Grumpy Puck

23. Calliope

Chapter 23

Calliope

T he sweet potato in my mouth turns into packing peanuts as I watch Michael’s expression turn thunderous. And then he leaps to his feet. “I have to go.”

What the hell? I mean, I know he’s not having a good time—those weird facial expressions made that clear—but why is he so angry?

Because that’s what he seems to be. Angry. So much so, that as he stomps out of the cafeteria, his hands are balled into fists and his jaw ticks. If he punches a random Klaunbut on his way out, I won’t be surprised in the least.

“Is everything okay?” Mom asks with a worried expression when Michael is gone.

“Does it look like things are okay?” I retort.

Mom shrugs. “I don’t know him as well as you do.”

My chest aches, and a pressure is building behind my eyes. “I’m not sure I know him all that well myself.” Deep down, a part of me had been convinced that he’d like my family, and we’d live happily ever after.

How stupid.

I’m obviously cursed to lose boyfriends as soon as I introduce them to this literal circus. And I was also stupid to think that this would hurt less because I had him meet everyone at the very beginning of our relationship. I imagined it would be like ripping off a Band-Aid in the worst case, but this feels more like ripping off a finger.

Seraphina plops into the chair Michael vacated. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Not exactly. The trigger for him leaving could have been so many weird behaviors around us that it’s a wonder he lasted as long as he did.

“You think this is like your asshole of an ex situation?” she whispers.

“What else?” Even people as grouchy as Michael don’t just leave in the middle of dinner for no reason, and in this case, the reason is obvious.

“Well, fuck him,” Seraphina says.

Yeah. I did. Seemingly countless times.

“Better you be rid of him now,” she continues. “Before you get too attached.”

Yeah, except it’s too late for that one.

I put my fork down. “Sorry, everyone. I think I’d better go.”

“Yeah,” Dad says. “Smart. Go after your Boo.”

Mine. Sure.

Pushing to my feet, I make my exit, and though I didn’t just have a one-night stand or anything close to it, the term “walk of shame” is perfect for my current situation. Everyone saw Michael storm out, and now they’re looking at me with expressions that range from judgy to pitying.

Once I’m outside, the pressure behind my eyes grows stronger, especially when I realize that I don’t have a ride back.

My nose makes a sniffle.

No.

I’m not going to cry.

Screw that.

Getting my phone out, I summon an Uber. I’m about to stuff it back into my purse when it rings.

My heart leaps inside my chest. Could it be Michael calling to apologize? Then again, he’s more likely to ask me to move my shit out of his house.

It’s not Michael, though. The number is a 212 area code, which I believe is New York.

“Hello?” I clear my throat to make sure what I say next doesn’t sound as miserable as that first greeting. “Calliope speaking.”

“Good evening, Calliope. This is Maximilian Bowman,” says a booming voice.

Maximilian Bowman? I strain my brain until I recall that he’s the husband of Sugar, the woman who was the first to ask for my business card at Michael’s fundraiser, and who got a napkin with some scribbles instead.

“Hi,” I say. “We met at the fundraiser, right?”

“Correct,” Maximilian—or is it Mr. Bowman?—says. “I’ve been thinking about that outstanding rat show of yours, and when a spot opened at my theater, I?—”

“You own a theater?” I blurt, and then want to smack myself for interrupting the man.

“Apologies,” he says. “I figured my name spoke for itself. I don’t own The Jewel outright, but I am the largest stakeholder and?—”

The Jewel? That’s one of the biggest?—

“Is this a good time to talk?” he asks. “Perhaps over video?”

Shit. I need to focus. “Yes, Mr. Bowman. So long as you don’t mind that I’m about to get into an Uber.”

“I don’t mind, and please, call me Max. I’ll text you a Zoom link. It will be me and a few other involved parties.”

The link comes immediately, as does my ride.

As soon as I’m situated in the Uber, I get on the call, which turns out to be an interview. And despite what happened with Michael earlier, I manage to answer every question calmly, describe the show that I’d create without any hesitations, and overall project a professionalism and confidence that I do not even remotely feel.

“That all sounds good,” Max says, speaking for the whole group. “Now, let’s talk about your compensation.” He throws me a number that is triple what I currently make—even with the incentives to pretend to be dating Michael.

Unable to believe that I’m actually doing it, I counter with a number that’s fifteen percent higher, and Max agrees.

“In that case, I’ll take the job,” I say giddily.

I would have taken it even with a pay cut, but I’m glad they don’t know that.

“Perfect,” Max says. “Can you start tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” I swallow as the enormity of what’s happening finally hits the lizard part of my brain—and is maybe making me hear things.

“I know it’s a Saturday,” he says. “But the theater is open.”

“But… tomorrow?”

“Right. Sorry, I neglected to mention the urgency. The reason we have an opening right now is because another theater poached one of our performers. My wife reminded me of you, and you were the first person I called.”

The first person… but he’s got more on his list? “I have to give my current employer two weeks’ notice.” At least I assume that’s what they would want. They never really discussed that with me, just the fact that they’d fire me on the spot if the old mascot, Ted, reappeared. Speaking of Ted, he just stopped showing up for work one day, and the team was fine. Then again, Ted wasn’t pretending to be dating one of the players.

Shit. I obviously can’t pretend to date Michael now that we’ve actually started dating. And have just imploded. With that in mind, two weeks of bumping into him sounds like torture. But still?—

“You’re a mascot,” Max says. “Your face isn’t seen. The team can replace you in a heartbeat.”

Mean, but true. They hired me the next day after they decided to fill Ted’s position, and I was one of twenty applicants.

“But… tomorrow?” I won’t even get a chance to see my family before I go, or?—

“Look at this from our perspective,” Max says. “Even if you arrive tomorrow, you’ll need to rehearse and prepare, so we’ll already be losing a couple of weeks’ worth of earnings.”

More like a month or more if we’re realistic, but I don’t point that out because I don’t want to lose this opportunity.

“Just to clarify, are you saying you will not wait?” I ask.

It sounds insane, but then again, the rush does solve a question I haven’t dared to ask myself: where should I stay tonight?

It can’t be Michael’s place. Not after?—

“Sorry to pressure you like this,” Max says. “We’ll cover all your travel expenses, including an airplane ticket for tonight and a hotel room near the airport. Then you can stay at the?—”

He goes into more details, but I only half listen.

I always thought that when I got the job of my dreams, I would be beyond happy, but depressingly, that’s not how I’m feeling at all.

Instead, I’m numb. The seesaw of losing Michael, followed by this interview, is just too much to process in such a short time.

“How does all that sound?” Max asks, bringing me back to the conversation.

“Great,” I reply, imbuing my voice with the cheerfulness that would be there had everything not gotten so messed up. “I will see you tomorrow.”

With that, I hang up and face Wolfgang. “Can you believe it? We’re going to have our show, after all.”

He rubs his paws on his face.

Meine Liebe, can my stage name be Das Cheese?