The Ivy League

The Ivy League Part 33

[Re-cap]

“Haha!” I yelled at him, “Watcha gonna do now?”

           And with that, I yanked open the storage room door, and screamed at what I saw.

*** 

           I immediately slammed the door shut.

           “What the—?” Nate began, but I whirled around to face him, eyes wide. He moved as if to open the door but I leaped in front of it, denying him entrance.

           “Courtney, wasn’t that—” Nate began, slow recognition dawning on his face which quickly turned to extreme confusion.

           I frowned at him, too. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong. You’ve never met her in your life, so just forget about it, okay?” I asked him, still blocking the door.

           Nate shook his head. “No, I’m sure I just saw—”

           “Courtney?” I heard a muffled voice ask me from within the depths of the storage closet, and I winced.

           “Look, I’ll just see you tomorrow, all right?” I said hurriedly to Nate, and he opened his mouth to protest. “Please,” I added.

           His jaw tightened stubbornly and I got distracted by that. “…at the front entrance, okay?” he was saying.

           “Umm… what?” I asked brightly.

           “I’m not leaving, but I’ll wait for you at the front entrance. You can take care of – um, whoever is in that closet that you don’t want me to see, and then meet me there and I’ll take you home, all right?” he repeated.

           I sighed. “Fine. Give me five minutes.”

           Nate nodded slowly, looking at the door as though still contemplating tearing it down, but then he turned and walked out of the theatre. I watched him leave before whirling around and yanking open the storage room door.

           “Oomph!” A beautiful woman tumbled out of the closet as I suddenly opened the door which she had been leaning against.

           “A little warning might be nice next time,” Leslie Mitchell told me as she got up, wincing.

           “Next time?” I hissed, “What the fudge cake are you doing here early?” I demanded, panicking and furtively looking around to make sure no one was watching us.

           Leslie looked annoyed. “I had to visit family.”

           “Fami—?” I began, but then it hit me: Leslie used to live here in California before she moved to New York, with the Ivy Leaguer whom she had chosen over my uncle. Only she had broken their engagement after two months, when she had found the Leaguer with another woman. My uncle had been right by saying he’d never liked the guy, and that he had been a player. He hadn’t been right about Leslie marrying him; one of Leslie’s friends heard about the engagement, told my uncle, and then left for Mexico, forgetting to tell him about the break up. Leslie hadn’t married since, and neither had my uncle.

           Which is why she was here, at my invitation, so that I could put my elaborate plan into action and get Leslie Mitchell and Isaac Meyers to fall for each other again. Step one would be their first reunion meeting, after fourteen years apart, where they would meet at the annual Christmas Potluck that my uncle hosted at his mansion of a house.