Main Girl - Short Story

I meet Aly downstairs. 

"Hey girl."

"Hey!" She sounds way too excited to see me. Me. Her main girl from Day One. Why is she so excited? I just saw her yesterday. "Have you seen Momma J today?"

I lay my messenger bag atop a pile of men's boots. "No, thank God."

"What's wrong?"

"Momma's just up to her old shit again."

Aly touches her belly as she crouched to grab a bag of bowties. The crinkling plastic works on my nerves but I zip my lips.

"Don't tell me she asked you--"

"Oh, she asked. I told, months ago, I'd be willing to play stage manager. So what does she do?"

"Hires a stage manager."

"Sure did. She's such a bitch. I swear to God."

Aly drops the bag of bowties. As if her magic fingers--the same ones that patched these jeans I'm wearing, the same ones I paid to handstitch my Jana Solo costume for Electric City Comic-Con--suddenly lost all feeling. Air compresses from the bag as Aly, after bending back down to retrieve it, presses the bag tight against her chest.

She dangles a couple bowties, red and blue, in front of me. "Whatcha think?"

"What am I supposed to think?"

"Think whatever you like." Her voice raises in volume, though her pitch remains cheery. I wanna slap her. I wanna know what's the matter with her. I wanna know what she's withholding from me.

Me.

Her main girl.

Day One.

"I like them both," I tell her.

"Good. Then perhaps Momma J will actually look at them."

We exit the costume shop and head into the main dressing room area. Aly takes a stool while I, messenger bag propped on my shoulder, opt to stand. Leaning over a clipboard, Aly pencils in her hours.

"Okay." She sighs. "Well I'm done here. You have rehearsal tonight?"

I stare at her. She crosses her eyes.

"What?" She punctuates her discomfort with a kitschy smile. The kind that says, "Nothing's wrong with me" when really there is.

"You're hiding something. Either you can tell me here and now or wait until later tonight but you will tell me."

"Keda--"

"Don't 'Keda' me. I know you, girl. Whatever secret you're keeping is eating you alive."

She averts my gaze, staring behind her at the washer and dryer; past me at the ironing board; over toward the dingy one-toilet bathrooms. Anything but me. Anywhere but my eyes.

"Later," she breathes, touching her stomach again.

Like it's aching. Like it won't stop aching.

This damn girl, I think. Not because of her belly or her impending news. But because I hate the damn boy she's screwing.

I'm her main girl from Day One, though. I'll be there--even when he won't.