“Sorry, I’m American through and through. Being here must make you excited about going home.”
“It does, but I hate the idea of leaving you behind.”
She shrugs. “You need time with your family. Plus I’ll be busy back home.” She picks up a lemon petit four, promptly ending that discussion. “How was your meeting?”
“Oh, fine.”
She frowns and starts shredding her napkin into tiny pieces.
“What’s the matter?”
She looks serious and almost nervous. “I know you weren’t at a meeting. Ryan told me you call auditions meetings.”
“That’s true.” I help myself to another biscuit.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“It’s no big deal. It’s just what I do,” I assure her.
“Why would you be auditioning when you’ve got a job?”
I push my plate back. “Well, sometimes I audition for guest spots on television to get my name out there.”
“But that’s not what you’ve been doing is it?”
“I’ve been going for new Broadway musicals that are in development and some movies. Next month, I’ll start auditioning for television pilots.”
“But you’re the lead in an amazing show.”
She loves Crossing Lines almost as much as I do. I reach for my tea and drink. It’s gone cold. “I’m leaving the show the end of January.”
She startles, not expecting that, her mouth opens in shock. “Is the show closing?”
Shaking my head, regretfully I say, “No. It’s time.”
“But you’re so great in it. I don’t understand.”
“My contract will be up, so I had to decide if I wanted to stay or not. It’s best for my career to move on. Lead actors rarely stay with a show more than a year. It gets hard to keep your performance fresh. And for me, this show is incredibly taxing. I have a hairline fracture on my arm, I live in a state of pain from all the stunts, and the vocals are taking a toll on my voice. I need a role that’s a little kinder.”
“What will you do?” She’s genuinely concerned.
I smile gently. “That’s what I’m working on.”
Chelsea sits back considering all that I’ve said. “So what was the audition for today?”
The waitress tops off our water, giving me time to consider my words. “Chelsea, the reason I don’t tell people about auditions is because I don’t like to talk about it.” I see the disappointment on her face. “Call it a superstition or whatever. There’s enough pressure on auditions, having more people aware of them, asking about it, speculating. It’s too much for me. I like to keep it all quiet.”
“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” she says softly.
I reach across the table and take her hand. “I know you wouldn’t, but it’s my system. I don’t even tell my parents until I have an offer.”
The waitress appears again. “All finished?”
Chelsea leans back, releasing my hand. “Yes, thank you.” Her eyes meet mine. “So, you’re really not going to tell me?”
I place my credit card with the check. “I’m not.”
“Oh.” She swallows.
The waitress leaves the check and whisks away our dishes.
“I’ve got to use the ladies room.”
When Chelsea returns, I’ve got the receipt. She’s unusually quiet as we ride the subway. I try to make small talk, but she’s giving me short, quiet answers.
“Chelsea, I can tell you’re upset.”
“It’s fine.” She lies with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
I follow her up the subway stairs to the street. “It’s nothing personal,” I say, deciding it’s about auditions. “This is work, and it’s the best way I can handle it and still keep my sanity.”
“You don’t want to talk about your auditions. I get it. And I’d rather not talk about this any more.” Her hands are deep in her coat pockets, and she looks so sad.
Between the secrecy of my auditions and me going home for the holidays, I don’t blame her for being disappointed. The timing of my trip home is terrible, but then an idea strikes me. “You should come home with me!”
Her head pops up. “What?”
“Yes! You’d love London, and you could meet my family.” Her eyes light with excitement. That’s my girl. “They’ll love you.”
Why didn’t I think of this before? I can keep her with me and give her an introduction to my crazy family.
“Could I even get an airline ticket this close to the holidays?” she asks eagerly.
“There’s always a seat somewhere. We’ll look as soon as we get home.”
“I’ve always wanted to travel abroad. I can’t believe I really get to now.”
Suddenly her face falls. I bet she’s thinking about the cost. “Chelsea, don’t worry about the cost of the flight. I’ve got this.”
“It’s not that. I can pay for it, but I don’t have a passport.”
“Oh.” That is a problem. I calculate the number of days until I leave. It’s a little over a week. “I bet we could get you one of those quickie rushed passports.”
“Really? What would I need?”
“A passport photo, which is easy enough; some forms, which we’ll look into as soon as we get back to my flat. We’ll look into what else it takes.” My mind is working a million miles a minute. I can’t believe I get to bring her home. Mum will be so happy.
Once back we huddle around her laptop scanning the U.S. Passport requirements. There are forms to fill out, she’ll need a photo ID and a birth certificate. “Look here. We can expedite it for a substantial rush fee and get it within a week.”
Chelsea bites at her lip. “I don’t have a birth certificate either. I did once, but it got lost with all my moving around.”
“Well, let’s see if we can rush that too.” Where to begin? “What state were you born in?” We scan through the websites to find the information. The red tape is ridiculous, but it appears we could get the paperwork she needs. The question is the timing.
She places her hand on my arm as I’m about to try another site. “It’s okay, Tom. There’s not enough time.”
“There might be,” I say, not ready to throw in the towel.
“Thank you for trying, but we could go through all of this and if even one thing doesn’t go perfectly, I’d be wasting a very expensive airline ticket.”
I lean back in my chair. She’s right. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of inviting you sooner.”
“But you did invite me, and it’s the sweetest thing that’s ever happened to me. Thank you.”
Later she gathers her laptop and calls goodbye as she slips out the door saying she’s going to a coffee shop to work on her resume. I could kick myself for dropping the ball.
26
The next day I still feel like a loser for not being able to bring her home with me, but she kisses me on her way out the door for a job interview at an investment firm. I’m glad she’s got something to focus on that will bring her back to the city.
I kick my trainers aside, but still can’t find the shoes I’m looking for. Why does this happen every time I have an audition? "Ryan, have you seen my Topsiders?"
"Can't help you, man," Ryan says.
"And where the hell did I put that folder of papers? Dammit."
I rifle through the newspapers and magazines on the coffee table. Ryan's lying on the couch watching Say Yes to the Dress. He pulls the folder off the floor next to the coffee table and hands it to me.
"Thanks. You're a lifesaver."
"Hey, Tom, got a sec." He mutes the telly and sits up.
"Sure, man." I spot my shoes in the corner and slip them on.
He scrubs his hand over his face. "I've decided to head back to Kansas City."
I startle and turn to face him. "What?"
"Yeah. I just heard I didn’t get that ensemble part. It was my last hope, and my uncle’s offered me a job at his fencing company."
"Damn, I'
m sorry, mate." Ryan wanted this so bad and he's worked his ass off, but it just hasn't happened for him.
"I'll keep trying for regional theatre, but I've come to terms I'm not going to make it in New York."
I sigh. This sucks hard. "When are you leaving?"
Ryan hangs his head. "Tomorrow. I can catch a ride with a friend headed home for the holidays."
"That's fast." I hate to see him go. I've had to say goodbye to too many friends who left the business.
"Yeah. Might as well just rip the bandage off. Right?" He forces a smile. "Listen, I can't thank you enough for all your help. And I'll pay you back the rent money as soon as I'm back on my feet."
"Forget it."
"No. I'm good for it," he says.
"You'd have done the same for me."
That night at the show there's a new guy in the ensemble, Connor. The poor sod is making his Broadway debut, so of course, he's over eager and throwing off the timing. He keeps missing cues and hitting the wrong marks. At intermission I speak to Wes.
"Can you please do something about Connor? He's so high strung he almost fell into the pit during the last scene, not to mention when we rehearsed the fight scene earlier, he called me Mr. Oliver."
Wes laughs. "Poor kid threw up before curtain. I'll tell him to dial it back."
"Thanks."
Paige joins me. "Trouble with the new kid?"
"Yeah. Newbie nerves." We head for the stairs to our dressing rooms.
"Do you remember your first big show?"
"Barely, I was a snot-nosed know it all. You?"
"I was so nervous I didn't eat for two days before. I nearly fainted on stage from low blood sugar." She laughs.
Fifteen short minutes later, I'm stage left, leaning against a set piece as the second act begins. I can't deny my exhaustion. I need a break, but there won't be one anytime soon. Finishing my run and trying to find my next job at the same time has turned out to be a colossal bad idea.
This first scene is the stunt where I free fall ten feet to the arms of the guys below. While they've never dropped me, the last week or so has been sloppy, resulting in my strained back and numerous new bruises.
The scene opens and the music of the chase scene peaks. I climb the set piece to escape my pursuers. When I reach the highest point, Max pushes me off the wall into the angry mob below.
The fall is a mix of terrifying and euphoria. It goes perfectly and I'm tossed back and forth in our tightly choreographed fight. I love the physicality of the show, it helps me stay in character and ups my energy, but as we work through the staged moves, I'm suddenly blindsided with a direct kick in the teeth.
I go down.
Hard.
Doubled over, the coppery taste of blood hits me. I move my tongue and discover I've lost a tooth. I'm about to moan fuck when I remember my mic is live and the audience might not appreciate the improvisation.
The orchestra plays on and the rest of the actors aren't sure how to keep going with me laid out on the stage. I rise to my knees, one hand pressed to my lips as I try to hold my tooth in place with my tongue so I don't swallow it along with a mouthful of blood.
When I stand and move my hand, blood gushes into my palm. I glance into the wings hoping Wes is paying attention. The orchestra stops in sudden waning of strings and horns. Wes's voice comes over the speakers, "There will be a ten minute delay of show."
I give the audience a slight wave that I'm fine as the curtain suddenly drops.
Connor is in my face. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Oliver. Are you okay?"
I grimace, not trusting myself to speak. Jordan is at my shoulder, guiding me to the wings while I concentrate on catching dripping blood so it isn't spewed all over.
"Jesus, Tom, what the hell happened?" Wes says.
I gesture to the handwringing rookie shadowing me and grab a seat next to the lines. Someone smartly sets a wastebasket below me where I finally let loose and spit blood, catching my front tooth in the process.
"Looks like I'll need new head shots," I mutter with my head hung over the trash and my hands coated in blood like a scene out of Carrie.
Wes pats my shoulder, relieved I'm coherent. Someone hands me paper towels that I press to my mouth, which throbs like a son of a bitch.
"Can we get lights back here, and someone bring towels." Wes turns to Jordon, from the ensemble, who is also my understudy. "Jordan, be ready if I need you to step in."
Based on my inability to bounce back into action, which is what I've done every other time I've received a stray punch to the gut or kick to the groin, combined with the excitement on Jordan's face, he's already figured this out.
"Tom, how you doing?" Wes asks.
I gingerly touch each of my front teeth to see if any others are loose or missing. Thank God, they aren't. "Other than a fat lip, a lithp, and a gaping hole in my mouth, I'm ready to rock and roll."
"Can I take a look?"
I lean my head back and pull away the blood-soaked paper towel. He shines his flashlight on my mouth and flinches. "Eh, yeah. Jordan, you're in." Wes clicks off the flashlight. "Your mouth looks like hell. Let's have someone get you to your dressing room and we'll call a dentist."
"I can make it on my own. It's my tooth that's broken, not my legs," I say flippantly. This is the last thing I need right now.
Tanya appears out of nowhere. "I'll help you."
She takes hold of me as if I broke my arm, not my tooth, and guides me all the way to my dressing room.
"Unfucking believable!" I toss my broken tooth on the table.
"You're not having a very good time of it are you?" She grabs a hand towel from the rack and runs it under cold water.
I drop into the chair in front of the lighted mirror. I pull away the paper towel to reveal a puffy split lip, my front tooth broke off at the gum line, and a gash in my gum. Shit. I'm supposed to have an audition tomorrow. I sure as hell won't get the part if I look like this. A trace of blood seeps from the cut. I push the paper towel back into place. My hands are covered in blood, and, despite my efforts, blood is smeared across the front of my costume.
"No, it's not been a good couple of days." I sit back while she wrings out the towel and hands it to me. The cold cloth is soothing against my swelling mouth.
Before long I hear Wes over the speaker. "Standing in for the role of Jake Hammond will be Jordan Ried." There are groans of disappointment from the audience, which gives me a slight bit of satisfaction, but Jordan's a nice chap. He'll do a good job.
In the background I hear the show continue and Jordon speaking my lines. It'll be a fun story for him to tell when asked if he's ever had to jump in at the last minute. For me, I can't imagine when tonight's debacle will be party fodder.
Tanya takes another wet towel and starts dabbing at the blood spots on my face and arms, and generally hovering over me. I take the towel from her, put my feet up on my dressing table, and close my eyes while I wait to hear the plan. A few minutes later, Wes appears with a slip of paper and Janet with an ice pack.
"Here's the address of the dentist that'll see you tonight. Do you have someone to go with you?" He leans against my dressing table.
"I'll take him," Tanya says. "If you don't mind waiting until the show's over, I can change quick."
Janet cracks open the ice pack and shakes it, then hands it to me, hiding a smirk.
"I can take you," says a familiar voice from the doorway.
I swing around and there’s Chelsea out of breath and filled with concern, but looking like a ray of sunshine on this shitstorm of a day.
"Where'd you come from?" I mumble, my mouth half stuffed with the towel.
Wes heads for the door. "Give me a call and let me know what's going on as soon as you know. Don't worry how late it is."
Chelsea blushes. "You know."
Of course, she was in the audience. At this rate she’s going to go broke buying tickets.
Tanya, who is lingering next to me, rolls her eyes. Janet smile
s. I pull the towel away and find the bleeding has subsided. The cold must help. "Good thing, cuz I need a new toof." I smile, revealing the gaping hole in my mouth.
"Ouch!" She flinches. "You sure you're okay?" She's at my side patting my shoulder, her brow furrowed.
"I've been better."
"Come on, Tanya. He’s in good hands." Janet practically drags Tanya to the door.
I gaze up at Chelsea. "You get to be my babysitter for the evening."
"More likely your nurse maid," she says.
"Oh? I could get into that." I laugh, which tugs at my swollen lip and starts it bleeding again.
Tanya huffs as Janet pulls the door closed behind them.
"Is it just me, or does that woman hate me?" Chelsea stares at the door.
"She's harmless. Can you give me a hand, please?"
“Sure, but if you ask me, I’d say she’s making a play for you.”
“But I only have eyes for you.” Chelsea helps me off with my shirt. I clean the blood off my face and hands, change into street clothes, and drape my bloodied costume over a chair. I consider calling my agent, but decide to wait until I know more. Chelsea slings my backpack over her shoulder while I put on my coat, scarf, and hat. With a fresh wad of tissues in my hand we make our way to the street while the show goes on without me. An experience I despise.
We take the D Train uptown. I lay my head back and try to keep my tongue away from the sharp edge of my broken tooth, but it naturally finds its way there. My mind flits to my schedule for the next few days. Tomorrow is an important call back, I have the show, and I need to learn sides for the next two auditions. Add to that I need to find Christmas gifts for my entire family and something special for Chelsea.
I'm starting to freak out, but then I look at Chelsea who rushed to my side. I'm a lucky man, and I don't intend to let her get away. And now that I think of it, my trip home couldn't come at a better time and not just for some overdue time off.
The dentist explains that I need a root canal. Fuck. And a crown. Double fuck. The good news is that he'll do the root canal tonight and the crown tomorrow morning.
While my mouth is numbing from a shot of Novocaine, I call Sean to see if we can move my call back. He promises to let me know first thing in the morning.
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