“So you are.” He pushed open the door. “Come on in, folks.”
Inside, it was absolutely jam-packed. Sure, it was a smaller venue than most of the ones we’d been playing on tour, but none of ours had felt so full, or so alive. You got the sense that a dance party could break out any minute.
“This way, Josie.”
I followed Dad. He’d managed to locate a spot for us in the back, not far from the bar. Crowds always did have a way of parting for Myles McCoy. It was something in the way he carried himself.
Not long after we’d settled in against the wall, the lights dimmed. Someone introduced him, and then Boone Wyant walked out, waving, a huge smile on his face, his guitar slung over his back.
“How we doin’ tonight, Pittsburgh?” The crowd roared its approval. A very female-sounding approval. I looked to my left, and to my right, and all I saw was long hair and short shorts, despite the decidedly cool temperatures outside. There was no doubt about it: The Boone Wyant fan base was predominantly female. I wondered how many of the girls in the crowd would have happily been his sweetie or darlin’ or whatever.
Most of them, probably. I couldn’t blame them. He looked even better under the stage lights than he did in motel lobbies or truck stops or Biscuit Barrels. He was wearing a tight white T-shirt and jeans, nothing special at all, but on him, it just worked.
“We’re gonna start tonight off with a cover written by probably the greatest songwriter in the history of country music: Miss Dolly Parton.”
I smiled. I’d read an article a while ago about the lack of female representation in country, how most radio stations wouldn’t play two female artists back-to-back because they thought their listeners would change the dial. It made me like him even more, knowing that he gave Queen Dolly the respect she deserved.
It was a slow, stripped-down cover of “Do I Ever Cross Your Mind.” Boone closed his eyes as he crooned into the microphone, the lyrics plaintive. His voice was rich and low, with only a hint of growl that made it all the more irresistible. This boy could sing.
Dad nudged my shoulder, breaking the spell.
“Do you think he owns any slacks that aren’t denim?” Dad whispered.
I grinned. I knew exactly what that meant.
Boone Wyant was joining the tour.
I LOCKED THE DOOR OF my apartment and turned to see Mr. Discenza down at the end of the hallway. Silently, I pivoted on my heels, hoping I could duck back inside before he saw me.
“Katy!” he called.
No such luck.
“Hi, Mr. Discenza.” I winced, knowing exactly what this was about.
“I really need that rent check, Katy.” Yup. Exactly what I thought it was about. “You’re a good kid, and I know you’ve been through a lot this year, so I don’t want to badger you, but it’s ten days overdue.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I really am. You know what? Hold on.” Unlocking the door, I popped back into the apartment, grabbed the checkbook out of the junk drawer, and quickly scribbled on it. This would be fine. Things would be a little tight for the rest of the month, but at least the check wouldn’t bounce. “Here you go.” Breathlessly, I emerged into the hall and handed over the check. “It’ll be on time next month, I promise. I’m getting a job. I mean, I’m working on getting a job.”
I had to work a little harder on finding gainful employment. It was so easy to get swept up in the fashion show, but that didn’t pay in anything but experience and exposure. The rent was still due every month, and I needed money coming in, immediately. Back to GregsList tonight. Something would turn up. It had to.
“I’m not sure how many months we’ll have left.” Mr. Discenza frowned sympathetically. “I have to tell you, Katy, I’ve been getting an awful lot of interesting offers. I think I’m going to sell the building.”
“Do you know when?” I knew this was coming, but my heart sank anyway. Finding an apartment without a job wasn’t going to be an easy feat. Maybe I could crash at Jorge’s, now that his brothers had all moved out. Or KO’s mom would definitely let me stay on their pullout couch in the living room, but there were too many Kellys to have me underfoot indefinitely. Plus, the commute in from Long Island might kill me. I was a Manhattan girl, thank you very much.
“Not sure yet, but I promise I’ll give you plenty of notice. Even more than thirty days if I can.”
“Thanks, Mr. Discenza.” I smiled wanly. “I appreciate it.”
And I did appreciate the heads-up, although that wouldn’t make things any easier. New York real estate was a nightmare, but I knew I’d just been prolonging the inevitable. At first, I’d been afraid of leaving the only apartment I’d ever known, afraid that would make me feel further from Mom, but the idea of a fresh start had some appeal. No matter where I went, Mom would always be with me. Especially as long as I had her sewing machine, it was like she was always right by my side as I worked.
Realistically, I couldn’t really afford to stay here, anyway. I needed a more affordable neighborhood, and a roommate. Or two.
I walked down the four flights of stairs to the front door. A familiar figure was sitting on our front stoop. Grinning broadly, I flew down the stairs, flung my arms around his neck, and covered his cheeks in kisses.
“Boy, I really hope this is Katy, otherwise I’ve got some unfortunate news for Mrs. Discenza,” KO joked. “How’s the most gorgeous girl on Delancey Street doing this morning?” He grabbed ahold of my arms and squeezed.
“Better, now that I’ve seen you. What are you doing here?” I held out my hands and pulled him up to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I wanted to surprise you. And I brought breakfast.” He bent down to pick up a bag.
“Ooh!” Eagerly, I dug into the bag, ripped the foil off a breakfast sandwich, and bit in, the cheese hot and gooey. “Yum.” I sighed lustily. “You know the way to my heart,” I said through a big mouthful. “You plus cheese is the best surprise a girl could ask for.”
“I thought you might need some cheese. You seemed sort of stressed when we talked last night.” (KO and I said goodnight to each other over the phone every night. We’d been doing it since we were sixteen. I know, I know, we were totally dorky, but I loved it.)
“I am sort of stressed.” We walked down the stairs holding hands. The beauty of the breakfast sandwich was that I could eat and hold hands. KO always knew exactly what I needed. “Did you get yourself a sandwich?”
“I, uh, ate it already.” He blushed. KO had many virtues, but patience where food was involved was not one of them. “What’s stressing you out? The modeling thing?”
“Yes, the modeling thing.” I wished I could think about it the way KO said it, like it was no big deal.
“What’s the problem? Katy, you could be a model. You’re literally the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
“That is so sweet, KO, but you’re biased.”
“No way. I’m totally objective. I don’t mind telling you, for example, that your feet are like icicles, and you sneeze so loudly it’s a little scary, and you’re really terrible at finding your way around Long Island. You’ve been to my house about a billion times, yet somehow, you still always get lost.”
“Well, thanks for cataloging my faults.” I laughed, punching him on the arm. “But that last one’s not on me. That’s Long Island’s fault. It needs a nice, neat grid system. Like Manhattan.”
“There you go again, with your borough snobbery,” he teased. He let go of my hand to check his phone. “But I have to be honest, Katy, I don’t see what the big deal is about the modeling thing.”
“It’s a huge deal!” I exclaimed. “I swear, I’m not saying this to fish for compliments, but I’m not a model. And it’s not even about how I look. I’m not meant to be in the spotlight! Like, sure, I’m always happy to do karaoke with Jorge, but that’s different, because we’re doing something fun, together. And Jorge really carries the weight. He could sing next to a potted plant an
d make it look like a star. No, I’m more of a behind-the-scenes girl. Like, I love the idea of people seeing my clothes—that’s all I’ve ever wanted—but I don’t need anyone to see me in them. I mean, think about it.” I crumpled up my tinfoil and tossed it into a trash can, pausing for a moment while the light changed before we crossed the street. “Seriously. Would you want to be a model? I know you’re used to being in front of crowds while you’re boxing, but you’re doing something. You’re focused on the match, and your opponent. Now imagine you’re just standing there, in the middle of the ring, walking back and forth, and everyone’s looking at you, and judging you, and I … KO?” I trailed off as I turned around and realized KO wasn’t next to me anymore. I was walking alone and talking to myself. Luckily, nobody else on the sidewalk seemed to think that was weird.
You had to love the anonymity of New York. There was something so peaceful about it. I was pretty sure there was nowhere else on earth you could openly weep in public and no one would bother you. Every once in a while, a girl just needed a good subway cry. Before I met KO, Jorge and I had both had a crush on this guy in our math class, and when it turned out he didn’t like either of us, Jorge and I had cried almost the entire length of Broadway, and nobody said anything.
So, yes, points to New York for its crowds that guaranteed emotional anonymity, but curse those crowds for making it hard to locate a missing boxer boyfriend. I rose up on my tiptoes, trying to spot KO. A man in a suit brushed past me, causing me to stumble, cursing under his breath about people stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
Retracing my steps, I crossed back over the street, and finally spotted KO, smiling at his phone while standing outside an eyebrow-threading place.
“KO?” I asked, planting my feet firmly in front of him. “Hello? KO?” I tapped him on the bridge of his nose.
“Huh?” Finally he looked up, blinking, like he was surprised to see me there.
“Everything okay?” I asked. “I lost you for a couple of blocks.”
“Aw, man, I’m sorry, Katy. Jinx texted me, and I—” He looked back down at the phone and started laughing. “Oh man. This girl cracks me up. I’d explain it, but it’s a whole boxing thing—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I reassured him, but I was kind of worried. I didn’t think KO was cheating on me—I knew he would never do that—but I still felt jealous that some other girl was making him laugh so hard he forgot he was walking with me and ended up stranded by a threading place. It felt like there was now this whole new part of his life that I wasn’t part of. Or, I guess, more accurately, it felt like he now had someone who understood one of the most important parts of his life better than I could.
I always tried my best to support KO’s boxing career, but I didn’t really get it. I knew the basic gist of all the rules and I’d sparred with KO a couple of times, for fun, but I didn’t get the appeal. The boxing gloves smelled like BO and throwing punches hurt my hands. Just like KO wasn’t at home in the fashion world, I knew nothing about life in the ring. And I’d never thought that was a problem before—but now?
I wasn’t so sure.
“So what were you saying?” KO tucked his phone back into his pocket. “About the fashion show?”
“Nothing.” I didn’t really feel like getting into it again. “Just stressing out about the modeling stuff. It’s not important.”
“If it’s stressing you out, it is important.” I couldn’t even be mad at him for not listening. He was so sweet. “But maybe what you need is a break. Listen. I didn’t come down here just to bring you breakfast. Why don’t we hop on the train and go to that apple orchard you told me about? Look, I even wore my most fabulous fall shirt.” I smiled. It was a very nice plaid. “We can walk around, share some cider, pick some apples. Take them back to Mom’s and bake a pie or something.”
“Can you bake a pie?”
“I’m sure I could figure it out.” He grinned. Out of the two us, KO definitely had more skills in the kitchen. Right now, I was using my oven to store pattern-making paper: a terrible, extremely flammable idea. “Might be nice to forget about the fashion show for a little while and do something fun, just the two of us.”
“Oh, KO, I wish I could.” That sounded like exactly the kind of escape I needed. “But I can’t. We have the fitting.”
“I thought that was yesterday.” He frowned.
“It was.” I frowned right back at him. “Rex London cut the fitting short and then had to reschedule it for today, remember? I told you about it. Last night. I’m on my way there right now. Where did you think we were walking?”
“Right, right.” KO rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Sorry, Katy. I should have remembered. I was out so late with Jinx last night I was kind of zonked.”
“Right,” I said tightly. I hadn’t realized KO had been out with Jinx. We’d had our goodnight call later than usual, but I’d thought that had been because I’d been panic-binge-watching old episodes of Project Catwalk, trying to pick up some tips, not because KO had been out with another girl.
“I promise you, Katy. We will make it to the apple orchard.” He took both of my hands in his. “Before September ends, we will get those apples.”
“It’s fine. They’re just apples, KO.”
“No, they’re not,” he said stubbornly. “They’re part of Katy Keene’s Most Fabulous Fall Ever, and I’m going to make sure you get to do everything on your list. Starting with hot apple cider. Let’s get some from Starbucks and share it on the way uptown to Lacy’s.”
There were so many reasons I loved KO, and his dedication to apples was just one of them. I rose up to kiss him at the exact moment the police car idling at the curb next to us turned on its siren. Startled by the noise, KO turned his head, and my lips collided with his ear.
“Whoops.” KO laughed. “I think you missed.”
KO bent down to kiss me, and it was perfect, like always, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I might have missed something else, too.
“FORGET THE BIG HATS. FORGET the high-button shoes. Forget everything you know about Hello, Dolly!” Ethan Fox steepled his hands together, his voice grim.
I sat on the floor of another black box at the Private Theatre, a bigger one, surrounded by at least forty or fifty other actors. Maybe it had been a mistake to come back. I’d second-guessed myself on the train downtown, on the walk from the subway, and all the way in through the doors of the Private Theatre for the next round of callbacks.
But it was so hard to abandon the idea of this show, of working on Broadway, and even more, what this show might lead to. An Equity card, guaranteed. Maybe an agent. This could be the first show in a long, long career, and if I got this, I’d be able to skip past so much of the grunt work of trying to make it. I’d already have made it, before I even really started. And from what Ethan Fox had said at my last callback, it sounded like this part was mine to lose. Almost a sure thing.
Even just being able to perform in a show, night after night after night, would be such a gift. I hadn’t been in anything since I graduated, and I already missed it so much. Maybe there was a way to take some of Ethan’s notes while still performing in a way that felt true to me.
I took another look around. There were actors of all ages gathered in the theater. It was definitely more people than I’d expected. This must have been callbacks for all the principal roles, not the chorus, but at least it wasn’t just other prospective Barnabys. I didn’t see the hot guy from callbacks anywhere, though. Kevin Something. Guess he didn’t make the cut. Well. One less thing to be distracted by.
“We will take this show apart, piece by piece, until only the core remains,” Ethan continued. “The truth. The story of a matchmaker, a shopkeeper, and nothing less complicated than the human heart itself.”
Um … okay. That seemed a little over-the-top, and usually I loved over-the-top, but this was over-the-top like when Jiggly Caliente channeled a baked potato on the Drag Race mainstage. I snuck a peek at the
guy next to me, trying to sense his reaction, but he looked utterly rapt. I knew Ethan Fox was supposed to be a genius, and he was a genius who was rooting for me, so I should give his vision a chance—even if I wasn’t exactly feeling it yet.
“Please. Join me.” Ethan Fox closed his eyes, so I did, too. “Yonkers. The 1890s. Not the twee setting we’ve been led to believe. A mere stone’s throw away from a city drawing immigrants by the thousands, brushing up against an increasingly xenophobic populace demanding immigration restriction. A bastion of industrial expansion revolutionizing itself too rapidly for control. A cesspool teeming with disease, death, and despair. A time of intense social, economic, and political anxiety. A time of intense anxiety, full stop.”
I was having intense anxiety, full stop. I cracked an eye open. I felt like I was being inducted into a cult. Suddenly, the floor was feeling awfully cold against my legs, exposed in my lucky green audition shorts. I dug around in my dance bag until I pulled out my sweatpants and started to shimmy them up my legs. The boomer in front of me turned around to glare. Calm down, chica. That wasn’t noisy. If she wanted noisy, I could get noisy.
“And this city, this is where our characters venture into. And this space is where our audience enters into. Open your eyes. See this with me.” Ethan Fox steepled his hands together again, took a deep breath, and began. “The theater is no longer a stage. Not as we know it. There will be dirt under our feet, under the audience’s feet, dirt serving as our stage. Inevitably, it will be tracked through the space, leaving its indelible mark on all of us here, just as the city grime of more than a century ago would have been impossible to shake.”
This sounded like Ma’s worst nightmare. If I got cast, she’d probably roll up to opening night in a full hazmat suit.
“And the walls?” Ethan stretched his arm. “Lined with the goods of Horace Vandergelder’s feed and grain store. What’s that sound?” He cupped a hand to his ear. “It’s not just the all-new orchestrations, played only on banjo and the washboard. It’s also the slow drip of grain and seed falling, an inexorable drip, drip, drip as time passes. And what’s the audience sitting on? Chairs? Please. Nothing so pedestrian. They’ll be sitting on more sacks of grain, each with a small hole, slowly dripping out their contents, just like the sacks on the walls, symbolizing the depletion of resources in the already taxed economy of America’s largest city.”
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