Mom embarrassed me again on Friday morning. She had booked us into the Ardoin Wellness Spa for the weekend, checking in later in the afternoon. It was her way of relieving all the stress from being caught up in a lust triangle with Trent Foster and Annie Flaherty, all on the dime of the producers of “Blues For a Diva,” much to the chagrin of Dan Dantley, the play’s director.

For being allegedly severely stressed, Mom had enough pep to get us up early, have us showered, coiffed, dressed, caffeinated, and ready to take our car service to the Fifth Avenue location of Athletica, New York’s most fashionable purveyor of women’s activewear. Still yawning, she dragged me into the shop, where I went through possibly a good tenth of their merchandise finding the proper size and style for two swimsuits, a set of yoga pants and tops, underwear appropriate to be massaged in, and a smart dress to wear at dinner. Thankfully, only Mom accompanied me into the fitting room stall. For someone who’d only begun wearing girls’ clothing in the last year and, because I was at boarding school for most of that time, purchased all of my clothes from Amazon and Urban Outfitters, it was a scary proposition being in a ladies’ fitting room.

Finally, after much pulling, tugging, and straightening by Mom, we took our load of goods to checkout, where a similar pile had already been placed there…of Mom’s selections for herself.

“How, Mom? You were with me all this time!” I said in disbelief.

“Oh, sweetie, I’d already picked out what I wanted from their online site and gave them my sizes, while you were getting ready this morning,” she smiled proudly. “It’s easy if you know exactly what you want. You’ll find out for yourself as you go along in life.” She squeezed my cheeks. “It’s so wonderful being a woman, dear.”

“What now?” I asked.

“Back to the hotel, where we’re getting all of this properly cleaned—”

“Valet service takes 24 hours, Mom.”

“I persuaded the concierge to have them rush clean our load. It’ll be ready for us after lunch.”

“You’re something, Mom. What would you do if you weren’t a celebrity?”

“Perish the thought, Cherry! Don’t even think it!” She had me carry the bags to the car that had been waiting for us, parked half a block away.

A stunning young woman who looked like a supermodel, escorted us to our room at the spa. She was glibly listing all the activities available to the spa’s patrons, hopefully not all on the same day.

“…massage treatments, saunas, steam rooms, hot tubs, hydrotherapy pools, fitness classes for yoga and Pilates, healthy and delicious meals, guided meditation sessions, and even specialized treatments like facials, body wraps, or even mother-daughter massages!” She giggled. “I envy you two so much, spending a spa weekend together. Mother and daughter! My mother’s no longer with us but I would have paid out of my own pocket to have us share this experience.”

“Well, I’m only here today. Mom’s going to have to experience the rest of the weekend by herself,” I said, shifting the bags I was carrying from one shoulder to the next.

“My daughter’s working on a film project for school,” Mom chimed in.

“You’ll definitely benefit from our guided meditation sessions. It takes place after dinner in the solarium. The evening sky is the perfect backdrop for freeing your mind of troubling thoughts…”

“That’s why we’re here,” Mom declared.

“It’s a hot tub, Mom.”

“Cherry, this is aquatic therapy, not a hot tub. The water is kept at a constant temperature of 91 to 92 degrees.”

“That’s approximately 33 degree Celsius.”

“It’s good to know you’re actually getting an education at that horribly expensive boarding school, dear.”

“I’d prefer going to a public school at home in Calabasas…”

“Cherry, you know with my work schedule, you’d be home alone most of the school year. And you didn’t want to live with Aunt Jane and Uncle Edward in Pomona—”

“To change the subject, Mom, are you coming back to rehearsal on Monday?”

“Of course. I just wanted to let that little bitch know her place and stop trying to move in on my relationship with Trent—”

“I think you should come to your senses and drop Trent like a hot potato. He’s too young and stupid for you.”

“Cherry, I’m your mother. I can have a say in who you’re involved with. This Anders boy sounds nice, by the way. But, as my child, you’re not going to tell me who I can and cannot date.”

“Date? I think it’s gone a lot further than that! It’s so embarrassing!

Mom handed a pair of headphones to me as she started to place her own pair over her ears.

“Cherry, just lie back, close your eyes, and listen to Doris Duncan’s self-confidence mantras. I’ve emailed it to you. Plug in your headphones.”

Reluctantly, I clicked on the mp3 file and Doris Duncan’s voice droned in her sibilant, Brooklyn accent.

• I am confident and able to do anything.
• I am beautiful, created by God and perfect in his eyes.
• I am capable of doing hard things.
• I am gifted with a mind that is flexible and malleable in thinking.
• I am a work in progress and I celebrate my growth rather than obsess over perfection.
• I am one of one.
• I am filled with forgiveness towards those who have hurt me or limited me.
• I am grateful for every breath of life I am given and I am committed to celebrating life.
• I am not discouraged by rejection or set-backs and I embrace them as opportunities for growth.
• I am stress-free and open to the possibilities of life.
• I am smarter than I give myself credit and learning more every day.
• I am not defined by my past, but rather refined by it.
• I am patient and at peace in the season I am in.
• I am relentlessly positive and optimistic about what the future holds.
• I am a light of love and am committed to sharing that love with everyone I can.
• I am a voice of encouragement to those around me – my voice matters.

The second time around, I opened my eyes and looked over at Mom. Her eyes were closed and a broad smile creased her face. She was listening intently and intermittently nodding at Doris’ mantras. Bored, I clicked out of the mantras and decided to listen to some jazz that Alastair had downloaded onto my phone. I think it worked wonders for my mood, better than the mantras.

The bento boxes we had ordered from the Japanese restaurant two blocks over on Lexington Avenue were delivered a little after 1 o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Anders and Charlotte had just dropped by my suite at the Carlyle to hold our meeting about what our film project was going to be. Of course, I had worked up a concept for our little 15–20-minute film short and was in the process of laying it out for my teammates, as we munched on shui mei, shrimp tempura, and California rolls.

“It’s something really unique and, because my mother’s in the play, we have total access to the rehearsals and we can interview all the important people involved in putting it on—”

“Well, it would certainly be different. Sort of a mini-documentary or news magazine feature…” Anders allowed.

“Wow, it would be so cool to do a behind-the-scenes piece. I’ll wager no one else in class can boast having a cast of movie stars and pop stars in their film!” Charlotte enthused.

“Are you sure you’d have the clearance to do it? I mean, sure, your mother’s in it but—” Anders cautioned.

“Eh, we’re…we’re in like Flynn. We could win a prize for it! It could even be entered for an Academy Award for best film short—” I stabbed another shui mei with my fork, taking a large bite of it with bravado.

“So, we check out our equipment after class on Tuesday. We take the subway down to the rehearsal studio and we set up. During the breaks, I can interview…let’s start with my mom…I’ll be off-camera of course. Anders can shoot it and Charlotte can do the lighting—”

“You’re directing, of course,” Anders sighed.

“Well, do you object? Or have a better idea?” I challenged him.

“No. I can see your idea is a good one and it would make our film really stand out among the other ones in our class but we’re not just helping you make this film…we’re all equal partners. No? We should all have input on how we do this. Just saying.” Anders took a sip from his can of Coke.

“Point well taken. Of course, we’re all in this together—”

The doorbell rang at that moment.

“Expecting someone?” Anders asked.

I got up to answer the door. “No. I have no idea who that might be.”

I opened the door to see Trent Foster standing there, a bouquet of pink lilies in his right hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” I spat at him.

“Hi, Cherry. Is your mother home?”

“No. She’s…out…somewhere. I don’t really know where she went.”

“Danny said she might have gone to a spa yesterday. I was hoping she’d be back home today. I, myself, just flew in from L.A. late last night. Did you see me on Jimmy Kilmer Thursday night?”

“No, I was asleep. Look, she’s not here.” I started to close the door on him. He placed his left hand on it. He’s a lot stronger than I am.

“Can I just leave these flowers? Tell your mother when she’s back that it’s a token of apology for whatever misunderstanding I might have caused with…uh…you know what I mean. I’ll put them in a vase myself. Just show me to the kitchen.” Without waiting for my reply, he stepped inside.

“Oh, wow! Trent Foster!” Charlotte shrieked.

“Hello. Who are your little friends, Cherry?”

“Trent Foster. My film classmates Charlotte and Anders.”

Trent nodded to them and, as I pointed to the kitchen, walked out of the room.

“Why is he apologizing to your mom?” Charlotte asked.

“It’s nothing really. I should be the one apologizing for his interrupting our meeting.”

“Do you think he’d mind taking a selfie?” She looked at me and Anders in turn.

“Charlotte…really?” The doorbell rang.

“What is this? A party?” laughed Anders.

I opened the door and saw David Wetherell holding a bouquet of white roses in his right hand.

“David? Come in.” I backed away as he stepped inside.

“I was hoping your mother would be home. Is she?”

“No, she’s…out. Somewhere.”

“These are for her,” handing the bouquet to me. “Please put them in a vase, Cherry. You look lovely today, by the way. Your face has an extra shine to it.” He nodded to Anders and Charlotte. “Sorry to disturb you. I see you have friends visiting.”

“David Wetherell. Anders and Charlotte, my classmates from the film class I’m taking at Columbia.”

“I’ll definitely need to get some selfies,” Charlotte whispered.

Trent walked in from the kitchen, his lilies arranged in a vase.

“David? What a pleasant surprise.”

“Trent, do you know what you’ve done? Your romantic hi-jinks have imperiled the production. Can’t you keep your pants on while we’re trying to put this play on? Just be professional for once. Stay away from both Annie and Lulu—”

I stood between them, holding David’s bouquet of roses in both my hands, swiveling my head from one to the other.

“David, with all due respect to my elders in the business, you’re the last one to ask others to act professionally.” Trent handed the vase to me so that now both my hands held flowers. Seeing my discomfort, Anders sprung from his seat and took both from my hands. He placed the vase on an end table and went into the kitchen to find another vase for David’s roses.

“Listen, Sunny Jim, I’m just giving you some sage advice. You’re playing with fire. Danny and the producers can find some other teenage idol to warble a few tunes in your place. And probably someone who can actually act.”

Trent brushed David aside as he walked quickly to the door and let himself out.

“I’m sorry but he deserved that,” David said apologetically.

“Boy, everyone’s full of apologies today.”

Anders placed a vase with David’s roses next to Trent’s lilies on the end table and returned to his seat, proceeding to finish the contents of his bento box. Charlotte whipped out her phone and handed it to me.

“Cherry, do me the honors. Mom will really be geeked to see I met David Wetherell.” She turned to David. “She just loves your accent.” They smiled broadly as I snapped the photo. Handing the phone back to Charlotte, she started texting her mother immediately.

“Cherry, how is your mum doing? I do hope she’s getting over this…this kerfuffle. Danny promised me he’d speak to Trent about his behavior.”

“She’s getting de-stressed at a spa right now. Yeah, she’ll be alright. She told me she expects to be back to rehearsal on Monday. Of course, she wouldn’t listen to me about quitting this stupid relationship with Trent.”

“He’s not worthy of your mum. She’s a great lady.”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as we stood there, unsure of what to say next.

Finally, David placed his sunglasses on and brushed my cheek with his hand. “Well, I’ll be going. Be sure to tell your mum I dropped by. And change the water in the vase for my white roses. Don’t do the same for Trent’s lilies.” He laughed and quickly exited.

“Sounds like the play’s in trouble,” Anders ventured.

“Everything will work itself out,” I replied a little uncertainly.

Our team meeting finally broke up around 5 o’clock. Charlotte, who lived with her parents on the Upper West Side, ran out the door to get picked up downstairs by her father. Anders and I looked out the window overlooking East 76th Street to see Charlotte’s dad’s Buick Encore motor its way down Madison Avenue.

As Anders collected his things, readying to leave, I touched his arm.

“Do you have plans for tonight?”

“Nothing special. I’ll probably just see if I can play some Red Dead Redemption II before I flake out. Why?”

“I’ve got two tickets to the Bowery Ballroom to see my friend’s band. The Vandal Savages. Ever hear of them?”

“No, can’t say I’ve heard them.”

“Wanna come? They open the show at 8:30.”

“What kind of music they play?”

“Does it matter? I just thought you’d enjoy my company,” I teased, giggling.

“Stupid me. Of course I’ll come. But, just curious, are they hard rock, metal, folk, country…”

“You know, I really don’t know. I just met Carson 3 days ago at my grandparents’ 4th of July barbecue. But he’s probably very good. Probably?”

“We’ve got three hours to kill before then. What do we do?”

“Maybe get something to eat around that area? You’re the one who lives here…”

“You sprang for lunch so I guess I ought to pick up the tab for dinner. Do you like Indian food?”

“Love it!”

“There’s a pretty decent place near the Ballroom on East 6th and 1st Avenue. We can take the subway down. Takes 45 minutes from here.”

“Let me fix my face. I’ll be five minutes.”

“You look great to me.”

“You’re a sweetheart.”

The security guy at the stage door looked at me suspiciously, as I suppose is his job. He finally let me and Anders through the door after carefully examining my I.D. and checking the list of names on his tablet. We were shown to the dressing room the Vandal Savages were assigned. Anders knocked on the door.

A boy with sandy brown hair and wearing a Where’s Waldo pullover opened the door. Carson and the other two bandmembers were sprawled on couches behind him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Cherry! You made it. Come in. Who’s your friend?” Carson gestured to his bandmates to cede their seats on the couch to Anders and me. Grumbling, they complied.

“Carson, this is Anders. He’s an old friend from high school back in California.” They shook hands. After Carson hugged me, he introduced the other members of his band.

“I’m stoked you’re here, Cherry. I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t stand me up.”

“Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t have missed me.”

“You’re wrong about that, Cherry. He hasn’t stopped talking about you since Thursday,” the sandy-haired boy interjected.

“We kept pleading stop! Stop!” another bandmember joked.

“So, you and Anders are together like?” Carson asked.

“No, we’re both taking this filmmaking class at Columbia,” Anders quickly answered. “We had a kind of distant friendship in high school. I was two years ahead of her.”

Anders’ reply surprised me in its casual denial that there was anything more between us than being geographically together again after being “distant” friends in high school.

“Hey, kids, we gotta go out and set up our equipment. The club is only giving us one guy to help us. And the roadies for The Master Builders just gave us the finger when we asked. One day they’ll be asking our roadies to help them set up.” Carson shook his head. “And we’ll give them the finger!”

---

Anders and I were in the front of the crowd, pinioned between the stage and half of the island’s Generation Z cohort. I could barely lift my arm enough to take a sip from the can of Diet Coke Anders had brought back from the bar in the back of the room. Anders was chugging a bottle of Corona that he’d gotten someone over 21 to buy with his money. Typical college boy trick.

The lights dimmed in the room while the stage lights intensified, spotlighting the four Vandal Savages as they stood at the ready, their instruments prepared to be plucked, strummed or struck. The crowd grew louder in anticipation. An informal emcee slouched onto the stage and perfunctorily announced the name of the band. Cheers and applause greeted Carson as he spoke into his mic.

The Vandal Savages played a 30-minute set and left the stage to a rousing ovation. Before he unstrapped his guitar, Carson bent down to tell me to come backstage. I nodded and Anders served as a blocking lineman to extricate us from the suffocating crowd.

“So, what did you think of Carson’s band?” I asked Anders.

“Not my type of music, honestly. But, the crowd really liked them. Carson had a lot of energy. I think he’s got a future.”

“He wants to go fulltime after graduating from high school. Alastair, my stepdad, advised him not to. The music business is fucking hard—”

“Tell that to Trent Foster,” Anders said with a smirk. “I was watching you more than the band during their set.”

“Yeah, and?” I asked, with a mixture of annoyance and apprehension.

“You like him, don’t you?”

We stepped through the doorway of the dressing room. The boys were slapping each other on the back, laughing and whooping it up.

“Cherry! Did you see? They wanted three encores! We were running out of songs we knew,” Carson exclaimed. He ran over to me and picked me up in his arms. Still holding on to me, he planted a series of wet kisses on my face and lips. Almost unconsciously, I kissed him back. Finally, he put me back down on the ground.

“So, guys, we’re going to drive back to Westport, maybe stop on the way to pick up some burgers or something on the Upper East Side, up your way, Cherry. There’s room in the van for two more…”

Anders, who had stood by with a stricken look on his face, declined the invitation.

“Thanks, Carson, but I’ve had a long day. I’m going to go home and go to bed early. Hey, you guys sound cool. Cherry, I’ll see you Tuesday in class.” He turned quickly and seemed to rush out of the room before I could say anything.

“Well, there’s more room in the van now, I guess,” Carson said, shrugging his shoulders.

Sometimes, I thought to myself, I’m worse than Mom.