Page 1 of Flirty Dancing

1Nathan Lane Is Watching

“Twenty-seven is too old.”

Notthemost devastating words ever spoken, perhaps, but close.

They echoed through Archer’s head again as the subway car rattled around him.Twenty-seven is too old.Objectively speaking, it was not old. It was just a beginning, really. Too old to start a family? Of course not. Too old to go to college? No way. Too old to write a novel? Don’t be ridiculous, have at it. Too old to quit your job as an accountant and move to New York City with dreams of making it as a Broadway dancer? Well, that answer had to be no too, or else… fuck.

Archer’s phone lit up with a text from his mom.Why aren’t you returning my calls? Did you get the part?

Nowas all Archer could bring himself to type.

Oh, hon. I’m sorry. I hate to say I told

you so, but…

Twenty-seven is too old.

That still counts as ‘I told you so,’ Mom, just so you know.

You’re a brilliant dancer and you

gave it a good try, but maybe it’s

time to come back home. You belong

here, Archer.

Archer slumped into his seat, eyes shutting over the sting of tears. Five months, thirty-six auditions, twelve callbacks… and exactly zero roles. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t quit. His very soul would shrivel up and die if he had to move back to Ohio. Maybe he didn’t belong in New York, but he sure ashelldidn’t belong there.

I have two more auditions this week, and a callback,he informed his mom. The callback was for the most ridiculous gig ever, but she didn’t need to know that.If I don’t get those, then we’ll see.

Okay, hon. Have a good night.

The train shuddered to a stop and Archer joined the flow of people up the stairs out into Hell’s Kitchen, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The evening air had cooled but was still thick with the promise of the stifling summer heat that was not far off.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Lynn called from the bathroom when Archer shut the apartment door behind him. “Watch out, Leak Perry is back.”

Archer dodged the half-full bucket of water sitting in the middle of the faded linoleum floor. “And I’m sure Fletcher is on his way to fix it right now?”

“Ha!” came Lynn’s reply. “Yeah, and he’s giving us free rent for the month.”

“Right,” Archer muttered, not even bothering to lookup at the wet patch on the ceiling. Fletcher had come to investigate the leak twice already, finally, after multiple texts and phone calls, then informed them both times it was fixed. It was not. Archer dropped his bag on the floor and threw himself onto the old couch that was wedged against the wall, only inches from the kitchen on one side and the bathroom door on the other.

“How was your day?” Lynn came out of the bathroom attempting to jam her abundant dark brown hair into a bun, curvy figure wrapped in a killer sequined dress. Despite the damp and closet-sized apartment that was rapidly draining his savings, he adored living with Lynn.

Archer whistled. “Damn. Where you headed?”

“Out,” she mumbled through a hairpin before she took it from her mouth and stabbed it into her bun. “As are you.”

“Ugh, pass. I’m wallowing.” He clutched a magenta throw pillow to his chest and tried to look pathetic. It wasn’t hard.

“The fuck you are.” She examined him, hands on hips. He didn’t even need to tell her he got another no. His silence said it just fine.

“It’s Sasha’s birthday,” she reminded him. Lynn was an actual responsible adult, with a responsible adult job in a law firm in the Garment District, and she even had a responsible adult relationship.

Archer sighed. He wasn’t sure Sasha’s birthday was occasion enough to be forced off the couch on, this, the day of his thirty-fifth rejection.

“Plus”—Lynn gave him a look that pierced right through him—“you need to get out of your head a bit, my friend. Get drunk. Maybe even get laid.”

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