It's not a matter of thinking of ideas. We need one more song for the set, and we know two that we won't have played yet. We're either playing Ace of Base's ‘All That She Wants' or Jay-Z's ‘99 Problems.' Which is it gonna be?”

Elliot could start to picture it: the camera angles, the shots of the crowd singing along, interspersed with close-ups of Maribel's smiling face, the kind of energy that could leave you breathless.

“I think I have an idea,” he said.

* * *

There was a moment of excitement and self-confidence before Elliot realized that he was actually going to have to get onstage and sing. And not just any song, but “All That She Wants,” about a woman so lonely, she hunts men down, looking to get pregnant. Not ideal, but he happened to know every Ace of Base lyric there was, thanks to his dad's obsession with the band.

The hope was that saying the words “This is for you, Maribel,” onstage would make it all enough. If movies had taught him anything, it was that embarrassing yourself in the name of love could only lead to positive things.

They left the bathroom as a group, walking with Leila hidden among them so that the front-door chaperone wouldn't notice her.

“We'll be back onstage in about five minutes. We'll go through the rest of our set to warm up the crowd for you, and then we'll call you up,” Kurt said, which was right around the time Elliot's nerves became aware of the situation.

He felt himself starting to sweat, which made his bandaged hand itch. He looked around the crowd, trying to spot Maribel. There weren't quite as many people as when he had left, but the ballroom was still crowded, kids sneaking pulls from flasks by the snack tables, couples making out against the walls, the dateless standing around in groups.

“Where is she?” Leila said. “Point her out to me.”

“Leila, I don't think I can do this.” His stomach rumbled as if in agreement. He wondered if maybe the hospital should have pumped his stomach, even though he'd kind of done that on his own. “I can't sing. I can't dance. I've never even been to karaoke.” He started breathing faster. “Oh, God, what have I done?”

Leila stepped in front of him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Hey, look at me.” She stared at him until he met her eyes. “It's going to be okay. It's always a little scary to go after what you want. But she's gonna see what you're willing to do for her, and she's going to love it. You can do this.”

“No, seriously. I can't sing. However many vocal cords people have, I think I've got half that. When I try singing in the shower, the water gets cold. Every time, I swear, like it's trying to get me to stop.”

“Elliot,” Leila said. “What are we here to do?”

“Have a panic attack?”

Leila gave him a shake. “Say it.”

Elliot looked around the room. He could see a few of his friends on the far side, looking a little buzzed but mostly bored. A girl from his calculus class was sitting down at a table, alone, angrily texting. Two teachers stood guard by the emergency exit, not exactly chaperoning but trying to make it look like that was what they were doing. Elliot wanted to catch a glimpse of Maribel in her purple dress, but he was also terrified of how much it would hurt to see her again.

“Say it,” Leila said again. Elliot managed to mutter something in response, something even he couldn't hear. The crowd let out a few cheers as the band took the stage. “Okay, here's what we're gonna do.” Leila grabbed his hand and led him to some nearby chairs. She sat him down and pulled up a chair in front of him. “I want you to close your eyes and picture yourself kissing Maribel. In front of everyone, or somewhere private, or anywhere at all.”

Elliot did as he was told. The thought came naturally to him, he'd been doing it for so long. He felt a happy shudder work down his spine the moment he imagined their lips touching. His mind flashed to kissing her in an open field while on a picnic; on her bed, with all its excess pillows; casually, in a movie theater before the lights dimmed, as if he'd been doing it for years.

“If you don't do this, you will probably never get to kiss Maribel,” Leila said. “Ever. So it's pretty simple. Go sing. Sing well or badly—it doesn't matter, as long as you sing your fucking heart out,” Leila said, raising her voice as the band started up again.

Though his nerves didn't loosen up, Elliot found himself nodding. “I'm not sure what it says about my luck that I managed to get run over by the one person in Minnesota who could deliver a speech like that.”

It was hard to tell in the crappy lighting, but it looked as if Leila was blushing a little. “What can I say? I'm a hopeful romantic. Maybe someday you'll return the favor.”

The band finished playing their funny cover of a popular rap song, and when the crowd's round of applause was over, Kurt grabbed the microphone attached to his drum set. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special treat for you this evening. Please welcome to the stage, in the name of love, the musical stylings of Elliot Pinnik!”

A couple of people clapped, and someone let out a whistle. Elliot practically jumped out of his chair and started making his way toward the back of the ballroom, marching so that he wouldn't have time to change his mind. A drunk girl he didn't know shouted out, “Yeah, Elliot!” He walked past his friends, who looked confused about where he'd been and why the hell he'd be going up onstage.

He staggered up the stairs on the side and avoided looking out at the crowd, walking directly to the singer. When he grabbed the microphone and turned to the audience, he was surprised to find that they were mostly shrouded in darkness. Bright overhead lights pointed at the stage made it hard to see anything but silhouettes, and the nauseated feeling in his stomach quieted down. A few more people cheered.

“Maribel,” he said, his voice unfamiliar on the speakers, “this is for you.”

Kurt hit his drumsticks together, “One, two, three, four,” he shouted out; then the music exploded all around Elliot.

He felt he was swimming in it, as if the music was coming from the air itself. He started tapping his good hand against the side of his leg in time with the music, then bobbing his head. Before he knew it, he was taking hold of the mike stand as he danced, waiting for another measure of music until it was his turn to join in.

When he sang the first line of lyrics, it didn't even feel as if the sound had come from him.

“She leads a lonely life,” Elliot shouted into the microphone.

He could hear the sounds of the crowd breaking through the music. It made him think of the scene from
Ferris Bueller's Day Off
at the parade where Matthew Broderick sings along to “Twist and Shout.” Channeling his inner Ferris, Elliot started to jump around on the stage, closing his eyes as he belted out, “All that she wants is another baby.” He jumped up onto the raised platform where Kurt's drum set was, then jumped back down and air-guitared next to the sophomore guitarist. He'd always heard people say that one should dance as if no one was watching, but until that moment, he'd never really understood what they meant. Something inside him simply let go, and it felt fantastic.

It was over before he knew it, and when the last of the instruments fell quiet and the noise of the crowd took over, Elliot felt he
was
Ferris Bueller. He felt ready to jump off the stage and kiss Maribel. He imagined that the people on the dance floor would part to make it happen.

So he did. He jumped off the stage, looking for Maribel in the crowd before he'd even landed. Instead of parting, though, the crowd converged on him. Hands patted him on the back and stuck out in the air, seeking high fives. “That was awesome!” one of the soccer players he'd never talked to before shouted into his face.

Maneuvering his way through the crowd, Elliot kept looking for Maribel, even calling out her name a few times, though no one paid much attention to what he was saying; they were all too busy congratulating him.

Eventually, prerecorded background music started playing through the speakers, and the crowd gave him a little room to move. He spotted his friends and, a little out of breath, made his way toward them.

“Shit, man,” Mario said. “That was pretty incredible. I can't believe you just did that.” Mario had been Elliot's best friend for years, and he was rarely moved to positively comment on anything.

“Thanks,” Elliot said, as the other guys in the group offered their congratulations. “Do you guys know where I can find Maribel? I haven't seen her.”

“Oh, she left,” Mario said.

“What?”

“Yeah. Like, an hour ago.”

“More, probably,” Damon added.

“Shit,” Elliot said.

“Yeah, that'll kill your buzz,” Mario said. He pulled a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket, took a swig, and then passed it around. “She went to the after-party at that kid Bobby's house. We were about to head over there. It's too bad. You really put on a show, man. Didn't know you had it in you.”