Stacey stepped over to the windows lining the walls of her bedroom. Technically, this room was designed to be the living room but because the windows in the back of the apartment faced east, Stacey had switched her living space around to avoid the morning sun as much as she could. Sure it meant her guests had to walk past her front door and down the hall to a second door at the rear of the apartment but it was a worthwhile sacrifice to avoid the sun and get her much needed morning sleep.
Most nights Stacey didn't get home from the theatre until after midnight. Then it took her a few hours to wind down from the day's performances. Sleeping in 'til noon was her norm. Of course, for the past two weeks, she'd gotten even more sound sleep than usual thanks to the blackout curtains she'd recently acquired.
Stacey pulled back the heavy curtains and squinted into the brightly lit world outside. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust enough to make out the blurry shapes on the concrete sidewalk below. Given the hour -- 11:47 am -- there wasn't much to see. Most of Stacey's neighbors had started their days long before her internal alarm clock stirred her to consciousness.
A woman was pushing a baby stroller -- walking, not jogging in the heat. An older man was dragging one of the folding, metal shopping carts that were a necessity in New York neighborhoods where people walked instead of drove to the grocery store. And that was it. Of course, there were plenty of cars still parked along the block since most people only used four-wheeled vehicles on weekends to get out of the city. The few empty parking spaces were speckled along the block making the curbside resemble a mouth with some awkwardly missing teeth.
As Stacey scanned the world below, she let out another grumpy sigh. Normally after a good night's sleep, the bright, clear day would bring a smile to her face but there was something in Stacey's direct line of sight that made her frown. Double parked -- in front of a gap that was too tight for it to fit curbside-- was a large truck with the words On Time Movers printed on the side in giant blue letters.
Stacey glared at the truck and then let the curtains fall closed -- plunging the room back into a darkness that matched her mood. Despite the moving company's name, in Stacey's mind, they had the worst timing ever. The truck parked outside was a reminder of something that she'd prefer to forget. Tony -- her downstairs neighbor and one of her closest friends -- was gone for the summer and a stranger was moving in to sublet his apartment below turning Stacey's neat orderly world upside down.
For the past six years, Stacey and Tony had lived a peacefully symbiotic life as cohabitants of the three-story brownstone. Tony occupied the ground floor which was accessible from the street-level patio. Stacey lived on the second floor and the owner of the building kept the third floor unrented so he'd have a place to crash in the city whenever that was more convenient than driving back out to his Long Island beach house.
Tony, who'd been living in his apartment for almost a decade with a revolving door of tenants occupying the apartment above him, bonded with Stacey as soon as she moved into the building. Their connection didn't happen because they were both gay -- although that certainly helped. The thing that really knit Stacey and Tony together was that they both worked in the theatre. It made life so much easier for Stacey not to have to explain why she was tap dancing -- albeit in her bare feet -- at one in the morning practicing for a dance audition the next day. And Tony never had to apologize for running his sewing machine well into the night trying to get costumes ready for a drag show or some other festive event. It was simple and it made for blissful upstairs-downstairs living. Plus, there were other benefits to having such a close relationship with her neighbor.
If Stacey ever forgot to buy toilet paper, if Tony needed someone to sign for a delivery package or if either of them ran out of coffee when it was too cold to walk to the bodega to get more, the other was right there to the rescue. Both neighbors also understood how hard it was to survive in the feast or famine New York theatre scene and if there was ever a time when one of them hadn't booked a gig in a while the other was always prepared to have an emergency therapy session -- replete with encouraging mantras that could be written on post-its and recited daily. But now all that was over.
Stacey sighed and flung herself across the bed. She tried not to make the situation about her and instead focus on being happy for her friend. After all, if she'd been the one to book a national tour Tony would have been overjoyed for her.
"You're not even going to miss me while I'm gone," Tony said two weeks earlier as Stacey sat on his sofa sulking.
"How can you say that?" she protested. "You're the only real friend I have!"
She watched as Tony tossed yet another bundle of fabric into one of the boxes strewn across his living room floor. There were certain things he was willing to leave in the apartment with the incoming sublet tenant -- but his expensive sewing supplies were not among them.
"Stop being such a drama queen!" he said as he swung a bundle of cloth at Stacey's head. "Maybe with me gone you'll finally start dating again. You know, I was getting tired of being the gay-husband escort to all your social events. There just aren't any worthwhile perks to the gig," he said with a wink.
Stacey picked up the abandoned fabric and tossed it into a box at her feet. She knew Tony had a point. Sure the lesbian scene in New York was thriving in a way that other cities envied but Stacey didn't have any problems meeting women. Her challenge was that life as a working actor didn't always lend itself to healthy relationships. Most people found dating someone who regularly worked six nights a week -- including holidays -- and had to maintain vocal silence on her one day off, a little more than they were willing to put up with.
Then there were the times when she didn't have an acting gig at all and her schedule was wide open to go out during the week like normal people but on those occasions, her pockets were usually so empty she couldn't afford to do anything other than go for walks in the park or maybe see a show if she got free tickets from a friend. It all added up to a rather hopeless dating life.
Of course, there were always showmances. The workplace hookups between actors performing in a show together. Stacey had had more than her share of those. Showmance relationships usually started with fireworks during rehearsals. Weeks spent confined in a room, gazing into the mirrors lining the walls trying to pretend that you weren't staring at your castmate with lust in your heart. Days thinking about those moments when both of you would be off stage at the same time and therefore free for a between scene make-out session. And on rare occasions, you might be lucky enough to have a scene with the object of your affection or even share an onstage kiss!
No matter the scenario, those relationships rarely lasted longer than the show's final curtain -- or possibly one last drunken roll in the sack after the cast wrap party. Either way, after a while the encounters became tiresome and Stacey had given up on them as a viable dating option.
"The least you can do is leave me those!" Stacey said pointing to the dark curtains hanging from Tony's living room windows.
Tony's mouth twisted to one side. He'd made those curtains himself -- hanging them to ensure his privacy when he worked late into the night. Even though his living room wasn't visible from the sidewalk, Tony didn't like the idea of someone tipping into the patio area and peering in on him while he worked.
"Okay, you can borrow them until I get back," he acquiesced even though they both knew the tour might be successful enough to delay his return indefinitely.
With the curtains drawn, no light spilled into Stacey's bedroom but she still pulled a pillow over her head in an attempt to block out the sadness invading her mind. She didn't want to think about her friend being gone -- and she definitely didn't want to think about the stranger who was moving in downstairs.
Stacey reached over and grabbed her cell phone. 12:07pm. She had a little more than an hour to make it into Manhattan before her 1:30 call time. As much as she wanted to dwell in her pity party, being late would mean a dock in her already meager non-equity sa
lary and it wasn't worth the drama. Stacey shrugged off her irritation, threw on a pair of sweats, wrapped her favorite pink scarf around her slightly damp hair and dashed out the apartment door. If luck were on her side, the A or C train would be running without delay and she'd make it into the city with enough time to grab an egg and cheese sandwich from the deli around the corner from the theatre.
Stacey pulled her door closed with a slam, clicked the deadbolt lock and dashed down the hallway but as soon as she crossed through the enclosed entryway and opened the door leading outside she could see that Lady Luck had abandoned her just like Tony.
The movers were already unloading things from the truck and at the moment there was a huge crate blocking the only exit out of the gated patio. From her elevated position on the stoop, Stacey craned her neck hoping to see a space on the other side of the crate for her to slip through but there was barely an inch between the giant obstruction and the gate.
"Excuse me!" she said as she descended the stairs. She tried to make her voice sound a lot less irritated than she was.
The burly dark-haired moving guy with a tattooed sleeve from his shoulder to his wrist momentarily stopped swiping his finger across his cell phone screen and glanced over at Stacey.
"It's gonna be a minute, Lady," he said clearly not putting as much effort as Stacey had into making his tone sound pleasant. "This thing is heavy and I can't move it by myself."
Stacey looked at the two bright orange canvas straps looped over the man's broad shoulders. The straps on the opposite side of the crate snaked the sidewalk -- but the shoulders they'd once rested on were nowhere in sight.
Stacey looked around the patio trying to figure out if there was another way she could make her exit. For a moment, she considered climbing on top of one of the trashcans lined up along the far end of the patio. She was a fairly agile dancer. She might be able to use the height of the can to vault over the three-foot iron fence but the thought of injuring herself before a show kept her from trying.
"I need to get to work," she said to the mover who she could now see was engrossed in a game of Candy Crush.
He looked up from his phone, glanced over at Stacey, then at the impossibly narrow space between the crate and the fence and shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't invested in putting much thought into helping Stacey escape.
"Look lady, my partner is over there on the phone with the owner of this thing. As soon as he gets back we'll be out of your way."
The man turned his wide shoulders away again. For a moment, Stacey considered asking the refrigerator-sized man for a boost over the fence but decided against it. Instead, she tried getting his partner's attention.
"Hey!" she shouted to the man across the street. "I've got to get to work." Stacey pointed at the crate.
The man nodded rapidly and gestured an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign in the air. From the look on his face, he seemed glad to have a reason to end the phone call he was on. A moment later he tapped the phone screen and tucked the phone into a pocket in his overalls. He was still shaking his head as he trotted back across the street.
"Sorry, about that, ma'am. I was on the phone with your new neighbor." The mover rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that one," he said ominously as he picked up the moving straps laying on the sidewalk.
The other mover put his phone away and the two lifted the crate into the air. As soon as they cleared the gate, Stacey dashed out to the sidewalk and headed toward the subway. She was going to have to run the three blocks to Nostrand Station if she was going to catch the next train. The whole way to the subway station the moving guy's comment rang in her mind. Good luck with that one wasn't an encouraging sentiment about the person who was about to invade Stacey's previously peaceful living environment.
Chapter 2
"The nerve!" Megan said out loud as she stared at her cellphone screen.
The man sitting next to her on the train didn't even look up from his paper to acknowledge her outburst.
Megan couldn't believe the mover she'd been speaking to had hung up on her. She'd been trying to get a clear connection for more than twenty minutes but when the New Jersey Transit train dipped underground into Penn Station it took her cell phone signal into the bowels of the earth along with it.
After transferring to the MTA, she was tempted to call the mover back when the A train momentarily rose above ground and the bars on her cellphone reappeared. Unfortunately, that was a short trip and when the subway car plunged back into the earth the signal disappeared again. All Megan could do was hope that the mover had understood her instructions.
"Do not take my piano off the truck until I arrive!"
Megan's heart was beating through her chest just thinking about it. That piano was her most cherished possession and even though it had cost more than her plane ticket to have it shipped to New York, being able to practice on it in preparation for the biggest audition of her life brought Megan a sense of peace that she desperately needed.
"I still don't understand why you're wasting money on a sublet when you could just stay here with me and James." Kim, Megan's older sister, had complained for the umpteenth time when she dropped Megan off at the New Jersey Transit Station earlier. "We've got plenty of room out here -- for you and your piano -- and you wouldn't even have to pay rent."
Kim -- Megan's near perfect older sister -- and her attorney husband, lived in a huge house in and upscale New Jersey neighborhood but even though they had room enough to accommodate Megan her sister was five months pregnant and would need more peace and quiet in the house than Megan could promise. Plus, Kim was doing enough by providing a cover for Megan so she didn't have to tell her mother and her step-father why she was really staying in New York for the summer.
Megan appreciated her sister's offer but she needed to do this on her own. She needed to see if she could really -- as the song said -- make it in New York.
Megan tried not to worry about her piano as her nerves rattled along with the swaying subway car.
"Next stop, Nostrand Ave!" the conductor's voice crackled through the train's loud speaker.
Megan got up from her seat and maneuvered her two rolling suitcases toward the door hoping there wasn't going to be a crowd of people pushing to get on the train as she made her exit. She still hadn't gotten used to the way everyone was always moving in such a rush and the crowded subways still left Megan a little disoriented whenever she traveled around the city.
"Excuse me. I'm sorry. Excuse me. Thank you," Megan uttered in rapid succession as she made her way off the train dragging her bags on either side.
It didn't dawn on her until she was standing alone on the platform that she hadn't checked to see if this particular subway station had an elevator. Megan peered toward the exit hoping to see a sign for a moving stairway but all she saw at the end of the platform was a set of steep stairs leading up to the street.
She let her head drop to her chest in frustration but then jerked it up again when she realized she must have looked like a lost tourist. Even she knew that wasn't a wise or safe posture for a New York City visitor to take. Besides, technically she was no longer just a visitor to the city, she was a resident -- at least temporarily -- and it was time for her to embrace everything that came along with her new home. Including dragging suitcases up subway stairs.
Megan took a deep breath -- which she quickly regretted as the thick, humid subway air filled her lungs. She coughed and vowed never to do that again. Once she recovered her breath, Megan tightened her grip on her luggage and wheeled her way toward the stairwell.
New York was going to take some getting used to, she thought. Everything here was loud and fast and dirty. It was nothing like the quiet town outside Tulsa where Megan grew up. A pang of doubt surfaced inside and brought with it the same nervous jittery feeling she'd felt when her plane first took off from the airport in Oklahoma. But it was too late for that kind of doubt, Megan thought to herself as she began the climb upward out of the dim, dank subway and
into the bright summer sun. It was too late to turn back now.
With a piece of luggage in each hand, Megan heaved one bag then the other up each of the two flights of narrow, pungent stairs. It was slow going and occasionally she ran into a subway passenger descending. Most of them squeezed past her without a glance. One even hurdled over her smaller suitcase with Olympian form.
Christmas All Around Us ; The Perfect Time for Love ; Playing for Keeps Page 18