Page 3 of Broken Romeo

“You must be nervous,” Jill says. She covers my trembling hands with hers, taking the mug I’ve been scrubbing.

I relinquish the dishes to her and try to smile, but I can feel the terror-stricken expression locking onto my face. Swiveling my butt around so that she can see the sweat stains on my skirt, I go for levity as I wag my booty and say, “Nervous? What do you think?”

Jill scrunches her nose playfully. "Ew. Gross. Yeah, it was more of a rhetorical question, anyway."

She waves the mug in my direction. “Go. You’re going to be late if you don’t start walking soon. Besides, you need to get there with a few minutes to spare so you can let your ass dry off in the bathroom.”

She winks as I stick my tongue out at her.

“You can do this," Jill adds. "I’ve listened to every one of your monologues, and they’re perfect. You could sing your audition song in your sleep."

She’s not wrong. It's not as though I'm unprepared.

But this audition is different.

It’s not a two-week stint in a shitty fringe festival show for no pay other than a fifty-dollar Metrocard—not that I wouldn’t take that Metrocard, thank you very much.

This audition isn’t for dinner theater or a touring show or an understudy or even an ensemble role. I won’t have to sublet my room to a chick with eight eyebrow piercings for the summer while I travel to Colorado for Summer Stock.

This is a Broadway audition… for the lead role in a new show.

“Yeah.” My throat tightens, and I try to straighten my wobbly smile.

A customer strolls in and peruses the menu board above us. Jill jerks her head to the door. “Go,” she mouths.

I strip off my apron, grab my purse, and rush out the door. Our café is a convenient eight-block walk from the theater district, and I scurry around the crowds, dodging and weaving the midday foot traffic of executives, artists, and tourists all jam-packed into the same sector of our bustling city.

I make it to New World Stages with fifteen minutes to spare before my audition time slot and pause to stare at the building from the outside courtyard.

Heat tingles behind my eyes as I soak in this moment—my first Broadway audition.

And maybe my last.

CHAPTER TWO

With a gulp and a prayer, I enter New World Stages and follow the signs with arrows pointing toward the audition stage.

When my agent called me with this opportunity, I almost didn’t believe her. Apparently, the very famous director, Reid Bradley, had seen me in my Fringe Festival show and wanted me to audition for the lead in this new musical. It seemed far too good to be true. A nobody actress who had barely scraped her equity card together by doing summer stock and dinner theater productions was being sought out to audition for a leading role on Broadway?

Even my agent seemed highly skeptical and made that fact well known three days ago when we spoke over the phone. “According to the casting agent, they’re keeping the details of the project super secretive. I only know the director, one producer, and the casting director. I have no idea what other actors, if any, have been signed on. I don’t know who else they’ve called to audition for your part. I don’t even know if the new musical has been workshopped and premiered elsewhere yet.”

“What do you know?” I’d asked her.

“I know they seem interested in you. It’s unheard of—a director finding an unknown actress at a Fringe show and asking her to audition? I’m not sure what deal you made with the devil, but opportunities like this never happen, Kate. Don’t waste this.”

The director may have asked for me to audition, but this is far from a done deal.

The signs lead me to a woman sitting behind a folding table.

And she is hugging none other than Tony-Award winning actress, Missy Howl.

Missy is a legend in the New York City theater scene. She has starred alongside my ex, Holden Dorsey—or rather, Holden James as he is now known—in every Broadway show he has been in.

Fuck. If Missy Howl is auditioning, there’s no hope for me.

She and I are as different as different can be. Missy has rich, black hair to my ashy blonde, and striking lavender eyes that make my blue eyes seem mundane in comparison. Hers are probably colored contacts, but they’re no less gorgeous.

“Thanks, Maggie,” Missy says with an adorable wave. “It’s always good to see you.”

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