Thank You for Listening(9)

A slight chuckle. “There’s no need for that. You go ahead and have your luncheon, you ladies figure everything out, and we’ll talk after.”

“Okay. I’ll call you Monday evening.” More silence. “Would you like to at least know what happened–”

“Swan, we’ll talk Monday, I have to go.” He hung up.

BIBLIOCON LANYARD AROUND her neck, Sewanee hustled and dodged her way across the massive convention floor like a running back going for the end zone. The number of attendees was astonishing. For someone who spent a good portion of her working life with headphones on, hearing only the soft hush of her own voice in her ears, who prized, above all else, absolute quiet, the ambient din of the room made her shoulders creep up her neck.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, just once, a text.

ADAKU:

You here?

SEWANEE:

Yep. On my way to panel.

ADAKU:

Come to the green room for a sec.

SEWANEE:

There’s a green room??

ADAKU:

Northwest corner.

SEWANEE:

What am I, Magellan?

ADAKU:

By the Starbucks. Under the poster of me.

Sewanee swiveled her head around the room. She located the poster for the movie Girl in the Middle–a stop-action close-up of Adaku’s face looking from left to right–and shuffled over. She quickly texted:

Only have 10 mins.

ADAKU:

Only need 2.

After finding the door and having her ID checked against the name tag hanging from her lanyard by the super-sized man guarding the room, she was ushered into the exclusive holding area, where Adaku was waiting for her, a to-go cup of coffee outstretched.

“Bless you,” Sewanee said, taking it.

Without a word, Adaku grabbed her hand and dragged her down the hallway into a women’s restroom. She quickly checked the two stalls, making sure they were empty, then practically leaped over Sewanee and deadbolted the door behind them.

“What’s up, you kill someone?” she asked, taking a gulp of coffee. Adaku clasped her hands together but couldn’t seem to speak. Sewanee peered at her now. “Is this good or bad?”

A sound escaped Adaku that would set dogs howling. “It’s good, Swan. It’s so good. It’s In-N-Out good.”

Sewanee knew if Adaku were allowed one dying request, it would be a Double-Double from In-N-Out Burger. Adaku was buzzing like a lightbulb. Sewanee began to buzz, too. “What?”

Adaku wrung her hands. “That Lysistrata-in-the-jungle project I was telling you about?” Sewanee nodded. “I hit a milestone. The big one.”

She stilled. “The big one?”

Adaku’s chin trembled. “Our big one.”

Sewanee could take comfort, later, in the fact that her first impulse, her instinct, had been happiness and not a finger-snap of jealousy. The smile that happened was real, the shout that erupted from her was genuine, the tears that followed were joyful. They giggled and they cried and it was impossible to tell, after a certain point, which was which. A wintry mix of emotions. Sewanee threw her arms around her friend, the only true one she had left, the most constant thing in her life, and felt Adaku’s heart beating rapidly against her own.

“A million dollars,” Adaku whispered, trembling. “A million goddamn dollars.”

“You did it!” Sewanee squeaked.

Adaku pulled back, took Sewanee’s wrecked face in her soft hands. “We did it! In that shitty pizza joint on 181st–”

“You dare malign the memory of Tony’s?”

Adaku’s tears coated her smiling lips. “Over our $2.99 two-slice-and-a-Coke special, we promised. One of us would get a cool mil before thirty-five.”

Sewanee pulled her close again and felt tears overtake the laugh, her throat tightening. “You did it. You–” She abruptly shoved Adaku away. Playfully, she was sure. “God, I’m so proud of you!”

Adaku wiped her face. “I mean, after taxes and commissions it’s like four hundred thousand dollars, but–”

“Oh, well then never mind.”

They looked at each other for a quiet moment. Adaku’s eyes clouded. Her face turned earnest. “We both know you would have gotten this ages ago. If that motherfu–”

“You win, I win, we win, remember?”

“But it’s so unfair–”

“Don’t,” Sewanee demanded, taking Adaku by her shoulders. “You’re getting paid a million dollars to star in a film.”

Her smile returned. “I just got the call and you’re the only person I wanted to share it with. I’m so glad you’re here!”

Sewanee stepped back and held up her hands, like a soothsayer fending off a vision. “I see . . . I see copious amounts of champagne in our future.” Adaku laughed. “But right now your two minutes are up and I’m going to be late.”

Adaku jumped forward. “Of course, of course! Sorry.” She unlocked the door. “What do you want to do tonight? I was thinking–”

“Whatever you want!”

“Can I convince you to go to a club? The bottle service–”

“Yes, all of it, babe, I gotta go!”

Adaku flung open the door. “Go, go! You’re going to be late! How many times do I have to tell you?”