Shacking Up(103)

I tune back in just in time to hear, "-today to audition for another role."

"I'm sorry, could you please repeat that?"

"It's a slightly more challenging role, but your paperwork indicates you have vocal background. If you're interested, we'd like you to come back and audition this afternoon."

"I can do that. Definitely. I'm interested. What time would you like me to be there?"

"Can you make two o'clock? We have an opening at that time." 

"I'll be there. Is it at the same theater?"

"Actually, no, it's down the street. Not too far away." I scribbled down the address and realize he's talking about the New World Stages on West Fiftieth. This is a big deal. Not Broadway big, but Off-Broadway significant. It's a huge step in the right direction. Getting this role, or any role in this production would be amazing for my career.

I call Amie so I have someone to be excited with, but it goes to voice mail. A pang of sadness hits me when I see Bancroft's number not far down the list of recent calls. If this had been a few days ago, he would've been the first person I called. Possibly ahead of Amie. That tells me, in a way I didn't expect, just how attached to him I've become. I shake off the sadness and rush back to Amie's to prepare for my audition.

This time I'm put together and organized. I show up half an hour early, expecting it will give me some time to review the script-I didn't even think to ask what the play or the part was, I was so excited.

Ten minutes after I arrive they call me in, so I barely have enough time to look over the script or learn the song I'm supposed to sing. I don't even have a chance to get nervous.

And maybe that's exactly why I nail it. It's going to be such a cool production and the acoustics in this theater are outrageous. Once again I'm riding a high as I head back out into the warmth and the sunshine. As I'm passing the little theater where I auditioned yesterday, I notice a flyer in warning-sign-yellow. It's impossible to miss. And it says FOR RENT.

I have no idea how long it's been there, but with my current string of luck, I call the number.

I get voice mail, so I leave a message and take a picture of the address. I don't think it's terribly far from here. It would be amazing if I managed to find a place within walking distance, or a short subway ride, of my best friend. For as long as she's still living in her apartment, anyway.

I need to be at the club around six and it's already approaching four, so I get my gear together and grab something to eat. I need to work a trip to the market into my day. Amie's lettuce selection isn't all that inspiring, or filling.

I'm considering leaving for the club early so I don't have to sit around and think about how a few days ago I could've shared my excitement with Bancroft, and now I can't. I can't exactly share it with the girls at the club either.

If I get this role, I'll have to quit or at least cut back my shifts. Quitting is more likely. And that makes me sad, because as scandalous as my job is, it's been a freeing experience. More than that, it's actually fun-aside from the horrible blisters and the calf cramps. Those I won't miss.

But this role would come with a very decent paycheck. One I can live off of. And the production is anticipated to be long running. This is what I've worked so hard for. It's exactly what I want. I try not to get my hopes up, but it's hard.

Just as I'm shoving my feet into my shoes the phone rings. I recognize it as the number from the rental advertisement. I fully expect the person to sound like Darth Vader, or that the ad is old and the apartment is rented, but I'm shocked to discover it's not. It's a sublet, and it's only available for two months.

That's not necessarily a bad thing. I can handle something short term. It will buy me time to find something permanent. I set up an appointment to see the place tomorrow. For all I know it's located in the basement of a dungeon somewhere.

The next day I take the short subway ride to check out the apartment. It's a beautiful, tiny four-hundred-square-foot apartment, built for function. A sliding panel bisects the room, giving the illusion of a separate space for the bedroom, which boasts a murphy bed.



       
         
       
        

The entire apartment would fit into my bedroom at Bancroft's. Which is not my bedroom anymore. It never really was. Like this place will be, it was temporary. A stopover until I managed to pull my life back together.

"I know it's small," Belinda says apologetically, as if it's her fault the apartment doesn't have more square footage.

"That's okay. It's just me anyway. What would the rent be for this?" I'm afraid of the number she's going to throw out. I have serious doubts about being able to afford this place.