Life on the Naughty List, or What the Elf!

3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I got out of the shower and immediately set about getting myself put together. I made sure my hair was pulled back and out of my face while still fashionable. I’d almost dyed it purple last week, so I was glad I hadn’t made that decision. Not sure if the purple hair would go with the forest green turtleneck underneath a black knit sweater and cranberry-colored knee-length skirt. Johnny had convinced me that a hint of Christmas was good, but I didn’t want to come right out and say Santa’s mistress . I had black leggings underneath, then I slipped into a simple pair of four-inch pumps. They would be easy to walk in no matter what the weather and wouldn’t detract from my outfit. The last thing I wanted was a casting agent to look at my shoes instead of me during an audition. Immediately, I heard the lyrics from Jason Robert Brown’s song “Climbing Uphill” from The Last Five Years running through my head.

I touched up my makeup. I wanted to look put together and natural. I’ve seen some new girls in the business paint for the back row when they go on auditions, which is never a bright idea. Painting for the back row may look great from the mezzanine, but it makes you look like a clown in harsh fluorescent lighting to people sitting ten feet from you. I’d made that mistake on my first non-Equity audition. Thankfully, an older actor took me aside and was like, “Honey, no. You look like you’re auditioning for the role of the clown in the revival of Barnum . Go wash your face. Just use a simple lip gloss. Nothing else.“ I must have looked affronted because he added, “You’re clearly beautiful under all that paint, so don’t hide under it.”

I did as he said. In retrospect, he was unbelievably right. I ended up booking a job—a touring production of Godspell . After the audition, I wanted to thank him, but I never saw him again. In fact, I haven’t seen my guardian angel at any audition ever. Of course, I’d end up with an old queen for a guardian angel. There’s something entirely appropriate about that.

I looked at myself in my full-length mirror and did a twirl to make sure everything looked perfect. I put on my watch and no other jewelry. Again, the focus needed to be on me and not on what I’m wearing. I went into the living room and found Bootsy curled up on the couch. I made sure he had plenty of water and kibble—just in case he ate while I was out. He rarely did, but I always ensured it was there for him if he wanted it.

I grabbed my simple, black bag that held my audition music and a few other necessities before looking at myself one last time in the hallway mirror. I look good. I’d hire me. Of course, I didn’t know what I was auditioning for, so I was ready for whatever the casting agents threw my way.

I grabbed my coat from the peg next to the front door. I opened the door and caught it with my foot while I put down my bag, slipped my jacket on and backed out into the hall.

“Watch it!” I said as I bumped into something.

“Sorry, didn’t see you coming out of your apartment,” a voice below me said.

I looked down. A young woman in a wheelchair smiled back at me. Great, I just yelled at someone in a wheelchair. “No, my bad,” I immediately apologized. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Maybe, but I was right in front of your door. You probably didn’t get a chance to see me.”

I looked at her and threw on my best actor smile. “No harm, no foul.” I met the teenager’s gaze and looked her over. She was beautiful. Flawless white skin, long raven-black hair, and a thin frame models would be jealous of.

“I’m Carissra,” she said, extending her hand.

I hesitated for a moment. People in New York had never completely reverted to handshakes after the pandemic. We were all a bit cautious. But I looked at the girl and knew she wasn’t trying to make me sick, so I extended my hand and said, “Erika.” She shook my hand with a firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you, Carissra. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“No, you haven’t. We’re moving in next door.”

I’d heard through the grapevine that my neighbor had bought a house over in Jersey, but I hadn’t seen him move out. But then, I rarely saw him. He was in some late-night avant-garde circus troupe or something like that. I’d only run into him twice in the hall. For a neighbor, he’d been awesome. I never knew when he was there or away, which is precisely how I liked my neighbors. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-social, but the last thing I want is to hear everyone around me.

After my breakup with Asher, I’d moved out of our apartment and ended up in an apartment in Queens where the walls were paper thin. I could hear every conversation, every argument, every time someone got intimate. After the third time I’d been woken up in the middle of the night because the people above me were fighting and the people next to me were yelling at the people above us to shut up, I knew I had to get out of that place. I’d had a couple more apartments before getting lucky in the lottery and landing in the Manhattan Plaza.

The Manhattan Plaza or the Miracle on 43 rd Street is a 46-story high-rise between 9 th and 10 th Avenues on 43 rd Street. The building had opened in 1976 as Section 8 Housing, or low-income housing. The city had turned it into an apartment complex for people who worked in the performing arts. Actors, opera singers, musicians, comedians, ushers, stage managers, and anyone else who kept the entertainment business running qualified to live in the apartments. About 75 percent of the three thousand-plus people who live here are in the performing arts. And your rent adjusted as your income did. If you were in a smash Broadway show and making a ton of money, you’d pay full price. If your situation turned on a dime and your show closed, your rent was lowered.

“Are your parents in the business?” I asked casually.

“Huh?”

The girl looked at me, confused. The other 25 percent of the Manhattan Plaza residents consisted of the elderly and people in the community. From her reaction, I guessed she was in the community group.

“Well, it’s been nice talking with you…” My mind drew a blank.

“Carissra.”

“Sorry about that. I have an audition this afternoon and my mind is racing.”

“Oh, you’re an actor?”

“You’ll find a lot of us around here. Most residents are in the entertainment industry in some form.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that.”

“Didn’t know what?” I heard a baritone voice behind me ask.

I spun my head and found a man in his mid to late thirties holding a couple of boxes in his arms. He had long brown hair that didn’t go past his collar but was pushed back in a rocker look I’d seen gracing the pages of Rolling Stone .

“I asked if her parents were in the business,” I said. He gave me the same clueless look she’d given me, so I added, “The entertainment business.”

“Oh, no,” he replied. “I’m an elementary school teacher over at Elias Howe.”

I smiled and nodded. I had no idea what he was talking about. I knew there were schools in the city, but I didn’t know where any of them were. I passed schools all the time walking around, but I didn’t stop to pay attention to them.

“What do you teach?” I finally asked.

“I’m in special education. I primarily help students who have cognitive learning disabilities.”

“Wow, hot and smart,” I said. My hand flew up to my mouth when my brain processed what had flown out of my mouth.

His head bent slightly as a smirk grew across his face. “Thank you, I think.”

“Wow, sometimes I can’t control my mouth.”

“Erika is an actor. She’s heading to an audition, so her mind is in other places,” Carissra said.

I smiled down at her, then back up at him, then back down at her.

“She’s not my daughter. She’s my niece,” the man said, seeing the confusion as it etched across my face. “I became her legal guardian last year after…” He quickly glanced down at the wheelchair.

“After my parents died in a car accident that left me in this,” Carissra said. She looked up at the man. “He still has a tough time talking about it. I was angry at first, but I was given this second chance to live life, even if it is from a metal chariot.”

I grinned. I could tell from the look on her face that she was genuine, which is not something you see too often when you work around actors all the time.

“I’m Kirk, by the way,” the guy said, extending his hand.

Again, with the handshakes . “I’m Erika,” I said, extending my hand. He gripped it firmly but didn’t hold it too tightly, like some guys do when trying to dominate your hand.

“Wait…Erika,” he snapped his fingers a couple of times, and I could tell he was trying to remember my last name. “Erika Saunders.”

“That’s me…in the flesh.”

“You know her?” Carissra asked.

“Yeah, I watched clips of her show on YouTube,” Kirk admitted.

The hottie next door is gay. Figures . “And now I’m your neighbor. Are you a fan?”

He hesitated for a second before saying, “Not really. A friend posted a link to your video on Facebook.”

“Oh really? I didn’t know it was on social media.”

“You’ve been memed and everything. You’re like the poster child for women who hate men.”

I took a sharp inhale.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just…well, you know…”

“I don’t really hate men. I promise I don’t. I also don’t hate gay people, despite my ex’s rumors around town. Gays love me, so I’m sure you and I will get along great.”

“Oh,” he started, a confused look crossing his face. “I’m not gay.”

“She thinks you’re gay.” Carissra shrieked with laughter. When she finally caught her breath, she said, “That’s hysterical. Trust me, Erika, he’s pathetically straight. Me, I’m bisexual. I love everyone. Much easier that way.”

“Well, now that I’ve firmly put my foot in my mouth, I really have an audition I need to get to.” I turned and started walking toward the elevator. Figures, the first hot straight guy I have met in a long time, and I shove my foot right in my mouth.

“Hey, don’t forget an umbrella,” Kirk yelled after me.

“Got one in my bag,” I said, turning around and motioning to my bag. “I was a Girl Scout. I’m always prepared.”

I clicked the button and was greeted seconds later by the chiming sound as the elevator hit the floor and opened its doors. The ride to the lobby was smooth. And Kirk was right. The rain had started coming down. One joy of fall in New York City was how quickly the weather could go from summer to fall, back to summer, then to winter, all in twenty-four hours.

I slipped out of my heels and put on the tennis shoes in my bag. In the city, it’s always essential to have a pair of tennis shoes in your bag because you don’t want to walk around the city in heels when it’s raining or snowing. Oh, and never wear open-toed sandals or heels on the streets. You’ll have grime all over your toes at the end of the day. And you won’t know what the grime came from. That’s just nasty.

I nodded to the security guard before heading out into the rain. Fun fact about Manhattan Plaza: Samuel L. Jackson was a security guard there in the 1970s before he got his big break. I loved my apartment building because it had so much history.

Outside, I rummaged through my bag and opened my umbrella. Thankful that I always had one in the bag for just these occasions. I headed off to the Actors’ Equity Building. From the Manhattan Plaza, it was maybe a ten-minute walk if the tourists weren’t gawking and slowing down the sidewalks.

I crossed 9 th and continued to walk down 43 rd Street until I hit 7 th . I stood waiting for the light to change. A few tourists were about, and one almost poked me in the eye with her umbrella. Dodging umbrellas when it was raining was a full-contact sport. I moved to the edge of the curb to get ahead of the mass of people. I was looking in the other direction when a bus turned the corner. Suddenly, the wall of a hurricane hit me square in the chest, and I was drenched from head to toe. People behind me gasped as they watched it happen. I reached up and wiped the water from my face. I may have outwardly groaned, but the string of profanity that ran through my head would have made my mother in Iowa blush.