somewhere || George Russell

fifteen

November 20, 2019
New York City, New York

"This was completely amazing," George said as he and Laurel stepped out of the Al Hirschfeld Theatre after watching Moulin Rouge, the last of their activities for today.

Laurel was extremely tired. Rehearsal in the morning, photoshoot for New York Magazine right after that and catch up time with Iray and surprisingly Emilio before the flew to Boston to do whatever they are up to. Then, she met George to visit the National Museum of the American Indian, walk down Wall Street, take a look at 9/11 Memorial and finish on Broadway. Yep, what a day.

"I'm glad you liked it," she sighed and yawned. Too much for a day.

"I would've liked West Side Story to by my first musical, though," he glanced at her and smiled.

"Karen Olivo, the woman who is Satine in Moulin Rouge, played Anita in the 2009 revival of West Side Story," Laurel dropped a fact, out of nowhere. "She is amazing."

"She is," he agreed. "Is she your favorite?"

"Nope," she shook her head. "My favorite is Idina Menzel, the original Elphaba in Wicked."

"I think I've heard about her before," he nodded slowly. "Idina Menzel..."

"She was the voice from Elsa in Frozen," Laurel smiled like a little girl.

"Now I get it," he chuckled. "I know about Elsa, not about Wicked."

"Yeah, I thought so..." Laurel wrinkled her nose, amused.

"But who is your inspiration, like Off-Broadway..." he asked.

Laurel pouted and tried to remember something. "Gloria Estefan." George shook her head, implying that he doesn't know her. "You got to be kidding me."

"I really haven't heard of her," he shrugged.

"She is the greatest exponent of Latin music. A genius."

"I thought the greatest exponent of Latin music was Shakira," he squeezed his eyebrows together.

"No," she yelled and frowned. "Shakira is behind Gloria Estefan. At least in my mind. I don't know about Shakira, but Gloria Estefan has loads of Grammys. She even had a Broadway musical about her own story with Emilio Estefan," she said, under George's watchful eye. He really has no idea of who she is talking about. "My mum and dad are super fans of them. They even named my twin after Emilio Estefan," she chuckled.

"I thought they named him Emilio because he was supposed to be a girl named Emilia..." he raised an eyebrow.

Laurel laughed. "I forgot I told you that. We always say that he was named after Emilio Estefan, you know, for practical purposes," she shrugged. He chuckled and nodded. He should've known in. Practicality above anything else. "But they are amazing."

"They definitely sound like geniuses," he agreed with her. "But no, never heard of them."

"Come on, shake your body, baby do the conga, I know you can't control yourself any longer," she sang and shook her shoulders.

"Never," he softly laughed.

They kept walking down the street, heading finally to the hotel, because Laurel is really longing to lay on her bed and fall dead asleep.

Laurel suddenly stopped. "How do you feel about your last race?"

She felt a little bit guilty for asking about that three days after he arrived in New York, but this is better than nothing.

"I don't know," he said. "I'm excited that I will finally get to have some rest, but also I feel a little bit sad that I'll have to wait until next year to start the season again."

"I have been doing my research," Laurel admitted. "And everybody believes you are a future world champion."

He giggled. "Not on this turtle of a car that I got."

"It wasn't that bad this Sunday."

"You're right," he smiled a little. "The beginning of the season was way worse."

"I think you should seek for progress instead of perfection."

"You are saying that?" he teased. She parted her lips, looking for words to defend herself. "You are like the Queen of Perfection."

"I know," she chuckled. "But when you can't do perfect, progress works."

"How come you are always right?"

"Because I am perfect," she winked.

"I can't discuss that."

The air was cold, and the streets were wet, since it rained while George and Laurel were inside the theatre enjoying the show.

"I am sorry for that awkward question I asked you on Monday," she said and put her hands inside the pockets of her red coat. "I now understand that not everybody is as practical as me, and maybe you want to take this on your own...pace."

George raised his eyebrows. "Look at that, you're using your Formula One vocabulary."

"Yes!" she yelled, amused and proud. "I read a glossary on the website. But I hate to break it to you: pace is a very common word."

George laughed. "Now that you bring that up, I have to admit I watched West Side Story this morning," he said. "And I came to the conclusion that there is only one perfect Maria and that's you."

"You haven't heard me perform," Laurel blushed. "Just that Bon Jovi song."

"Yes, but..." he took her wrist and turned her around so that her face was closer to his, "when you know, you know."

He cupped her face with his hands, looking directly into Laurel's green eyes, like if he was asking for permission for what he wanted to do. She swallowed, knowing that she wanted it too. They could feel that kind of tension when no one dares to do anything, but both know what they want. 

But George was quicker than her and leaned down to be closer to her and connected their lips together, finally. She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him even closer, like if her life depended on holding him even tighter. He placed his hands down on her waist and tightened her small body to his.

Everything just happens eventually.