Chapter 18

In the final week of school, barely anyone attends if they have passing grades. Tracy starts to feel her nerves come unrattled, realizing that traveling to New York is only a few days away. She turns up the heat between her and Clarke and enjoys the freedom of no more condoms ever since her mother started her on birth control. When she knows her parents are gone for work, she calls Clarke over for hours of endless sex in nearly every room of the house, and lunch consists of bagel pizza bites and Code Red.

Clarke drives over in Steve's Camaro during heavy rain on the final day of school. Clarke is slightly scared of the supercharged V8 and tight clutch. Not used to driving a stick shift, he pulls up and parks around the corner. He runs through the drenching rain, and a clap of thunder is heard.

Startled, Tracy trembles slightly, watching Clarke dash for the door.

"I can't believe it's the last day of school, and we gotta deal with this crap!" she says, staring outside.

Clarke runs his hand over his hair, "Yeah, tell me about it. My car is still down with a busted head gasket, or at least that's what Steve told me. Anyway, are you ready for New York?"

With a nervous smile, Tracy shakes her head no, "Yes. How about you? Are you ready for Montana and spending camp at big ol' SMU?"

Able to get a whiff of her perfume, Clarke stares at his lover, admiring the turquoise belly shirt that exposes the outline of her bra. He's overheard whistling lightly, leaving Tracy with a bigger, more natural smile.

"I heard that, mister. I see you still like what you're staring at."

Gently chuckling, Clarke continues to look her up and down. The sight of her smooth-silky legs complimenting the cut-off jean shorts that show off her ass, "Oh, I could stare at your body all day long. As much as I don't wanna, we need to get to school." Clarke says in a gravelly tone.

Tracy quickly picks up her bag and then runs to the classic Camaro. Settled into the black leather seat, Tracy places her bag on the floor between her legs before buckling the seatbelt. It doesn't take Clarke long to slide behind the wheel and drive to school, where they're surprised that it's a half-day approved by the school board. Clarke's pulled into the weight room to get more time to train. Tracy spends the rest of her day talking about her upcoming trip to New York with some of her other friends.

The next few days between Clarke and Tracy are spent apart. He trains with the team on the field, working on cardio in the humidity. She spends time reviewing language accent pieces of training, trying to cover her Texas twang.

Finally, the day arrives for Tracy to board the plane to New York. Clarke picks her up around four in the morning to take her to Dallas Fort Worth International Airport. Once they arrive and Tracy checks in and has her bag checked, she sits with Clarke until it's time to board around six o'clock.

A chime echoes over the waiting area with a female attendant, "Good morning DFW, the passengers waiting to board Southwest flight number sixteen-thirty-seven are now boarding for first and business classes. Please line up with your boarding pass and federal identification ready for processing. Thank you for choosing Southwest Airlines."

Fear takes control as Tracy's eyes double in size, "Oh my God! I don't think I can do this. Forget it; I'm not going!"

Taking her hand, Clarke helps her up, followed by a hug.

"You've been busting your ass for this chance. If you don't get on that plane, I'm no longer playing football. I love you. I will be right here when you land at the end of summer. Now go!"

After a quick goodbye kiss, Clarke leads Tracy to the gate, where he stands and watches her walk onto the plane. Already missing Tracy, Clarke waits and watches the plane pull onto the runway. The navy blue plane with the red and yellow stripes on the end charges down the takeoff strip into the air. Clarke slips his phone from his back pocket when the plane is out of sight.

"Hi, Mrs. Wilcox, it's Clarke. She's on the plane, and it's in the air," he stands there listening to Gracie Lynn wish him a safe trip, "I will be careful. Hey, before I go, Tracy asked or said nothing about you and Mr. Wilcox having issues. I know when she gets home, things are going to be different, but anyway, if I can help; let me know. I'm sorry y'all are having a falling out. Take care, Mrs. Wilcox. Thank you, ma'am. Enjoy your summer. I'll see you soon. Goodbye."

Walking through the airport, Clarke puts the phone back into its pocket. Exiting the building, he stares into the clear blue sky, smiling at the beautiful day to begin his trip. While he strolls back to the Lincoln, where the cool burst of air conditioning feels refreshing, Clarke types the address into the GPS, "You have twenty-three hours and fifteen minutes to reach your destination," the computerized voice informs Clarke.

"Maybe I shown have flown," he says to himself, looking at the directions.

Before he pulls away, Clarke recalls what his mother told him as he flips through the apps on the touchscreen radio, opening Pandora, "Be safe. Oh, here's my credit card for fuel and any motel you can find," Daisy hands over an American Express card and an envelope with one thousand dollars stuffed into it, "Here's a little cash for gifts. I want something nice and shiny!"

Clarke flips through the channels until he lands on the Rock Music preset. He is ready to jam until he arrives in Denver. The entire way there, Clarke enjoys clear skies and light traffic. He arrives late the following day in Montana to spend time with Hector and help out on the ranch.

Across the country, Tracy is having difficulty adjusting to New York across the country. The day her flight landed left her nearly an hour behind checking in with the program director. It's a struggle to pull her suitcase across the jam-packed sidewalk.

"Excuse me, oh, pardon me. I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to bump into you," Tracy says, apologizing to anyone she sees.

"Yeah, whatever, girly."

Scared to walk inside, Tracy doesn't get the chance to draw in a deep breath when she's shoved, "Get out of the way! Can't ya see I'm tryin' to walk by here!" a lady shouts after pushing her way over Tracy's bag.

"My bad, ugly bitch," Tracy mutters angrily.

Beyond frustrated, she pushes the heavy door open. There's a check-in table with no one sitting at it, "HELLO?" she cries out, trying to get anyone's attention.

A short bald stalky gentleman with a neatly trimmed beard walks from the adjacent room, "Can I help you?" he asks gruffly.

"Yes, sir. I'm in the summer training program. I'm Tracy Wilcox, from Brighton, Texas."

"I'm Sully Dauherty, and you're late, Miss Wilcox. You and one other best have a damn good excuse for wasting my time. If it were up to me, I'd send your bony ass back to Texas 'Miss Twang' Wilcox," he stops to hand her the sign-in book, "Put your Jane Handcock beside your printed name, and here's your dorm key. You are in room 4-0-1. Now that means the number starts with a four, then a zero, followed by a one. I need to make sure you understand me since apparently, down there in 'good ole girly Texas they might not teach you how to read."

Tracy refuses to hold back any lingering frustrations, "Look! I've had a helluva day. My flight was delayed thanks to a storm over part of the country. You damn New Yorkers have insulted me, pushed me around, and been rude since the moment I got into a damn taxi. Plus, the guy driving barely spoke any English whatsoever. Just gimme my damn room key and kiss my ass. I've had it up to here with y'alls rudeness."

Impressed, Sully interlocks his fingers, "Snarky. I like that. You're going to fit in nicely. Welcome to the Broadway Summer Program. Please, accept my apology and enjoy your day."

After signing and handing over the sign-in sheet back to Sully, Tracy takes her bag over to the elevator to the fourth floor. The musky odor gives Tracy a bit of homesickness. The scent reminds her of times visiting with her grandparents in Woodway. In front of door 401, Tracy knocks and doesn't hear an answer. She creaks the door open to see the dorm room empty, with bed linens resting in the middle of the bed.

The plain white sheets with a brown comforter cause Tracy's face to tighten, "Like disgusting and too plain. Ugh, if I had known this was what to expect, I would've brought something from home."

A deep teenage male voice surprises her, "It's to remind us that we're all the same. I remember my first summer here last year. By the way, welcome; I'm Jarvis Long from Portland, Maine. Who are you?"

"Hi, I'm Tracy, Tracy Wilcox from a small town called Brighton in Texas."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tracy, from Texas. Listen, they're going to ridicule that accent if they hear how thick it is. We all take voice lessons, and they don't want to hear our natural tones. I know that sounds audacious, but they want us to be prepared to jump out of our comfort zones into the talent we need to possess to create the dramatic roles we will play on stage." Jarvis, the nearly six foot six hard muscular with crow row hair and dark eyes, says.

Tracy tries not to stare at Jarvis. She's taken by him sporting a brand new white muscle shirt with And 1 of black and silver basketball shorts accompanying a pair of black and gold Air Jordan sneakers. It's an instant attraction she wants to get away from before any sort of flirting occurs.

"I'll keep that in mind; thank you!" Tracy says seconds before rushing into the dorm room, nearly slamming the door.

Starting to set up the room, Tracy makes the bed and places her clothes in the dresser a few feet away against the bland white wall. Tired of the musky smell, Tracy can barely crack the window to allow a breeze to flow in. When she's finally beginning to relax, the door flies open.

Bouncing in with two oversized suitcases, a girl that nearly resembles Tracy enters, copping an attitude with a thick Appalachian accent, "Sum bitch! If it ain't the damn natives' 'round these parts, that piece a shit doorman, Sully, needs to get a hooker and get laid. Sorry asshat!"

After slamming the door shut, the girl realizes she's not alone, "Oh my lord! I am so terribly sorry you had to hear that tirade there, friend. I'm Amelia Kinsley from Durham, North Carolina. So, who might you be?"

Walking to meet Amelia near the doorway edge, Tracy extends her hand, showing off her manicured nails, "Hello. I'm Tracy Wilcox from Brighton, Texas. Is this your first year here?"

"Nope. I'm a rare third-year. After I graduate next summer, I'll go to Los Angeles to get my start there. Are you a first-year?"

Impressed, Tracy stands there, unsure of what to say. All she can do is shake her head, yes.

"That's cool. Hey, listen, I'm starvin', so how about you and me go grab a slice and a Coke?" Amelia suggests.

"Yeah, I'd like that. It's nice to be roomed with someone with an accent like me."

Amelia clears her throat, dropping her southern Appalachian accent to imitate a typical New Yorker, "I ain't got no idea what you talking about, girly. I'm not from North Carolina. I'm a real hard-pressed New York City thug, ya feel me."

All Tracy can do is laugh. "Wow! You are good. Do you think you can help me? I can soften mine but can't seem to gain the dialect."

"Girl, it takes practice. That's all you gotta do. We'll use the summer to get you over the hump. Let me hear what you can do."

Shutting her eyes, Tracy draws in a deep breath. Once it's let out, she tries to mimic a northern accent, "Well now, let me tell you something. I ain't from gay-ass Texas, where they say it's nothing but steers and beers. Damn, southern rebels need another ass-whoopin'."

The poor parody has Amelia laughing to where she needs to hold her stomach. Amelia's response leaves Tracy questioning if she made the right decision to be part of the young actor's program. The soft red glow in her cheeks indicates to Amelia how hurt Tracy feels.

"I don't mean to laugh at you. Whoever was your coach hasn't done you justice. I am making it my mission to get you ready. Girl, for real, you got talent and a quick wit, but you need some proper coaching. Come on, let's get something to eat. We'll start while we chow down on some authentic pizza slices that are as big as your head." Amelia says, making sure she puts some remorse in her words.

Using a hand to motion to walk toward the door, Tracy's mood continues to nosedive.

The new roommates leave the building to a local pizza spot about three blocks away. The sky overhead matches Tracy's mood with the storm over the Midwest and falls over the city. The clear sky turns gray with the occasional thunderclap.

Once inside the pizzeria, the ladies feel a hand touch each shoulder while waiting.

"Ladies, always a pleasure to bump into you. Amelia, fashionably late yet again for the third, fourth year in a row, isn't it." Jarvis teases with a soft squeeze on Tracy's shoulder.

Amelia can't help being a smartass, "If it isn't 'lover boy' from Maine. I heard you got invited to head to London at the end of summer. Is it true, did you get 'the' invite to the Shakespeare Drama Society?"

With his hands gently tugging his muscle shirt, Jarvis curls his lower lip as he preps for an impression in an English accent, "I do say there, love. At summer's end, I fully intend to further pursue my duty as a professional Shakespearian actor."

Quickly turning around, Amelia squeals, "J, that's like super awesome! Damn, here I thought getting a soft offer from LA was something. God, what I wouldn't give to be in your shoes!"

"I don't know about my shoes, but ya know, these shorts are kind of loose if ya wanna help me with that."

"Whoa, there, stallion! You know I don't roll that kind of fever, but maybe my roomie wouldn't mind taking you up on that offer."

The shocking look in Tracy's eyes says it all to Amelia and Jarvis, "Are you okay?" Jarvis asks when it dawns on him, "Oh, there's a boyfriend back home. That's cool; we're just Joshing around anyhow. Unless you're into a night of pure romantic pleasure."

Feeling uneasy, Tracy stays silent until reaching the counter.

"Next! Hi there, dollface; what can I get ya?" A middle-aged Italian man with salt-and-pepper hair that matches a thick 70s-style mustache.

"Just a slice of cheese pizza and a Coke, please, and thank you."

Playing the happy-go-lucky salesman role, the cashier smiles, "Just a plain cheese pizza and a 'Coke'? You don't want anything with some black olives, green peppers, pepperoni, or maybe even a little sausage? C'mon with that accent, I know you acting kids can put away the grub!"

"Okay. I gotta admit, that piece of supreme looks so good. I'll take that and a large Coke!" Tracy says, licking her lips.

With a wink, as he slides on a disposable plastic glove, Tracy's pizza is slid onto a thin white paper plate. Her drink is poured the instant everything is paid. Once the food and drink are in her hands, Tracy sits at the far booth with her new friends. Before biting into the warm slice of pizza, Tracy shuts her eyes to silently pray. Jarvis and Amelia sit, waiting for her to finish.

"Amen," Jarvis mutters when Tracy opens her eyes.

Slightly embarrassed, Tracy hunches her shoulders, "I'm so sorry. A habit of being raised in a conservative Christian household. You know, it's a Texas thing."

Jarvis tries to discuss his family, but Tracy's phone dings, "Must be the boyfriend. You best respond to Romeo before he gets angry," he mentions in a noticeable sarcastic way.

Immediately wary, Tracy stops reaching for the phone, "I'm sure he's wanting to tell me about his trip. It can wait until we get back to the dorms. Clarke is on his way to Montana to visit his best friend. They've been BFFs since forever, and Hector had to move in with his aunt and uncle after his parents were deported."

"Clarke? Hector? Deportation? Whoa, hot pants, slow the Hell down. You know, if you tell us the whole story. Who are Clarke and Hector, why was his family deported, and where? Why is your beau in Montana?" Amelia asks, talking a thousand miles a minute. "Well? Spill the damn beans, or in your case, cow shit."

All three actors-in-training crack. Tracy backs her story up by discussing growing up with Clarke and the long secretive mutual attraction. The story about their past has Amelia feeling her heart flutter while Jarvis wants to gag.

"Oh, God! You two are like such two love doves with a story to write a play about. Let me tell you something, and don't get mad. These sessions aren't just for learning our craft. One of the best aspects of this 'retreat' is to hook up and make connections. Take me and Jarvis. We've shared plenty of nights together. You come, learn, hook up, make connections, be promiscuous, then go home, and everything goes back to normal while your agent and coach help you land a spot for your first tour." Amelia explains, moving her hands as part of her show.

Instantly, Tracy feels a knot tie in the pit of her stomach, "I can't cheat. I know I shouldn't know, but my dad cheats on my mom all the time. Clarke's a wonderful guy. I can't do that to him."

"Hey, hey, hey! No one said you had to do anything you aren't comfy to do. Sadly, it's how the business end works. You give and take if you're willing to get some of the best leads or spots. Look at Jarvis; he's going to England. I'm going to LA. Where do you want to be? If it's here on Broadway, then you're going to really have to sacrifice. The bigger the sacrifice, the further you'll go." Amelia says with small tears forming in her eyes.

Jarvis chimes in to explain the way things were explained to him.

"Yeah, if you're not cool to go the easy way, you can go the start-up way. Spend years grinding away as an extra. Maybe you can start as an understudy, wasting years praying to get that elusive shot at glory, or" he stops to ensure he has Tracy's undivided attention, "suck it up, take one for yourself to make hundreds of thousands of dollars per year. From here, you can skyrocket to making millions as an actor in major motion pictures. None of us like how this business runs, but it's how it works. You only need to ask if you can live with the decision to pull the trigger to be a success or end up being a 'never was' in the face of fame."

Everything quickly settles deep in Tracy's soul. A spine-tingling sensation shimmers her to the point where she shakes in the faded green, red, and white booth.

"So, who would I be having to sleep with? I want a successful career, but if it means sleeping with some creepy old wrinkly guy or some fat and puggy smelly guy. I mean, if it's only guys like Jarvis, then maybe," Tracy halts, dipping her head, "I've only been with Clarke. So, I'm not exactly experienced with a lot or with anyone of another race," she stops again when she hears what she said, "But, it's not like I have something against sleeping with a black guy or anyone else. I just, you know, only been with my guy, my Clarke."

Amelia and Jarvis sit there, staring at Tracy. It takes a couple minutes before either of them attempt to answer. While she waits, Tracy munches on the pizza, savoring the first bites.

Finally clearing his throat, Jarvis tells Tracy, "I wish I could answer that. However, if you're not opposed to having some fun later, I'd be down to show you what I can offer to make your body quiver. I think you're hot as Hell. I look at you and see someone willing to do what it takes to escape your small town, no matter the costs."

As Tracy shifts in the booth, her phone continues to ding. When she takes the phone from her pocket, the rude and impatient messages from Clarke, wondering why she's not replying while he has a moment to rest from the road, set her off, "That son of a bitch! He's got some nerve demanding that I text back when he insists. Like, how does he know I'm not busy with registration or getting settled in before I text or call him back, but I ain't doing shit while he has that kind of attitude."

"That's your business. Handle it the best you feel is best," Amelia says between bites.

Frustrated, Tracy shoves the phone into her back pocket, ignoring every call and message. The dodging puts Clarke in a worse mood as he approaches Montana. The distance between them continues to be fueled with angst.

"Tracy! I've called you about two dozen times already. Pick up the hot damn phone! What are you doing ignoring me? For fucks sake, answer your phone or call me back! GOODBYE!" Clarke screams, leaving another voicemail.

Listening to how harsh Clarke sounds, Tracy's mood goes from bad to worse. How she feels pushes her body to the point she's no longer hungry. Without saying a word, Tracy dumps her food in the garbage and storms out of the restaurant. Amelia and Jarvis rush to finish and catch up through the crowded sidewalk about a block from the dorms.

"Hey, chick, slow down!" Amelia shouts, shoving her up the sidewalk.

"When I get back to our room, I am calling him back. Mr. Clarke Harbor is going to get a piece of my mind! Oh, the nerve he has to swear at me and demand that I call him back like he owns me." Tracy screams, feeling her face become flush.

It doesn't take her long to reach the dorm room, where she takes her phone, returning Clarke's call.

"About time you got off your ass to call me back." He says, answering the phone.

Tracy doesn't waste time, "About time? About time? You've blown up my phone! I was out trying to enjoy something to eat with my roommate and her friend. Since I've got here, I've been insulted, harassed, ridiculed, mocked, and been shoved around like I'm a piece of trash on the street. You're the one person who isn't allowed to be mean or rude to me, but yet you demand me to call you back like you own my ass! That takes a helluva lotta nerve, you smug bastard!"

Caught off guard for a second, Clarke stares out the windshield to focus on traffic, "Oh, I'm a smug bastard, am I? Well, fuck off, you holty-tolty spoiled little brat. You know you promised back home to stay in touch while I drove to Montana. I get you can't have your phone while you flew, but dammit, I'm trying to stay motivated. All I could think about was how you're not even gone two days, and here you are ignoring me like I don't matter."

"Right now, you're right about something. You don't matter! I can't believe of all people to be mean to me right now; you're at the top of the list. Here's a thought, how about you don't fucking call or text me until you've cooled down. Go get smashed with Hector and take a goddamn chill pill. Goodbye, for now, dickhead!" Tracy yells, hanging up her phone with tears flowing down her cheeks.

Amelia stands there, listening to it, remembering how she felt the first time she had a similar argument with her ex-boyfriend. Unlike Clarke, Amelia's ex didn't support her dream at all, mocking her the entire time until the day she left and dumped her through text message. She's brought back to the dorm room when Tracy makes her way past her to run to the showers.

"Excuse me. I need to be alone for a bit."

Refusing to let Tracy feel the way she did, Amelia follows Tracy to the shower, where she stands there silently while Tracy locks herself in a stall, using toilet paper to wipe the tears and smeared makeup from her eyes.

After about fifteen minutes, Tracy unlocks the stall door. She's shocked to see Amelia standing there, "I wanted to be alone. Please, let me deal with this on my own."

Immediately shaking her head, Amelia extends her hand, "Not a chance, chickadee! I've been there, so I know how bad it sucks and hurts. Come on, the guys on the seventh floor throw a welcome bash. Let's get some alcohol in us, then cut a rug on the dance floor."

Hesitant for a second, Tracy thinks it over, "Can I at least go check my messages before we go? Maybe I was wrong. I just need to apologize. It's our first big fight. I don't want Clarke thinking that I hate him."

"Nah. Let's go so that way there are fewer regrets. Come on, love, the first shot of tequila is on me." Amelia jokingly says, knowing the contraband liquor is free.

Tracy takes Amelia's hand as they reach the seventh floor. The music can be heard from the bottom of the sixth floor. Amelia takes it upon herself to start slightly dancing in the elevator, "Oh! This is my jam! Let's kick it, girl!"

Feeling the beat, Tracy starts to barely wiggle her hips. By the time the elevator dings and the stainless steel doors slide open, the two girls start dancing more and more the closer they get to the crowd at the rear end of the hall.

Jarvis sees them coming and picks up a round of jello shots, "Hello, ladies." He says over the music with an intense glare in his eyes, "It's time to get this party going hotter than ever! Down the hatch!"

With the shot in her hand, Tracy downs the strawberry-flavored infused vodka with a smile. As the alcohol settles in her semi-full stomach, a wave of realization crashes over her.

"Time to let my hair down. I'm in New York, living 'MY' dream. To Hell with Texas and to Hell with always being the 'good girl' that everyone knows."

"HELL YEAH!" Jarvis shouts before he selects another round of shots from the community liquor table.

As the evening turns into late night, the party slowly breaks apart. Tracy gets sloshed from various shots and dances until she can't remain on her feet. Jarvis and Amelia help her back to the dorm room, where she sleeps off the effects.