Life on the Naughty List, or What the Elf!

25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

T he rest of the week was a whirlwind of rehearsing, tweaking the show, new songs, new dialogue, and evening performances. I didn’t know if I was coming or going. Beyond the cast and crew, I saw no one else. I sent thank you cards to everyone who had helped me get my job back.

After the Saturday evening performance, a group of cast members went out to a restaurant near the Manhattan Plaza. The show had run smoothly, and I thought we’d hit our opening night with no major problems. The restaurant was nice enough to stay open late for us. We pulled together several tables and sat and enjoyed each other’s company.

I ended up sitting next to Asher. We were now talking and texting almost every day. It reminded me of the good old days—before we started dating. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed my friend Asher over the past few years. He’d matured more than I could imagine.

“Toast!” Asher said, clinking his glass. “To all of us on The Naughty List . May we stay forever humble and make Santa proud!”

There were a bunch of “hear, hear!’s” around the room.

I took a quick breath and stood. “I’m not one for giving speeches, but I want to thank you for what you did this week. You’ll never know how much this meant to me. Here’s to a long run.” I lifted my glass, and everyone around the table did the same.

Asher put his arm around me when I sat down, and he leaned in to whisper in my ear. “You’ll never know how glad I am that you’re back with the company. I can’t imagine working on this show without you.”

“Likewise. If you had asked me three months ago if we’d be sitting next to each other having dinner, I would have told you, you were out of your mind.”

“I know. After the way we ended things, I didn’t think you would ever talk to me again. I can’t reiterate enough how sorry I am about all that.”

“Water under the bridge,” I said, raising my glass to him. “Here’s to us, looking forward, not backward.”

He clinked my glass, and we both drank.

The rest of the meal was relatively uneventful. I learned about some of the craziness that happened while I was gone that no one had told me about yet. I told them about playing charades with “normal” people.

The only slight downside to the night was that we all had a lot to drink. Instead of throwing Asher in a cab, I dragged him back to my apartment. I promised him he could sleep on my couch.

The elevator door opened on my floor, and Asher collapsed against the floor and started laughing loudly. “Shh…” I said. “You’re going to wake the neighbors.”

“Let them hear me,” he belted, breaking into a semblance of Ragtime .

“Shh…” I tried again.

A door down the hall opened. I turned to see who it was. Kirk stood in his doorway wearing only his boxers. His hair was disheveled.

“Hey, look, it’s the hot neighbor,” Asher yelled. “Howdy there, neighbor.”

“Sorry,” I said. “We were celebrating.”

“I can see that,” Kirk said flatly. “Please, keep your boyfriend quiet. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“He’s not—“

Kirk shut his door before I could finish the sentence. Before the door shut, I caught a glimmer of emotion on Kirk’s face, but I wasn’t sure what it was. Annoyance? Regret?

“Uh-oh,” Asher said. “I think your hottie neighbor is mad. He doesn’t like me.”

“I can’t imagine why,” I responded as I dragged Asher down the hall into my apartment and dropped him on the couch. He was heavier than he looked.

I changed and got into bed. Bootsy, the little traitor, slept on top of Asher rather than with me. I didn’t have long to complain because I was asleep before I hit the pillow.

I awoke with a splitting headache. I apparently had drunk more than I had intended to. There was snoring coming from the living room. I poked my head out the door and was surprised to find Asher sawing logs on my couch. I didn’t remember bringing him home last night. For a split second, I was afraid something may have happened between Asher and me, but the memories of the previous evening came back to me.

I grabbed my phone off the charger next to the couch. I had one message from a number I didn’t recognize, so I pushed play.

“Hey Erika, Eugene Moses here. I’m The Naughty List ‘s composer, in case you’ve forgotten my name. Anyway, I know this is your day off, but I had an idea for a new eleven o’clock number for the show. I wanted to see if you could come by my apartment today and help me iron it out. If all things go smoothly, and San Nicolás likes it, we may put it in the show as soon as tomorrow night. Anyway, call me back when you get this.”

Eugene lived in an apartment above a bakery in Chelsea. I walked up the four flights and knocked on his door. “Coming!” a muffled voice called from inside. A second later, a young woman opened the door.

“You must be Erika. I’m Jackie.” She opened the door wide, and I walked into the apartment. “Eugene stepped out for a minute. He promised he’d be right back.” I looked down. Jackie was quite obviously pregnant. “I’m having a craving for Mountain Dew and Funyuns.”

“Together?” I said without thinking.

“I know. Tell me about it. Normally, I don’t like either, but I’ve been craving them today. Eugene has been a godsend during all this.”

“So, he’s not—“

“No. He was my high school sweetheart. But that was eons ago. No, the baby’s father is in the military and currently overseas on deployment. Eugene has known both of us for years, so he opened his home for me and the little one,” Jackie said, pointing to her belly.

“When’s the baby due?”

“She was supposed to be here three days ago. If she doesn’t hurry up and come out on her own, the doctors will induce labor this week. I was hoping to have her out and in the world before your show opens, but she isn’t cooperating.”

“I’m home,” Eugene yelled as he opened the door. He saw me and said, “Oh hey, Erika. Glad you found the place.” He then glanced between Jackie and me and asked, “I take it you have introduced yourselves?”

“All three of us have been introduced,” Jackie joked. “Anyway, you two have fun. I’m going to go lay down.”

Eugene handed her the bag from the corner bodega. He pulled out a couple of bottles of water and handed me one. “I figured you’d want water.”

“It’s nice that you’re taking care of Jackie and her unborn daughter.”

“Jackie and I were high school sweethearts a long time ago.”

“That’s what she told me,” I said.

“And with Brian overseas, I knew she needed someone close to lean on.” There was a wistful look in Eugene’s eyes as he looked in the direction she walked. Part of me wondered if he still had feelings for her. I guess adolescent love doesn’t always die. “Well, let me play the new song.”

“You said it’s a new eleven o’clock number?”

“That’s the goal. Right now, we have the long speech from Madam Tanya. Honestly, it’s an old holdout from the source material. I don’t think it works in the show. Instead, there’s the moment when Billy James is shot and Madam Tanya asks for the elves to save him. I don’t know what magical Christmas power elves have over life and death. But apparently, audiences don’t care.”

“Tell me about it. That part of the show was always awkward, but then a lot of the producer’s changes have been strange to me.”

“Don’t even get me started on Eldridge. You see what she changes. You can only imagine the crazy stuff coming out of her that the artistic team has put their feet down about.”

“Really?” I asked. I had assumed the artistic team had caved to Eldridge’s every whim.

“Oh yeah. I know there is some crazy stuff now, but you didn’t see her desire for a big number with show elves.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah, Eldridge wanted a big number like one she saw at a Las Vegas review. She wanted tall headpieces and practically nude elves doing high kicks or some nonsense. She thought it would add to the pizzazz.”

“Oh, thank the stars you saved us from that one.”

“San Nicolás convinced her it would take away from the family show feel and drive away potential customers. She throws out money left and right, but I think she has a lot more riding on the show’s financial success than she lets on. Sure, she says it’s all about her dead husband’s legacy, but we—the artistic team—all think she needs this show to run and the new theater to be a success.”

“Well, let’s hope we can give them one heck of an eleven o’clock number.”

Eugene walked over to an upright piano sitting in the corner of the apartment. He pulled out a couple of stacks of printed pages. He handed one to me and laid the other one out on the piano. “Tyreek’s sorry he couldn’t be here. He has something else going on this afternoon.”

On top of the page were the words “Give Him a Chance to Live. Music by Eugenius Moses. Lyrics by Tyreek MacQueen.”

“Why don’t I play the number first, then I can walk you through it?”

“Works for me,” I said. I put the water bottle on the ground and read through the song while Eugene played it on the piano. It absolutely captured the moment in the show. And vocally, it fit me perfectly. Eugene knew my voice and what it could do, and he captured everything I had in me within this one song. By the time he stopped playing, I was crying. “Holy elf balls! This is amazing. It’s perfect.”

“And I wrote it for you. I wanted you to have a moment to shine. It’s like I told you the very first time I met you. I’ve been a fan for years. I can’t imagine doing this show without you. I want young singers to look up to you and try to match your talent as they attempt to belt this song for years to come.”

“I hope I’m up to the challenge,” I admitted.

“I have no doubts. Trust me, I wouldn’t have written it like this if I didn’t have full faith in your talent and that amazing tool you have. Let’s get to it.”

We spent the next four hours working on the number. We changed a few things here and there to figure out where I could breathe to ensure I hit the sustained high note at the end of the song. I’d never had a song written for me like this. Eugene sensed what my instrument could do in a way that I hadn’t even known. He truly was a genius.