Life on the Naughty List, or What the Elf!

5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I t was after four when I exited back onto 46 th Street. The rain poured down harder than before. I looked left, looked right, and decided it was time for a celebratory mojito. Next door to the Actors’ Equity Building is my favorite Cuban restaurant and the best place to go for mojitos in Manhattan, Havana Central. I walked into the restaurant and sat down at the bar.

The bartenders were already fixing the layers of glasses with the basic mojito fixings at the bar. I waved one over when I caught his eye. He was a medium-built Latino who had short dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes. I almost melted when I stared into his eyes. When he opened his mouth and asked me what I wanted to drink, I almost said something completely inappropriate, but I stopped myself and ordered a classic mojito, a combination of fresh muddled mint, sugar, rum and soda. He poured my drink and went back to prepping for the after 5:00 rush. I swirled the mint around with the fresh piece of sugar cane sticking out of the glass.

I was the only one sitting at the bar, and the music wasn’t loud, so I pulled out my phone and called Brice.

“Brice Stark.”

“Brice, it’s Erika.”

“Ahh, yes. I was waiting for the phone call. I heard about the callback tomorrow. Congrats.”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Wrapping up some paperwork. Why?”

“I’m at Havana Central. Come join me for a celebratory drink.”

I knew Brice’s office was a block away, so he could be here in minutes if he really wanted to.

“Give me ten minutes. See you soon, love.” And he hung up.

I played around with my phone and looked at the menu. I hadn’t realized I’d skipped lunch because of my hasty preparation for the audition. I wanted something light now to make sure I wasn’t drinking on an empty stomach, so I ordered a shrimp sofrito empanada. Havana Central is known for two things, mojitos and empanadas. I’d found myself here many nights before I worked on Broadway and after. It was just off the beaten path enough from Times Square that many tourists looked right past it, so many people in the theater community came here for early or late dinners, depending on how they preferred to eat. Personally, I don’t like to perform on a full stomach. And if I’m dancing, food slows me down and makes me sluggish. I stick to a strict diet during the week when I’m performing. On a show day, I have a decent breakfast ranging from eggs and toast to granola with yogurt and fresh fruit. If I have a matinee, I may forgo a larger breakfast and have a smoothie from one of the many smoothie places. I would love to say that I grow my wheatgrass and cut it every morning for a shot, but no one will believe that lie. I prefer to let the professionals handle things like cooking. My skills are not domestic, I know that. I can’t cook, I hate to clean, and don’t let me near an ironing board unless you want a hole in your shirt.

“Look at you, celebrating with an empanada,” Brice said as he approached. I stood and hugged him as he kissed me on my cheeks.

Brice was 28, drop-dead gorgeous, had short brown hair, a closely shaved beard, and Caribbean Ocean blue eyes. His suit was tailored to fit his perfectly trim athletic body. And the navy blue suit only made his eyes pop even more. Of course, I knew the suit had been made for him by a tailor he used down in SoHo. Brice was not a labels kind of guy. When you make the kind of money he does, you forgo labels and have people make your clothing. Brice’s parents, Julia and Robin, were the driving force behind the Stark Agency. The elder Starks had been around the business for a few decades, but Brice had always been her agent. In fact, Erika had been Brice’s first client.

“So, tell me about the show,” Brice said as he stripped off his black wool coat and slung it over the back of an empty chair.

I was about to respond when the bartender saw Brice and quickly came over. Trust me, I was used to watching people hop to when Brice entered a room. He had that self-assuredness that people notice. Brice didn’t need to tell you he was important; people just knew that he was. And, of course, I got to be important simply by being in his orbit when we were out in public.

Brice ordered a mango mojito before turning back to me. “Sorry about that,” he said, genuinely apologizing for being interrupted by the bartender. That’s the kind of guy Brice was. For an agent, he knew when he needed to have a firm hand and when he needed to use kid gloves. Us actors are tricky like that.

“Well, I do not know what the show is about,” I told him.

“Still?”

I told him about the audition—the good, the bad and the ugly. He laughed when I described the fiasco. He grew somber when I admitted to breaking down and crying on the bathroom floor. Then he cheered for me when I described my performance.

“I am so proud of you. And I’m glad you chose a song that focuses on love and life and not on hating men for a change.”

“I don’t hate men,” I said. He shot me a ‘ do you really think I’m buying that’ look.

“So, did they ask you to prepare anything for tomorrow?”

“Nope, they told me to show up at two.”

“Who asked you to the callback?”

“Believe it or not, the composer ran after me. Told me he was a fan. Told me he was straight. Told me he didn’t believe Asher. Then told me to come back tomorrow at two.”

A look of confusion flashed over Brice’s face. “Why did he tell you he was straight? Was he hitting on you?”

“No.”

“So, you became BFFs with this guy?” Brice asked suspiciously.

“It’s not like that. He was roommates with Asher in college. I may have insinuated that he’d also slept with Asher—“

“You didn’t.”

“I did… Thankfully, the guy took it in stride, which is when he told me he doesn’t believe anything that comes out of Asher’s mouth and that most of the people on Broadway were learning to do the same.”

“It’s about time,” Brice said with a twinkle in his eye. “Just remember, I was the one who told you not to date him.”

“You could have said, ‘Hey Erika, don’t date the man whore.’”

“I don’t think he was a man whore yet. I think that happened after you started dating him.”

“Ouch!”

“Erika, I didn’t mean it like that,” Brice quickly backpedaled. “I think living in the city started to change Asher. You were the last to see the signs.”

I knew he was right. Asher had been an amazing boyfriend at first. Even when we were on tour together, he was perfectly attentive. I’d always known about the bisexual thing, and that didn’t worry me for an instant because he’d also seemed so devoted to me. At some point, I just became not enough for him. It took me two years of therapy to come to that realization. I allowed him to place all the blame on me in the press. Admittedly, the video of me yelling a few choice words at him as I lay underneath the stage with a broken leg helped paint me as the villain. Still, he was the one who had betrayed me. He was the one who cheated on me. He was the one who made the poor decisions. I was the one who didn’t recognize the red flags when they were waved in my face like a flag girl at a football halftime show in the South.

“So, what are you up to tonight?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“I’m having an early dinner with the parents. Then we’re going to see three clients opening a play Off-Broadway.”

“Really? The agency is bringing out all the big guns tonight?”

“It’s rare, but occasionally, my parents and I still see shows together. We got lucky that each of us has a client in this one, so we coordinated our schedules to make it a family affair.”

“And how goes the dating life?”

“I won’t ask about yours if you don’t ask about mine,” he said with a quirk of his lip.

“Touché.” I threw my hands up in mock surrender, which was the end of that shortly lived discussion. “How goes the house hunt?”

“Still need to see a few more properties on the market. My real estate agent called. A Wall Street-type put his condo on sale. It’s in a nice building near the theater district. Apparently, it’s all hush-hush, so I don’t know the specific location. But I’m supposed to get an early preview of the space early next week. If I like it, I may put in an offer.”

“Condo board?”

“Of course, but my real estate agent doesn’t think I’ll have any problems with them. Apparently, the board is made up of mostly industry types, so I’d fit in nicely with the group.”

“And you? Any thought about leaving the Manhattan Plaza?”

“Leave my theater commune behind? Never.”

“What if you win a Tony?”

“I wouldn’t be the first Tony Award winner to live in that building. Heck, the place was home to Academy, Grammy, and Emmy winners. That place has history.”

“It is nice that there’s a place for struggling performance artists to live and thrive while trying to make a way in this strange business.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, I hate to drink and run, but I need to head on over to Sardi’s, meeting up with my parents.”

“You’re meeting at Sardi’s? Isn’t that a bit cliché?”

“Of course, it’s cliché. But then, what’s wrong with cliché? One person’s cliché is another’s sense of classicism. Sardi’s is like great art. It has more stories to be told than any of us will ever hear.”

With that little nugget of wisdom, he grabbed the coat from the chair next to him, kissed me on the cheek, and was off to see his parents. I hadn’t noticed that he’d paid my bill before he’d left. He knows I would have wrestled him to the ground if he’d asked me first, which is why he decidedly didn’t ask.

I put my coat back on and grabbed my bag before heading out into the cold weather. At least the rain had stopped.

The walk back to the apartment was quick and dry. After my earlier soaking, I was looking forward to getting out of these clothes, even if they were dry now. Knowing how soaked I’d been earlier made a chill run down my spine. I entered the lobby and headed for the elevator bank.

“Hey, can you hold the door?” I heard someone yell.

I wanted to ignore the voice, but I kicked my foot out and waited for the person to join me.

“Howdy, new neighbor,” a man said, walking into the elevator with a couple of pizzas.

It took me a moment to remember that I’d met him earlier that afternoon. Let’s face it, I’d had a crazy afternoon. I tried to remember the guy’s name, then it hit me, “Kirk…right?”

“That’s me. I’m impressed you remembered.”

“Guess it’s that actor’s mind of mine.”

“How’d your audition go?”

“As well as could be expected. Well, that’s a lie. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible. But I was magnificent, and they want to see me again tomorrow.”

He looked at me before saying, “Sounds like you have a story to tell.”

“You have no idea. It starts with me being drenched from head to toe as a bus sped by me.”

His brow rose in surprise, which made me want to tell him more. Unfortunately, the elevator dinged, and story time was up. “I guess I’ll have to finish telling you about my day some other time.”

“Or you could come tell me now?” I looked over and caught a look of surprise that crossed his own face. “I mean, you could come over and tell Carissra and me your story. You know, Carissra, my niece. She’s in the apartment, so she’d be there, too. Is it getting hot in here?”

He was kind of cute when he squirmed.

“Do you have any plans tonight?” he finally asked after I’d been staring at him for a hot minute.

“I don’t know if a bottle of wine counts as plans . Not that I need any more alcohol. I met up with my agent for mojitos when I got the callback.”

“Oh, is he your…” Kirk let the phrase hang out there between us.

“No, oh my gosh, no. Brice is gay—very, very gay. We’re more like siblings than anything, except I pay him a lot to be my sibling. So, I guess we’re not like siblings at all.”

“Pizza?” Kirk asked, holding up the boxes. “I have meat and vegetarian.”

I considered it for a moment. Part of me wanted to head into my apartment, close the door, and take a long, hot bath. Instead, I heard the words “Sure, sounds like fun,” slip out of my mouth before I could stop them. “But first, I want to change. Get out of these clothes.”

“No problem. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Kirk headed to his door as I opened mine. I pulled out the key, went inside, and made my way through the living room. After setting down my bag, I went into the bedroom and removed my clothes to throw on something more comfortable. I went with a pair of jeans, a gray sweatshirt that read Iowa State on it, and a pair of fuzzy house slippers. Hey, I was only going next door, and I wasn’t trying to impress this guy.

On the way out of the apartment, I looked at myself once in the mirror. I didn’t look half bad. I wasn’t the super-hot Broadway actor from that afternoon, but I was still the gorgeous girl next door from Iowa. I grabbed my keys and headed to the adjacent apartment.

I knocked twice on the door and heard a voice from inside yell, “It’s open,” so I pushed and found that it had been left open enough to not latch shut.

“It’s me, Erika,” I said as I walked into the apartment. I’d never seen inside this specific apartment. Still, I’d been enough of the building’s apartments to know all the general apartment layouts. To the right, I found an empty kitchen. There was an open hole between the kitchen and the living room area beyond the entryway wall. I could see the open pizza boxes sitting on the ledge between the two rooms, but I couldn’t see the dining room area.

“We’re in the living room,” Kirk called to me.

I stepped further into the apartment and found Carissra and Kirk sitting at a small, circular folding table, already digging into their pizza.

“Sorry we didn’t wait for you. I didn’t know how long you’d be, and frankly, I was starving.”

“No worries,” I replied. “I would have done the same thing.”

Kirk gestured toward the empty folding chair, and I sat down.

“So, Kirk told me you had a bit of an adventure this afternoon,” Carissra said.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

I spent the next 25 minutes retelling my story. Admittedly, I got the story better and knew where people would laugh with each retelling. I was getting the hang of this humor thing. I’d never imagined myself a comedienne, but maybe I had some comedic chops after all.

When I finished my story, Carissra and Kirk told me more about themselves and their lives before moving in next to me. They were lucky to get into the building because it was within walking distance of Kirk’s and Carissra’s schools, the place was affordable, and the apartment had two rooms.

“Her parents were pretty well off,” Kirk said, “But I didn’t want to use any of Carissra’s inheritance until she turned eighteen. I want to make sure she has enough money to go to any college or university she wants to go to. And still have enough to help her get established in a career once she has a degree.”

“Uncle Kirk is kind of amazing, isn’t he?” Carissra said absently.

“He sure seems like it,” I admitted.

I looked around the apartment and it was quite sparse. “When are the rest of your belongings supposed to get here?” I asked.

“In two days,” Kirk almost growled. “Sorry, it’s a sore subject. They were supposed to unload my old apartment out in Queens, which was too small for both of us, and move us here in one day, but that isn’t what happened. We’re both going to sleep on the ground tonight, unfortunately.”

“I have a blowup bed in my apartment you can borrow?”

“I couldn’t possibly accept,” Kirk said.

“You invited me over for pizza. I insist you let me return your generosity. Besides, it’s just sitting in a closet right now.”

“Are you sure?” Kirk questioned.

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay, let me come get it from you. I want to make sure Carissra gets to bed at a decent hour. We both have school tomorrow.”

We walked back to my apartment. “Let me get the bed out of the spare room.”

He stood in the living room, taking in my place as I walked into the spare room, opened the closet and dug around until I found the box. I pulled on the plastic handle, and the box came out smoothly with only a tiny avalanche of stuff being displaced.

“You okay in there?” I heard Kirk call from the living.

“Everything’s fine. Just had to move a few things.”

I shoved everything back into the closet and kicked it shut with my foot before heading back out into the living room.

I handed the box to Kirk. “Thanks. This is generous of you. I hated the idea of Carissra having to sleep on the floor tonight. She’s already suffered so much.” The crestfallen look on his face was clearly one he hid from his niece.

“I can’t imagine what she’s gone through or what you’re going through. But from what I can see, she adores you, and you’re doing everything you can to make her happy. That’s more than most people would ever do.”

He smiled and nodded once before saying, “She’s family. She’s the only family I have left.”

My heart broke for him. He was strong and yet so vulnerable.

“Anyway, I should get back. Thanks again for the use of the blowup bed. I’ll get it returned when our furniture gets here.”

“No worries,” I said before adding in my best sinister voice, “I know where you live.”

He laughed appropriately at my cheesy joke. I opened the door to see him out. “Thanks for the pizza and company tonight.”

“Anytime, neighbor.”

A white furball dashed between my legs and tried to make it into the hallway. Kirk bent over and scooped up the darting Bootsy with his free hand in a smooth action I’d only seen by wide receivers.

“Hey there, little guy,” Kirk said.

The cat eyed the man who’d caught him, but he didn’t lash out. Kirk handed Bootsy back to me. “That was some save,” I said. “He generally doesn’t try to get out of here. But occasionally, he tries to make a jailbreak.”

“I’ve had pets most of my life. I know how it goes.”

“Anyway, good night.”

“Good night, Erika.”

I shut the door, holding Bootsy firmly in my arms as I stroked his fur, and we both let out a contented sigh.