The Rise and Fall of a Theater Geek

by Seth Rudetsky

  The application was super simple, so I did Becky a favor and filled it out for her. That night I called Becky with the good news. At first she was annoyed I didn’t ask her before I called GlitZ and even more so when I told her I did the application without telling her, but I quickly said “sorry” and launched into details. She went from cranky to psyched when I told her what was (probably) in store for her. World-famous photographers, discounts at top designer stores, business lunches at fancy restaurants, et cetera.

  After we said goodbye, I decided to research GlitZ a little more so I could tell Becky what department was most likely to snag her a future boyfriend. I was hoping there’d be a “blond male models with high IQs who love Wicked” department, which would be perfect for both of us. Unfortunately, I didn’t find out much about their separate departments. Annoying. I did, however, find a few postings on various websites talking about how GlitZ “saves bundles of cash” by using “slaves” to do free grunt work all the time and warning people to stay away because it’s a “living nightmare.” But on the GlitZ website the internship testimonials were all glowing. Various interns wrote that it was “So much fun!” and how wonderful it was to work for a “top modeling agency that treats everyone like a superstar.” That negative stuff sounded to me like sour grapes and it didn’t even make sense. GlitZ doesn’t need to save bundles of cash; they’re one of the biggest modeling agencies in the world. And how can anyone feel like a slave when they’re surrounded by gorgeous models? Living nightmare? More like a living dream! Soon, everything fell into place. Becky even got herself a great place to stay. Her older cousin Melissa is a medical resident (everyone in Becky’s family is a doctor) and told Becky she could crash at her place. Melissa’s apartment is right near GlitZ, so Becky wouldn’t even have to pay subway fare.

  Everything was fine until Becky’s dad learned that Melissa has the graveyard shift at Mount Sinai Hospital and she’s out of the apartment every night from 9:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. He didn’t want Becky sleeping in a New York City apartment all by herself, so he told her she had to cancel the internship.

  “Why do your parents need to spend time with you if you’ll be home for JobSkill?”

  “Because,” she said with one of her smiles that make you feel warm all over, “I’m going to New York City!”

  AH!!!

  I screamed and ran over to hug her. Her father must have changed his mind. This was perfect! Her cousin’s apartment was right near where I was staying.

  Yes!

  Becky and I would be two single(ish) teens hanging out in the big city!

  “When did this all happen?” I asked.

  “Last week!” she squealed. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “How did you convince your dad to let you stay in the apartment alone?”

  “I didn’t,” she said.

  Huh?

  Then I figured it out. “Did your cousin finally get normal hours?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m going to have a roommate.”

  Aha. That made sense. Becky’s so popular, I’m sure she was finally able to convince one of the cool kids to change their internships and stay with her.

  “Who?” I asked, thinking it was a toss-up between Savannah Lichtenstein and Julianne Taylor.

  I was wrong.

  “Hey, roomie!” Becky said as she ran over to Spencer and hugged him.

  What the—?

  Spencer was going to be in New York!

  Oh no! I had hoped that his being on Long Island and my being in Manhattan would save me from having to officially ask for a break(ish)-up. Now I will have to go through the conversation of asking for an official separation. Thanks, Becky!

  But wait. Something else was bothering me.

  “I don’t get it,” I said to Spencer as we all sat at the table. “What happened to the whole ‘I committed to Greenpeace’?”

  Becky answered. “I told him that he didn’t need to treat everything as set in stone.”

  Spencer shrugged. “She was right.”

  “I always believe there’s room for flexibility,” Becky added firmly.

  Argh! That’s exactly what I said to Spencer at lunch a few weeks ago, but his only reaction was to take a sip of soymilk.

  That always seems to happen lately. For instance, I told Spencer a month ago that he had to watch this new reality show (Double Divorcées about women who divorced the same husband twice) because it’s so incredibly stupid. I even told him that I programmed his DVR to tape it for him when I was at his house. He shook his head and said he wouldn’t have time to watch it. Fine. But then at lunch a few days later, Becky started telling him how stupid the show was. I got up to get some more veggie hot dogs and when I came back, he was hunched over an iPad, sharing headphones with Becky and watching that stupid show!

  What nerve! I said it was stupid first!

  Becky snapped me out of my irritating memory. “I knew my dad would let me come to New York if Spencer stayed with me.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Spencer is the most reliable kid in school. He’s at every school event doing the things no other kid wants to do. He’s been the head of the cleanup committee for the bake sale and the car wash, the curtain puller for the school musical, and the so-called explosion preventer at the school science fair, which involved hauling around an industrial-strength fire extinguisher and wearing a hazmat suit.

  Spencer scooped out a sensible-sized portion of tofu curry stew for himself. “After Becky convinced me, I called Greenpeace and asked them if I could do volunteer work this summer instead.”

  Hmph. If I had suggested that, he would have done his typical soymilk sip/ignore me routine. I scooped out a sensible-sized portion of the stew for myself. And then another. “So where are you going to intern in New York?” I asked Spencer, annoyed. “The Human Rights Campaign Fund? Save the Whales? More Math in Our Schools?”

  “I’ll answer that,” Becky said proudly. “I got him an internship!”

  “You did?” I asked, confused.

  “That’s right,” she said while squeezing lemon into her water. “He’ll be with me at GlitZ.”

  WHAT!

  I was speechless.

  I didn’t know what I was feeling. It felt like jealousy. But why would I feel jealous? Because I introduced Becky to Spencer and now it seems they have a friendship completely separate from me? Because the two of them were going to spend every day of their internship together? Because Spencer was going to spend two whole weeks immersed in the glamorous world of male models?

  No, I decided, there was no need for jealousy. This whole situation was actually a positive thing. I’m glad they’ve become so close. It shows what good taste I have in friends. And I’m glad Spencer will have tons of cute boys around him. Maybe this will get his mind off the heartbreak he’ll feel when I tell him we need to break(ish) up.

  But it still didn’t make sense. Where’s the nonprofit part of GlitZ?

  “GlitZ has a ‘save the environment’ category of modeling?” I asked.

  “No, silly,” Becky said. “Spencer isn’t just an activist. He likes other things as well.”

  GlitZ has a yoga department?

  “I got him an internship in the accounting department.”

  Accounting? Only Spencer could find a way to make a modeling agency boring.

  Spencer high-fived Becky. “Numbers all day long!” he said as my eyelids drooped. Wow. I’m glad I drank some coffee before I came over.

  Hmm…I had always fantasized about spending JobSkill in the city with my friends and it would be like a preview to our lives after college. Then I was forced to come to grips with the fact that I’d spend those days without the two people closest to me. Now they’re both going to be living right near me…and I’m not sure how excited I am. It’s weird how things change. In September, since there’s no fall play and therefore no afternoon rehearsal, I had been able to go with Spencer to all of his after-school activities. I would sit on the s
ide and do my homework during math team or yoga and then I’d walk Spencer home. After I dropped him off, we’d chat on the phone till I got to my house. And we’d always have a nice long conversation before we went to sleep. But recently I’ve been thinking about all the possible boyfriends out there I could have if I weren’t dating Spencer. I mean, even if you love vanilla ice cream, don’t you get sick of it after a while if it’s all you ever eat? And Spencer’s not even so much fun to be around these days. Lately I feel like he’s always vaguely complaining about things I do. Furthermore, even though he and Becky think I don’t notice, they sometimes roll their eyes to each other after I say something. And last week, during our nightly chat, he cut me off in the middle of a story—before I even got to the good part—claiming he had to go to bed. All these things are getting on my nerves, and I know it’s time to take a small break from him. During our time apart, he’ll realize how amazing I am and get his act together. And I’ll be refreshed after a quick winter fling with a city boy or two (three, maximum) and come back to school ready to reenter the relationship.

  As I was briefly fantasizing about what kind of boy I’d date in the big city, Becky got up from the table and put on her coat. “Spencer,” she said, “my dad’ll come at eight a.m. Monday, but if we’re running late, I’ll call your cell.” And with that, she gave us both a quick kiss and left.

  Hmph. Her dad’s driving them? I’m stuck taking the Long Island Rail Road to New York.

  “Justin,” Spencer said as he washed dishes and I dried, “let’s talk before Monopoly.”

  Good ol’ Spencer. He can always read my mind. He somehow knows I need a break and wants to save me the awkwardness of telling him.

  “I agree,” I said.

  I took a deep breath but he held up his hand. “I know you probably want to start, but I’d like to say what I have to say first.”

  Sweet! He wants to make sure we can still hang out in New York even if we aren’t “officially” dating.

  “OK, Spencer,” I said, deciding on three nights, max.

  “Justin, I think we should break up.”

  What?!?!?!?

  Hello from fabulous New York City!

  I know I seem too happy for someone who was just dumped, but the shock of Spencer’s nerve is much easier for me to take while I’m surrounded by the greatest city in the world. On Saturday I went home and thought through what Spencer said. The first mind-boggling thing he claimed was that I was trying to change him.

  “I never try to change you!” I yelled after that moronic statement. “That’s why I’m slowly going crazy. I don’t say anything about your weird fascination with math boringness and yoga snoozery!”

  “See!” Spencer said in an I-just-proved-my-point manner. “That’s what I mean. You don’t want me to be who I am.”

  “Yes, I…I do,” I sputtered. “But I’d also like to help you grow!”

  “Grow?” he asked, with an I-completely-don’t-believe-you look.

  “Yes, grow!” I responded. Then, using his own Eastern religion double-talk, I added, “Into your better self!”

  “Ha!” he laughed, a little meanly.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I think you mean you want me to grow into your better self.”

  What was that supposed to mean? I decided to leave before it got worse. After all, I got what I wanted. Maybe a little more than I wanted, an entire breakup instead of a short break(ish)-up, but it’s probably for the best. It’s clear that Spencer and I are just too different to be together.

  We gave each other a light hug goodbye.

  Silence.

  Spencer said, “I hope we can stay friends.”

  “Me too.”

  No, I didn’t. I was actually hoping to avoid him completely and immediately get a new boyfriend who likes the things I like and is interested in what I have to say.

  The good news is, I left his house a day and a half ago and already I feel rejuvenated.

  I took the Long Island Rail Road to Penn Station this morning and then the subway up to Seventy-Ninth Street. My grandma Sally lives on Eightieth Street in a beautiful brownstone. She has a floor-through, which means her apartment has a window in the front living room that overlooks the street, and then you can walk all the way through her apartment and there’s a window in her bedroom that overlooks the backyard. Her guest bedroom has no window, which some people would find too dark and depressing, but I love it because it makes me feel like a real New Yorker.

  I buzzed when I got to my grandma’s place and she opened the door in her usual mood. Crankiness.

  “You’re wearing that?”

  I didn’t even know what the “that” referred to—my coat? Hat? Pants? Shoes?

  Turns out, none of the above. “Take it off!” she barked while moving the straps of my knapsack off my shoulders. “It’s bad for your back.”

  Ironic advice to be getting from a woman who has what is affectionately known as a “dowager’s hump” among polite society or simply a “hunchback” among fans of the Disney film.

  “Hi, Grandma Sally,” I said, and gave her a kiss.

  “Did you eat breakfast yet?” she asked as I carried my suitcase to my room.

  “I’m starving!” I responded, not actually answering the question. I was too embarrassed to admit that less than ninety minutes after eating two bowls of hot cereal at home and twenty minutes after a glazed donut at Penn Station, I was raring for more.

  “I thought so, so I made you a little something.”

  Yay! A “little something” is Jewish for five courses. I went into the kitchen and saw eggs, bagels, cream cheese, muffins, blintzes, and both buttermilk and potato pancakes (with the requisite apple sauce).

  I dug right in. I poured on the maple syrup knowing I’d burn it all off at rehearsal. I didn’t know exactly what I’d be doing for Chase, but I assumed I’d be going over dance steps with him, running scenes, and possibly stepping in for him during some of the run-through if he needed a rest.

  Grandma Sally stood over me. “Are you done?” she asked unpleasantly.

  I couldn’t tell if she meant, “You’re done so soon? You barely ate!” or “Are you finally done? You’ve eaten way more than your share.” The one thing I did know was that her question was overflowing with disapproval.

  I was in the mood for another bagel, but I didn’t want to be late to meet Chase, so I told her I was finished. Naturally, she sighed. I didn’t have time to figure out what new dissatisfaction she came up with, because I had to flatten my hair and floss. Chase was used to hanging out with male models. I couldn’t greet him in his amazing Dakota apartment with a high-rise of hair and veggie cream cheese between my two front teeth.

  I fixed myself up, did a quick Listerine, said bye to Grandma Sally, secretly got my knapsack so she wouldn’t see, and left at 9:40. The Dakota is only eight blocks away from Grandma Sally’s brownstone, so I was able to walk casually and take in my new neighborhood. I loved it! I’ve visited the Upper West Side many times before and had had a few overnights, but because I’m staying for two whole weeks I feel like I really live here. I started nodding to people on the street with the subtext of “Hi, fellow Upper West Sider. I, too, am a resident.” When I got to the corner of Seventy-Seventh Street, the light turned red and I decided to try complaining like a real New Yorker.

  “Ugh!” I said to the well-dressed woman standing next to me. “This light always takes so long!” I looked at her with an Aren’t you sick of it, too? expression, hoping we could commiserate as two long-term Manhattanites.

  She looked confused.

  “The light?” She glanced at the traffic light and then back at me. “It’s been broken and finally got fixed last night.”

  I looked away. She continued. “I guess you just got here this morning.”

  I immediately started crossing the street even though the light was still red.

  “Watch out!” she yelled, but I successfully dodged an oncoming tax
i and any more of her incisive yet sadly revealing comments.

  The morning wasn’t going quite as I expected. I’m fairly numb to Grandma Sally’s crankery, but I didn’t like being spotted as a non-native within minutes. It didn’t really matter, though. I was about to see one of the most exclusive places in New York: the inside of the Dakota! Last week I did a little research and saw that an apartment there was recently on the market for twenty-eight million dollars! I was hoping I could get a few photos of myself by Chase’s living room window with a snowy Central Park behind me. It would make a great Hanukkah card for next year. As I approached the Dakota, I looked up at the beautiful gas lamps that lined the path to the inner courtyard. Instead of having the doorman located inside the building like most apartments, he’s located outside in a kiosk. I approached the uniformed man and smiled.

  “I’m Justin Goldblatt,” I began.

  “Oh yes, Mr. Goldblatt,” he said right away.

  Mr. Goldblatt? I definitely was expected! I waited for him to call up to Chase and tell him I was here. I was hoping the apartment was on a high floor with a great view all the way to the East Side.

  As I was fantasizing about whether it was on the tenth or eleventh floor, the doorman handed me a package that I assumed he wanted me to take up to Chase.

  “Oh, thanks,” I said. “What apartment?”

  “What apartment what?” he responded.

  “What apartment am I going to?” I clarified. Needlessly, I thought.