I took her to some of my favorite places—Chelsea Market, the Tenement Museum, and the Drama Book Shop, which was packed with every play- and theater-related publication you could dream of. My parents and I helped prevent rookie mistakes, like shopping in Times Square or those pop-up Christmas villages (they sold the same stuff back in Shaker Heights and for cheaper). We steered her away from overly crowded attractions, like the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty. Although, Mom and Dad finally caved when Lou suggested we go ice-skating at Rockefeller Center (I’d lived here for twelve years and had never actually been). Of course once we saw how long the line was, we settled for just taking selfies in front of the giant Christmas tree.
The one event on our itinerary that made me anxious was a lunch date I’d set up with two of my Broadway friends. This meeting felt important. After a semester playing the new kid in Lou’s social circle, it was my turn to make the introductions. I prayed my city friends liked my new Ohio sidekick as much as I did.
Connor Gage and Imani Marie Johnson were two of my favorite people in the business. Imani was a Young Nala in The Lion King and a Lavender in Matilda. We had the same agent, Davina Saltzberg, who introduced us back when we first started working. Her hair was a cloud of beautiful ringlets, making it impossible to take your eyes off of her when she was onstage. Connor was the kid I took over for as Michael Banks in Mary Poppins (he had left to go be in Newsies just one block away). At age fourteen he already had four Broadway shows under his belt, and whenever he walked into an audition room, all the parents would sigh, knowing their kid was probably out of a job. He was something of a legend to me.
“Kodama?” Lou squeaked when I announced the spot I’d chosen for lunch. “What about Sardi’s or Ellen’s Stardust Diner? Isn’t that where you Broadway people like to hang out?”
“Lesson number thirteen,” I said, rolling my eyes comically, “if you’re looking for actors, check the sushi and Thai places first.”
We pulled open the door to the warm midtown restaurant, which smelled like cucumber and green tea. My parents had allowed us to meet my friends on our own, which gave them a chance to catch up with some old friends from the neighborhood. I immediately spotted Imani and Connor wedged in a table in the back underneath an autographed West Side Story poster. Their trendy outfits told the world they were definitely not tourists. I locked eyes with them, waving as we squeezed through a labyrinth of shopping bags and puffy coats hanging off the backs of chairs. Just as we arrived at their table, Connor and Imani threw open their menus, whipping them up to shield their faces.
“Gosh, you can’t go anywhere in midtown anymore,” Connor muttered from behind his food-splattered menu.
“And I thought the stage door was bad,” Imani added.
Lou looked over to me nervously, but a split second later a burst of laughter erupted from behind the menus.
“Jacky, long time, no see,” Connor said as he tossed his menu and leaped from the table to throw a bear hug around me.
“We missed you so much,” Imani said, leaning in, giving a quick kiss to my right check and then my left.
“This is my friend that I told you about,” I said, placing a gloved hand on Lou’s shoulder. “Her name is Louisa . . .” I waited for her nickname qualification, but when I looked over, she stood frozen, hugging the straps of her backpack.
“But everyone calls her Lou,” I finished.
“Yes,” Lou piped in quickly. “Everyone calls me Lou, and nice to meet you guys.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Imani said, moving over to her and repeating her double-kiss routine.
We sat down and placed our orders. Lou: the chicken tempura. Me: the deluxe sashimi combo. Our conversation drifted from upcoming jobs (Connor, in a play downtown; Imani, in a music video), to school, to New Year’s plans. It didn’t take long to notice how different it was talking with my New York friends versus my friends back in Shaker Heights. In the four months I’d been gone, my city friends had started acting like adults—ordering seaweed salads and actually using words they’d learned from spelling tests. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t study every gesture and phrase they used.
“So,” Connor said as he folded his hands on the table. “What have you seen this trip?”
“Oh, well, last night we saw Let’s Make a Toast!” I said.
“Hmm,” Imani said, nodding. “What did you think?”
“Omigosh, it was amazing!” Lou replied. “I think Madeleine Zimmer is my new idol.”
“She was perfectly cast,” Connor agreed. “I did feel like she was a little handsy with her acting, though. I kind of wanted her to just stand still and sing.”
I nodded, although I hadn’t really noticed. To be honest, I had been so excited to be back in a Broadway theater, I could hardly begin to think about anyone’s acting technique.
“But don’t get me wrong,” Connor continued, “she’s an actual goddess.”
I looked over to Lou, who smiled politely.
“So what else are you seeing?” he continued.
“We’re going to see Megaphone tonight,” I said.
“Aw, it’s super fun.” Imani smiled. “I’ll be interested to see what you think about the choreography.”
“Yeah,” Connor murmured, rubbing the ends of his chopsticks together, causing tiny particles of wood dust to sprinkle onto his lap. “I have to say, I liked it more off-Broadway. I think it loses the immersive, environmental quality in that big house.”
I nodded meaningfully, hoping it looked like I had any idea what he was talking about.
“Are you going to be able to see Molly Coddle at Threshold Arts?” Imani asked, looking over to Lou.
“No . . . I don’t think so,” she mumbled.
“Oh, you should try and see it if you have time,” Imani pushed on. “It’s playing in their black box space until the end of the month and is a must-see. Also, Forrest Donovan is in it. He is beyond.”
“He’s so cute,” Connor added.
“Oh!” Lou laughed nervously.
While we talked about almost everything, Lou and I were still not in the place where we were comfortable discussing our crushes.
“Well you have to see it,” Imani continued. “That and The Big Apple were my favorite sho—” Her lips froze in an o as everyone’s eyes darted across the table to me. Suddenly the restaurant seemed to fall dead silent. The tinkling of soup spoons and water glasses halted. You could practically hear a chopstick drop.
“Where’s our food?” Connor finally blurted out, twisting his head to the sushi bar, trying to get the attention of the ancient man stacking pink hunks of fish.
“That and The Big Apple were what?” I asked tentatively.
“Um, nothing,” Imani said, fiddling with the row of skinny bracelets on her wrist. “I mean, it was . . . cute.”
“Yeah,” Connor said, slowly turning back to us. “Really nice . . . sets, I guess. The way they do the subway effect is kind of . . . neat.” They both shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. “To be honest, they could have done without an intermission,” he began to ramble. “The second act was ten to fifteen minutes too long, if you ask me, and the—”
“Guys, it’s okay,” I said, cutting him off. “You’re allowed to like The Big Apple. In fact,” I said, straightening my back, “I’m totally over the whole thing. I hope everyone thinks it’s amazing.”
I tried to sound as confident as Imani and Connor. I don’t think anyone believed me.
“Speaking of amazing,” Imani said, hurrying to change the subject. “How was Into The Woods? Those pictures you texted us were adorable.”
I looked over at Lou. With all this talk of edgy new theater, our little musical seemed rather small.
“It was great,” she said tentatively.
I knew Lou was probably thinking the same thing as m
e.
“I’m so jealous,” Imani said to Lou. “Little Red is my number one dream role.”
“How was your Witch?” Connor snorted. “That’s my number one dream role.”
“Such a diva,” I replied. “You’d love her.”
“Well, you guys would have been really proud,” Lou chimed in. “Jack was pretty incredible.”
Connor and Imani both tilted their heads and made little “awww” sounds.
“And, Connor, you would have totally approved,” Lou said smartly. “There was a real . . . stillness to his work. Definitely not hands-y at all.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed as I bit the inside of my cheek. He was unreadable for a moment, but then a smirk began to form on his face.
“Ohhh, toss, toss,” Connor said, flipping imaginary hair off his shoulders like Glinda in Wicked.
We all burst out laughing.
“I like this one,” he said, pointing a chopstick at Lou. “You sure you don’t want to stay in New York? I collect sassy friends.”
After every sip of tea had been slurped and every grain of rice devoured, we bundled up and clenched our teeth, stepping back into the polar chill of midtown. We trudged down the block to Schmackary’s Cookies, where that week Broadway actors had swapped roles with the waitstaff to raise money for charity. Today the cast of Aladdin was serving up sweet treats. We snapped a few pictures, dropped some dollars in their bucket, and scooted up to a table. The smell of sugar cookies and peanut butter brownies wafted through the air as we sat giggling, Lou and Connor trading wisecracks.
“I’d order the red velvet,” Lou whined in a cockney accent (her best attempt at Mrs. Lovett from Sweeney Todd), “but I fear they might be . . . crummy.”
“Let’s be honest,” Connor said with a chuckle, dipping his Schmacker-doodle into a glass of milk, “this is the only time you’ll catch me dunking.”
I laughed out loud, watching my two worlds collide in such a delicious way.
“So what’s next for you?” Imani leaned in as Connor and Lou continued their pun game. “Any projects coming up in the new year?”
Projects, I thought, committing the word to memory. That did sound way more sophisticated than shows.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, blowing into my hot chocolate. “Our school is doing Guys and Dolls, but to be honest, it might be kind of stupid.”
Hearing the words Guys and Dolls, Lou halted her conversation.
“Well, not stupid,” I backtracked. “It’s just our director, Mrs. Wagner, is kind of lame. Last semester she spent more time talking about her upcoming ski trip than she did rehearsing our holiday concert.”
“I thought you loved Guys and Dolls,” Lou said somewhat accusingly.
“No, I mean, it’s a classic,” I said, shrugging. “I just feel like every theater in America does that show. It’s kind of old-timey, you know?” Connor and Imani nodded in agreement. “I just wish it was a little more . . . trendy.”
“Maybe you could all play your own instruments,” Connor said deadpan. “Or have the guys play the dolls and the dolls play the guys.”
Imani rolled her eyes. “Let’s talk about casting. Jack, who would you want to play? Nathan Detroit or Sky Masterson?”
“Are you kidding?” Connor snorted. “Could you imagine our little Jacky crooning and being all serious? He’s obviously a Nathan.”
While I happened to agree, was it that obvious that I wasn’t “leading man” material?
“Well, what about you?” Imani said, looking over at Lou. “Who are you auditioning for? Adelaide or Sarah Brown?”
“Oh, definitely Adelaide,” Lou said. “She’s, like, in the top three best roles for girls in musical theater.”
Lou was right. She’d be the perfect Adelaide. Not only would she get a ton of laugh lines but she’d also get to belt the big Act 1 showstopper.
Back on the street we said our good-byes. Imani had a jazz-funk class to catch at Broadway Dance Center just up the block, and Connor had dinner at his stepdad’s on the Upper East Side.
“It was so nice seeing you,” we said through scarf-muffled hugs.
“Enjoy Shaker Heights!” Imani exclaimed.
“Right,” I groaned. “We’ll try.”
“I’m serious,” Imani said, giving my shoulder a little punch. “Not gonna lie, I’m a little bit jealous. I miss my old house in Michigan.”
“Yeah, you guys are so lucky,” Connor huffed, “I bet it looks gorge in Ohio around the holidays. When it snows here, it goes from White Christmas to Les Miz in like five minutes.”
Lou and I waved good-bye, smiling as we watched our friends walk down the salt-sprinkled pavement. I inhaled deeply, taking in the cold December air and smells of cinnamon sugar nut cart vendors. As we began our walk to the C train, a sense of relief washed over me. My friend mixer had been a success. Looking around the bustling streets, a warm feeling began to grow in my chest. While the noisy and crowded sidewalks were something real New Yorkers always complained about, where else in the world could you see anything like it? Watching Lou gawk at every horse-drawn carriage and street cartoonist reminded me how lucky I was to grow up in a place like this. One day we’ll live here for good, I thought, even if it feels like a million calendars away.
As the light changed I opened my mouth to speak but was stopped dead in my tracks. Walking up the subway stairs across the street, chatting with his mom, was the last person on earth I wanted to see: the person who made that warm feeling in my chest turn cold; the person who made me unable to feel anything but overwhelming jealousy. It was Corey Taylor, the kid who replaced me in The Big Apple.
-LOUISA-
I was replaying our afternoon with Jack’s friends in my head as we approached the corner of 44th Street and Eighth Avenue—Connor’s sassy humor, Imani’s smarts and style, and the way I went from feeling totally intimidated by them at first to feeling like we’d been lifelong friends by the time we got to Schmackary’s—when Jack suddenly stopped short, causing a young woman to bump into us.
“Ugh, excuse me,” she muttered, shimmying past us in her black yoga pants and puffy coat.
Jack was so fixated on something across the street that I stopped thinking about his super-cool theater friends and grabbed his elbow to steer him toward the curb, away from the middle of the sidewalk.
“Jack,” I said, “what are you looking at?”
I followed his gaze across 44th Street toward the subway entrance. A young boy and a woman who looked like his mother were waiting for the light to change, meaning that in just a few moments they would be on our side of the street.
Jack spoke out of the corner of his mouth, keeping his eyes on the mother-son pair.
“That’s Corey Taylor,” he said quietly, his jaw tensing. “That’s the kid who took over my part in The Big Apple.”
My reaction must have been a little too obvious because Jack pinched my hand and hissed, ”Play it cool, Lou. They see us.”
And sure enough, here they came, both smiling a little too brightly on this overcast December day. I did my best to wear my meeting-new-people face, instead of my you-stole-something-precious-from-my-best-friend face.
“Well, hello there, Jack!” exclaimed Corey’s mom. “What a surprise! We didn’t know you were in town!”
Why would you? I thought, looking at the two of them and wondering just how uncomfortable Jack was feeling. You think you’re the first people Jack’s going to call when he plans a visit?
“Well, it was really last-minute,” Jack fibbed, smiling politely. “My parents’ friends suggested we come for New Year’s and stay in their apartment since they’re in Puerto Rico.”
“Cool!” chirped Corey, nodding vigorously. While I remembered Jack telling me at one point that the kid who replaced him was ten years old, in person he looked even younger—like eight. He had that
scrubbed look of a kid in a Toaster Strudel commercial—big, round eyes, perfect haircut, rosy cheeks. The way he said “Cool!” made me think he’d said it on camera (perhaps in a Toaster Strudel commercial).
My inspection of Corey was interrupted by his mom’s hand jutting toward me.
“Hi, I’m Carol Taylor, and this is my son Corey.”
She had this bizarre way of emphasizing certain words.
“Hi,” I said, shaking Carol’s hand and nodding toward Corey, who gave me a little wave, “I’m Louisa, but everybody calls me Lou.” For some reason I was okay telling her my nickname. Maybe because she didn’t intimidate me at all; I think she annoyed me.
“So nice to meet you,” said Carol. “Are you visiting as well?”
“Yeah, I live in Shaker Heights, too,” I said. “Jack and I go to the same school.”
I looked over at Jack, who was now biting the inside of his lip.
“Cool!” Corey chirped again.
“How nice that you both get to be in New York at this time of year,” said Carol. She placed a hand on top of Corey’s head.
“We haven’t had much of a chance to celebrate the holidays, what with this guy’s show schedule.” She tousled his hair, but then immediately smoothed it back into place.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” mumbled Jack, nodding but not really making eye contact with anyone.
“Of course,” Carol answered emphatically, “you know all about Broadway holiday schedules, you old pro, you.”
Jack replied with a tight-lipped smile.
“Will you guys have tomorrow off, at least?” I asked, sensing that Jack wasn’t going to bring much to the conversation.
“No!” Corey howled, rolling his eyes cartoonishly. “Can you believe it? New Year’s Eve and we have to work!”
“But of course we’re grateful, aren’t we, Corey?” Carol added quickly. “We don’t ever want to take the job for granted.”
Act 2 Page 2