by Janette Rallison, Heather B. Moore, Luisa Perkins, Sarah M. Eden, Annette Lyon, Lisa Mangum
Standing several feet back, Dani studied one painting, amazed at how lifelike the ruff looked— she couldn’t make out individual brushstrokes. Hands behind her back so she wouldn’t accidentally touch anything, she stepped closer. But she still wasn’t close enough to see the small details. She took another step closer still. Another.
And that’s when Mark tapped her arm. “Uh, Dani?”
“Yeah?” she said absently, glad to finally be close enough to see the brushstrokes— twelve inches away, perhaps.
Instead of Mark replying, a different, somewhat nasal voice did. “Miss?”
Dani turned to see who was addressing her. A security guard stood there, rocking back and forth from heel to toe. “The cameras just took a picture of you.” He looked both serious and amused. But his meaning didn’t register.
She took a step toward him. “Excuse me?”
He nodded at the Rembrandt. “You were too close. The security cameras took a picture of you in case you damaged the painting. You’d better stay back.”
“Oh.” Dani deliberately took two long strides backward, putting several feet between her and any painting. Any chance of seeing Rembrandt’s individual strokes was gone. “Better?”
The security guard didn’t even answer. He just walked off.
“Didn’t expect that,” Mark whispered with a chuckle. “Had I known I was inviting myself to come along with someone who is practically a felon…” He shook his head.
“Oh, please.” Dani slapped his arm playfully and laughed as she headed to the next painting, another Rembrandt. “Really, how do they expect anyone to appreciate the work if we don’t get to actually look at it? Three feet away is too far; that painting looked just as it did in my humanities textbook in college. But up close— that was seriously cool.”
Mark put his hands in his pockets and stopped by her, admiring the next piece. “I dare you to do it again.”
She looked over and raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, no,” she said, unable to hide a smile. “I have no desire to have my face sent to security or for me to be escorted out for endangering a priceless work of art.” Dani looked away, because eying him was quickly becoming a dangerous act. She could have sworn he got better-looking with each glance. She studied the painting in front of her, even though her mind was now elsewhere.
You can’t let yourself get hung up on some guy you don’t even know, she reminded herself. Not when you’re about to move a thousand miles away.
“But I have no regrets about getting that close— once— if that’s what you’re asking,” she added, holding up her index finger to emphasize her point.
Mark didn’t so much as look at her when he spoke next, but he did lean close and whisper in her ear, giving her a hint of his musky cologne. “I double-dog dare you.”
At his nearness, Dani’s knees threatened to give way, but she wouldn’t let him see that. Wanting to smell him again, she leaned in— slowly, to prolong the moment— and whispered her reply in his ear. “Not. On. Your. Life.”
Their eyes caught, and they both grinned. She sauntered off, and she couldn’t help feeling a bit of a thrill when he grinned and followed behind. After a few more rooms, they reached a corridor that marked the end of this particular wing.
They headed down a staircase, with Mark ahead of her. At the bottom of the wooden steps, he paused and looked back. “Time for hot dogs?” he asked. “Or do you want to go see some Egyptian mummies or maybe the Ancient Near Eastern Art? African? The Costume Institute?”
“I thought you didn’t know much about the museum,” Dani said, raising one eyebrow. Under normal circumstances, she would have preferred to stay in the museum all day, but she found herself saying yes to lunch— and meaning it. “A hot dog sounds perfect about now,” she said, even though she’d already had half a dozen in the last week.
They walked down Fifth Avenue, chatting about the museum and how they really should have gone before, although truth be told, Mark was rather glad that his first introduction to the MMA was with Dani.
Approaching a good-looking, unknown woman had never been part of Mark’s MO. For that matter, he’d never done it until today. But today, he’d needed a break from everything. As of this morning, he’d had another flop of an audition, racked up with all the others he’d thought had gone so well but had still yielded rejections.
So he’d tucked his oboe case into his backpack then headed to the park. His original intention was to get away from the City, and the park was about the best he could do without actually leaving the island. He missed his family’s house back in Cold Spring, with its aging shade trees, green bushes, and flowers in a thousand varieties and colors. They’d be in their prime about now, mid-June: after budding and blooming but before the weather got too hot.
Dani talked about her home in Illinois, a town much different from one he’d ever lived in, surely. He couldn’t quite imagine what living in the Midwest would be like, with its rolling plains and cornfields.
“I’m glad I came to New York,” she said. “But I do miss home.”
Mark found himself nodding. “I totally get that.”
He missed home too, in a lot of ways. He didn’t want to go back, though, not until he had something to show for his efforts. This morning, he’d failed again. He’d come to the park— and then to the museum— to shake off the voice of his father, which always set up shop and lived in his head, whispering about how he’d failed again and always would be a loser.
Oboe performance? Really, son? That’s ridiculous. Don’t go studying music and then, when you can’t support yourself, come limping home, expecting to stay in your old room.
His father had a point in some ways, Mark supposed. Had he picked one of the STEM majors, he could have been making money at some big technology company or something by now instead of serving tables, eking out a living, barely able to pay rent, always hoping that the next audition was the one. He managed to make ends meet by playing freelance gigs like weddings and corporate parties, sometimes on the piccolo or bassoon— instruments he could play that weren’t as common.
He’d walked past several groups of children at various statues, and as they’d played tag around the figures in the Alice in Wonderland statue, he’d noticed the magic in their eyes that always seemed accompany children’s play.
Just as Mark’s doubts had come to a crescendo, he’d left the park and reached the sidewalk. Instead of hailing a cab as intended, he’d spotted Dani at the base of the stairs. She’d stood there, looking up at the museum as if it held some last scrap of hope for her. That expression was exactly how he felt.
And it was also why he suddenly found himself walking up to her and acting so entirely out of his comfort zone. If she brushed him off, so be it; he’d go inside and visit the museum alone. If he got to meet that beautiful woman on top of it all, so much the better.
The worst that could happen was being rejected, right? And that had already happened today. So he’d gone over and found himself talking to a perfect stranger— and connecting with her so completely in almost no time at all. The beautiful woman had turned out to be intelligent and witty and fun and so much more.
Now, as they walked down the street, he couldn’t believe that two hours before, they’d never laid eyes on each other.
He glanced down, where her arms swayed with each step. Their hands were so close that they might as well be touching. He could slip his hand around hers without much trouble… but how would she react?
And why did he suddenly care so much about that?
“We really should go back there someday,” he said, breaking the silence that had consumed them both for the last moment or two.
She nodded but then shrugged. “I doubt I ever will.” Her voice held a tinge of melancholy.
Never go back to the museum now that they’d discovered it? That made no sense. He stopped at the corner to wait for the light to change. “I thought you liked it.”
“Oh, I did. A lot. And I’d lo
ve to see every last piece of art in there. If E. L. Konigsburg’s book is accurate, there’s a whole section with antique furniture.” She smiled dreamily. “I’d like to see it and imagine sleeping in one of those beds like the kids in her book. Did you ever read it?”
“Have I read about Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and her mixed-up files? Of course. In fourth grade, that was my favorite book. I did an oral book report about it,” Mark said. “I heard that the gift shop sells copies of the book. Maybe we’ll make it that far another time.” He left the idea hanging in the air, hoping she’d pick up on it and give him the chance to see her again. Maybe let him buy her a souvenir on their second date to remind her of their sort-of first date. And maybe they’d arrange more dates. Together, they could see the whole museum— and then experience other parts of the city neither had seen yet.
But then the signal changed, and Dani headed across the street without answering. Mark followed, but he wasn’t about to be swayed by her attempt to dodge the topic.
“So, Dani… why won’t you go back?” he asked, catching up to her through the push of the lunch crowd.
They walked down the street again, but she stopped and looked at a store. Mark had been paying so much attention to her and his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed where they were until she’d stopped: FAO Schwarz, the legendary toy store.
She pointed at the glass doors, where a man wearing a toy soldier’s uniform “guarded” the entrance. “Ever been in there?” Her voice wasn’t as strong as before. Something was bothering her, and Mark was determined to find out what.
“A few times, but not recently,” he said. “Let’s go in and walk around. It’s pretty cool.”
“Nah. I’m good, thanks.” She shook her head and kept walking, heading away from the park, toward Madison Avenue.
Maybe she was tired of his company or thought he was a “creeper,” as his roommate Brian’s girlfriend called guys who made her skin crawl. Should he let her walk off alone? Say good-bye?
Not without getting her number. With determination, Mark strode along in step with her. “Let’s get some lunch at that hot dog place I told you about. It’s just a few blocks away,” he said with a southeastward nod. “On me.”
At last Dani slowed from her quick steps to a stroll and then stopped altogether, seeming to consider his offer. “Of course. Sorry. I am starving.”
Mark led the way, and while he was enjoying himself, walking along with a pretty, smart girl, he could sense that her mood had continued to shift. And he was quite sure that it wasn’t only because she needed lunch.
Dani asked for her hot dog to be plain except for a little ketchup. Judging by the vendor’s reaction, one would have thought she’d requested the world to be made flat. He gave Mark an approving nod after he ordered his with the works. Mustard and relish and who knew what else smothering the poor hot dog. Another way she differed from a native.
Lunches in hand, they strolled along the street. Somehow they ended up at the south end of Central Park again. Mark must have planned their path; she hadn’t paid really attention to where they were going. But when she noted a free bench under a shady tree, she was glad they’d backtracked.
She sat down, and Mark joined her on the other side of the bench. She sort of wished he were sitting closer, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she mentally laughed at herself. She hardly knew this guy. But she’d already taken him out of the Ted Bundy category; since leaving the museum, he’d had plenty of opportunities to pull something and had been nothing other than a gentleman. A gentleman she could relate to and laugh with, and who really did know about the best hot dog stand ever. Her dog was so good, she couldn’t help roll her eyes with pleasure, even if it did have only ketchup on it.
They sat and ate in silence for a few minutes, and during that time, she made a point of not looking at him too closely, because that would make her want to get to know him better. Just because she’d taken him out of the stalker-killer category didn’t mean that she would be around long enough for him to be a real prospect. She was leaving New York. In ten days, she would fly back to the Midwest, where she’d do her best to be happy.
She took another bite of her hot dog, studiously keeping her gaze on a squirrel— and away from admiring how well Mark’s chest and shoulders filled out his shirt.
Finished with his food, Mark crunched up his hot dog wrapper in one hand then draped the other arm across the back of the bench. “So why won’t you be going back to the museum with me?”
Dani glanced at him, imagining herself scooting over and sitting in the crook of his arm, which was now so available. Instead, she made a deliberate show of chewing to finish the bite in her mouth as she tried to come up with a way to answer his question that wouldn’t make her look like a silly farm girl, even though she hadn’t grown up on a farm— just near some.
She’d have to tell him about why she’d come in the first place, something she didn’t exactly relish the idea of doing. She swallowed and then grabbed a napkin and wiped some ketchup from the corner of her mouth. When she couldn’t stall any longer, she finally said, “You’ll laugh.”
“No way.” Mark gave a firm shake of his head. “Come on. Tell me.”
For a moment, she bit her lip and actually let herself eye him— but he was smiling back, so she couldn’t take in every inch without being obvious about it. His smile was enough, though— warm and inviting… supportive.
“I’m a walking cliché,” she warned him.
“Hey, I like clichés.” He grinned, showing his teeth, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “As they say, time will tell if the grass is always greener. And it seems that the cat’s got your tongue.”
“What, no ‘there’s no time like the present’ or I’m ‘scared out of my wits’?”
“How about ‘opposites attract’?” He let that cliché sink in for a second before adding a caveat, “Of course, we aren’t exactly opposites, so that cliché stinks.”
She tried to let the implication slip away, to not react to the very real attraction she felt for him and the implied attraction he felt for her, cliché or not.
He leaned forward. “Come on. Tell me.”
Dani crossed her legs to stall then finally said, “Okay, fine.” She took a breath and dove in. “I came here after Christmas and gave myself six months to make it into a Broadway show.”
Yep, total cliché. Cat’s out of the bag and all that. She hurried on to rescue what positive opinion he might have created of her.
“I don’t expect to get a leading role or anything, especially just starting out. But I’ve studied voice and dance for most of my life, and I’m a decent actress, too. I’d be happy with a chorus role and the chance to work up to bigger parts over the years. But here we are, six months later, with nothing to show for it but three jobs I’ve been fired from because I couldn’t get a replacement while I was auditioning. So I’m heading home. My flight is in ten days. And there you go. That’s why I’m not going back to the museum.” She paused, waiting for the expected rolling of the eyes.
But Mark didn’t do any such thing. Instead, he looked genuinely interested. “And?”
Dani couldn’t help but tilt her head in surprise, and a smile threatened to curl the corners of her mouth. “And… isn’t the rest obvious? I never got a part, and I’m out of money.”
She’d known all of that for weeks now, but saying it aloud, hearing herself say the words, made the whole thing real and painful. And pathetic. She looked away, searching for the squirrel, but it must have run off. She shrugged. “Funny how time can go slow and so fast at the same time. When I got here in the winter, six months sounded like an eternity, and some days felt like they’d never end.”
“Especially when you’re working dead-end jobs,” Mark said. He spoke as if he knew.
“What do you mean?” Dani asked, hoping against hope that maybe he didn’t think she was a loser for coming to New York like some backwards hick, with nothing to call her own
but stars in her eyes, a girl who knew more about milking cows than the theater.
I’m not that girl.
“Well,” Mark said. “Let me guess what your last six months have been like.”
Dani folded her arms in challenge. “Go for it.”
“You’ve worked any job you could get to pay rent and to eat. You probably share a small apartment with several other women to cut costs. Auditions and callbacks rarely fit with your work schedule, so you try to get time off, but after doing that a couple of times, your bosses have had to ‘reluctantly’ let you go. So you’re suddenly free for auditions, but broke. And so the cycle continues.”
“Exactly!” Dani said with wonder in her voice. “I’ve been fired three times. I’ve relied on temp work mostly. How did you know? Are you an actor too?” She hadn’t seen him at any auditions, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything; the city had a huge number of theaters, and she hadn’t shown up at that many auditions, thanks to her efforts to not starve or end up homeless.
He seemed to want to hedge, his head tilting back and forth, before he answered. “I’m a musician. I play the oboe. I know all about trying to get the gigs, including auditioning to play for Broadway. Kinda sucks, doesn’t it?” And he took a big bite of hot dog, almost as if he were biting the head off some casting director.
Dani couldn’t help but laugh; she had felt that way more times than she could count. “Then you understand why I’m going home. The six months are over, and it’s past the end of chasing a dream. Time to return to reality.” She brushed her palms together to rid them of crumbs from her bun.
Mark started shaking his head rapidly, but he held up a finger to tell her to wait as he chewed and swallowed. “Six months isn’t enough to test a dream. Obviously I haven’t heard you sing or seen you dance or any of that. But I can recognize the fire when I see it. You’ve had it for a long time, haven’t you?” He said it as if he could tell that she’d dreamed of making it here since she wore pigtails. “You really aren’t past the end of your dream, are you?”