The World According to Susie

Ch 21: Henry Johns Musical Theatre Collective (II)

As we make our way into the backyard, I'm absolutely gagged by the sheer magnitude of people here. For a backyard production? Of... wait. I stop in my tracks, frowning. I don't even know what we're about to see. I turn to Georgia and nudge her arm.

"Uh, what exactly are we watching?" I ask, trying to keep my expression casual.

Georgia, mid-conversation with some guy I've definitely never met, glances at me and adopts her best late-night talk show voice. "Henry John's very own production of the musical Rent!"

I blink. "Never seen it." She laughs, but I'm already tugging her toward an array of food that's as bizarrely fancy as it is mysterious. There's stuff I don't even know how to name—tiny edible pearls, some smoked thing I think might be olives, and a giant fruit platter arranged like a Renaissance painting.

Just then, a random girl hands us a program. "Thank you, Sasha," Georgia says, and I just nod, hoping the girl's name really is Sasha.

I flip open the program, only to be greeted by what looks like the credits to a major Broadway show. "Henry John... producer... director... concept by... Wow, this is legit," I mutter, skimming through it, but then my eyes land on something that gives me pause.

Vivienne Gem.

She's playing... wait, a lawyer? I quickly Google her character, which is, naturally, a powerhouse lesbian attorney. "Of course she is," I mumble, imagining her strutting onto the stage in a sharp, tailored suit and—oh, no. Why am I blushing? Here I am, on a date with the girl I've been obsessed with for over a year, and yet my brain's conjuring this mental slideshow of Vivienne in every sleek, high-fashion outfit imaginable. Her ex-girlfriend, no less!

Georgia raises an eyebrow at me, catching me red-faced. "What's going on in that mind of yours?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all!" I squeak, trying to shake the image from my mind. But the harder I try, the more vivid the image becomes, complete with Vivienne giving an impassioned courtroom monologue as her pink suit jacket glimmers under the stage lights.

As the lights dim, I sit there in total panic mode, trapped in some kind of emotional love triangle between Georgia, my actual crush, and Vivienne, the ghost of crushes past—or, technically, Georgia's ex. And I can't tell if it's the smoke or my nerves, but everything feels surreal and way too intense. Georgia's just inches away, giving me sweet side glances, while I'm doing my best not to pass out from this ridiculous cocktail of confusion and excitement.

This is fine, I think, laughing awkwardly under my breath. I have approximately ninety minutes to get my act together before the real drama begins—both onstage and, apparently, off.

The lights go down, signaling the start of the show, and Georgia suddenly disappears, leaving me alone to ponder how absurdly rich Henry John really is. I spot him in the front row of his own backyard, looking like he's in the front row at the Met Gala. He's got a glass of red wine in one hand, a clipboard-wielding assistant by his side, and he's casually lounging in a chair that literally says Director. His suit is so sharp it could cut glass, his rugged blond hair falls just right, and his eyebrows are practically declaring their own power. How much money does this guy actually have?

Just as I'm about to start counting his hypothetical bank accounts, Georgia reappears with the most dramatic flourish, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a snack plate in the other. She looks at me with a twinkle in her eye and a little smirk. "For us," she says, cool as you please, as though she just emerged from a Bond movie. My soul flies straight out of my body. Could she be any more perfect?