“I hope so,” I said.
Fear and anxiety flattened my tone.
“Trust me,” Cal said.
But that was the problem. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not after everything that had happened.
It was as if I’d said it out loud.
“I’m hanging up now,” he said, his voice dull. “Go call Harriet.”
“Okay,” I said.
And that time he did. And so did I.
CHAPTER 5
Harriet joined us in London.
She arrived with a massive list of things she wanted to do and see, but I only had one afternoon off before we moved on to Bristol, so we settled on spending the day at the Victoria and Albert Museum.
I invited the guys, but only Cal and Ryan were interested. Though, when we arrived, it became clear that Ryan wasn’t so much interested in the museum as he was in spending time with me. Which was sweet. Mostly.
“Do you think anyone will recognize us?” he asked.
I’d already been recognized—and pap’ed—arriving at the hotel, so I had no doubt that we’d get some stares. This was my first European visit, but I was popular here, and the tour was nearly sold out. I just didn’t know if Ryan and Cal—or any of the CrushZone guys—were at that point yet.
But they would be soon enough.
“Maybe,” I said.
I was kind of enjoying being incognito for the moment. Just enjoying my friends and the museum and a new country. It was one of the best perks of the job—getting to see the world with the people I loved.
Cal and Harriet walked ahead of us, Harriet’s hands flying, Cal’s laughter floating back to tickle my ears as they explored.
“I’m obsessed with these jackets,” Harriet said.
“The hats are pretty cool,” Cal said.
“Maybe I should start wearing hats,” Ryan said. “That could be my thing.”
The guys had been told to each work on developing an individual style, or persona. Mason had already claimed the bad boy slot, with his penchant for leather bracelets and black eyeliner. LC was the good southern boy, and Wyatt was letting management shape him into the wacky one, wearing loud, bright clothes and experimenting monthly with hair color and style.
“You look good in hats,” I said.
“Maybe they’ll put Cal State in glasses or a pocket protector or something,” Ryan said.
Cal had been dubbed “the smart one,” which I knew irked Ryan. But it made sense. Not only was Cal smart, but he was also the only one of the group who had gone to college.
Even though he was several feet in front of us, I could still see Cal’s shoulders tense at Ryan’s nickname. I knew he hated it, but I also knew that telling Ryan that would only result in him using it more frequently.
Ryan could be kind of a butt sometimes.
“The Lumber Jills were the British equivalent of Rosie the Riveter,” Harriet was telling Cal. “They were part of the Women’s Land Army during World War Two.”
We were wandering through the exhibit that Harriet had been the most excited to see—Working Women’s Fashion in the Twentieth Century. Dozens of mannequins were dressed and posed alongside vintage photographs and miscellaneous items. Being friends with Harriet was like getting a degree in history. Or so I imagined. Probably better because Harriet knew all the interesting, random, salacious facts that they never seemed to teach in school.
The mannequin Harriet and Cal had stopped in front of was wearing overalls and a collared shirt and had her hair pulled back in a kerchief. Resting on her shoulder was an axe. Even though she didn’t really have a face—just a smooth egg-like globe—the pose and the sharp object made her look extremely badass.
“That would be a great Halloween costume,” I said.
“Or onstage costume,” Harriet said. “You’d look great with an axe.”
I laughed. “Can you imagine?”
Harriet blinked and I could see that yes, yes she could. Very clearly.
“A row of dancers with axes,” she said. “Like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, but women instead.”
“That is a complicated dance number,” Cal said.
“What’s Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?” Ryan asked.
“A musical,” the three of us said.
Ryan sighed. “Right.”
Despite his claiming to love all kinds of music, I’d been unable to find the musical that Ryan would tolerate, let alone enjoy. He just kept telling me how dramatic and unrealistic they were. I tried to explain that realism wasn’t the point, that it was about feeling things fully, and how sometimes they were so big and overwhelming that you had to sing about it.
He didn’t get it.
But it was okay. Most guys didn’t. Most straight guys.
“Are there any World War Two musicals?” Cal asked.
Harriet and I stared at him.
“Uh, Cabaret,” I said.
“Carmen Jones,” she said.
“Sound of Music,” I said.
“Pacific Overtures,” she said.
Cal raised his hands in defeat. “Sorry, sorry,” he said.
“You should be,” I teased.
“Guess you need to brush up on your history, Cal State,” Ryan said.
I saw a muscle in Cal’s jaw clench.
“Someone should make a timeline,” Cal said. “Not when the musical was written but when it takes place.”
Harriet’s eyes lit up. “Like a musical history lesson.”
“Or a musical marathon,” Cal said, “through time.”
Ryan groaned. We all ignored him.
“Ooh.” The wheels in my head immediately began turning. “What would be the first one? A Funny Thing Happened?”
“What about musicals that don’t take place at any particular time?” Harriet asked. “Or something like Assassins, that covers a bunch of different time periods?”
“Assassins would definitely go with other musicals taking place in the sixties,” I said.
“Why not the Civil War?” Cal asked.
“Because,” I said. “If you put it that early, the rest of the story lines would be spoilers.”
“You can’t have spoilers for history,” Cal said.
“Yes, you can,” Harriet said. “You have no idea how little people know.”