Page 56 of Footlights and Forever

Hailey: That depends on a few things. Are there other people in the queue? Will they join in with the tit punching? Also, you are a man. Can you not just go into an alley and whip it out and relieve yourself there?

Me: I would, but then there is always that risk that the NYPD shows up and the next thing you know I’m knocking at the neighbors’ houses. “My name’s Dylan and I’m on the sex offenders register.”

Hailey: Why are gays always so dramatic?

Finally, the line moved. The drunk girl and her friend, whom I’d decided were called Fenway Park and General Mass stumbled their way past the line and disappeared into the crowds, hopefully to find Ricky and tell him how much of an asshole he was in person, rather than informing other innocent queues of peeing patrons.

Me: I think it’s so that at a moment’s notice we can fill in for Patti LuPone in any stage play if she can’t make it. I’m made for Evita, bitch.

Hailey: I’m trying to imagine you singing on stage without pissing yourself and I can’t.

Me: You, madam, are one hundred percent correct.

Hailey: So where are you, anyway? Isn’t it Austin’s big opening night?

Me: Yeah, we are at some cast party in the city.

Hailey: He hasn’t ditched you, has he?

Me: No, he had some stuff to deal with, with the rest of the cast, so I’m keeping myself entertained until he’s done.

Hailey: As long as you’re sure. Anyway, are you still coming to see me next month?

Me: Wouldn’t miss it. Ooh the bathroom is free. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow. Night x

Hailey: Night! Have fun x

I locked the door behind me and took care of business. A minute later, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my reflection. The last few months were showing on my face in a very real way and rather than being upset about the now visible dark circles under my eyes, I saw them almost as a badge of honor. I’d started my new job at AMN productions and hadimmediately been assigned to a new show that had debuted only a couple of weeks before I started.

It definitely wasn’t Shakespeare or an Arthur Miller play, butElevatedgave me the opportunity to work closely in a fast-paced, high stress environment, where scripts had to come fast and change on the head of a dime. The show was about two wealthy families on the Uupper East Side of New York who, after finding out a relative in common had passed away and left the penthouse of a fictional high rise building to both distant cousins, decided the best thing to do was to renovate and separate the penthouse into two smaller apartments. While not very highbrow, I loved that the show touched on very real issues in society, such as the fact that the distant cousins were from two very different backgrounds. One family was a traditional Waspy type of family with generational wealth propping them up, whereas the other family came from a modest background in Guadalajara, Mexico, from the illegitimate child of the youngest offspring of the recently deceased relative.

With just enough heart to be endearing and with enough grit, meat and bones to be compelling, I had a good feeling that the show would be picked up for the following year. The numbers for the first ten episodes were off the charts, and there was already talk in the office about assigning roles for the following season. I was hoping against hope that if I paid my dues for this first season, that they might bring me back as a junior writer for season two.

A sharp knock on the door jolted me out of my reverie and back to the slightly cramped bathroom of the venue. I opened the door and smiled sheepishly at the young woman who appeared to be river dancing on the spot, presumably to stop herself from peeing.

“Sorry,” I muttered as I pushed my way back into the hoard of bodies now crammed inside the moderately-sized room. Afleeting moment of panic passed me by, that I might get crushed in this mob as the volume of people seemed to exponentially increase for a moment. I got shoved to one side before finding my footing and working my way across the dance floor towards the booth where I’d left Austin.

I emerged on the other side like an explorer exiting the jungle into civilization again, only to find an empty booth where I’d expected to find Austin. I pulled my phone out of my jeans and pulled up Austin’s number, hoping that he would be somewhere quiet enough to hear me calling.

I only got to open my phone when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I just about jumped out of my skin, yelping in surprise and jumping around six feet forwards to get out of range of the sudden hand from the darkness. I turned to see Madge’s wild hair and less than amused gaze aimed my way, like a pissed-off Medusa about to strike.

“Oh Madge, hi.” I tried for a smile, but I was assuming from the narrowing of Madge’s eyes that a grimace was plastered all over my face. I was a terrible actor.

“There you are Dylan,” she grinned, something uneasy about her smile making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Sorry, I was just in line for the bathroom.”

She waves her hand dismissively at my attempts to explain my absence. “No need for all that, I’m just here with a message from Austin.”

That had my ears perking up. “Austin? Why are you passing me a message from Austin? Where is he?”

“Yeah, as I was about to say, Austin had to leave unexpectedly.” Her grin became wider and much more menacing.

“Austin left? Why? Why didn’t he tell me?” I scanned the crowd once more, not believing that after everything, he would just abandon me there by myself.

“There was an event that he just couldn’t miss and left with the rest of the cast.” Her manicured nails clacked together as she drummed her fingers, “He told me to make sure you got home okay.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill and held it out towards me. “That should be more than enough to cover your taxi fare, right?”

The motherfucker’s left me to go to a fucking party?I felt myself on the verge of an all-out rage fit when I realized that would be exactly what queen bitch in front of me would want. To get one over on the boyfriend whom I knew she considered to be nothing but an inconvenience, an obstacle standing in the way of Austin’s career. She had pretty much outright said as much one time when I’d visited Austin in rehearsals, before Austin had stepped in and reminded Madge of her place, which was not in the middle of our relationship.

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