Page 152 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

“And I’ve never submitted anything to Britta or her company or to The Majestic Theatre before.”

Arthur flips through a few folders on his desk.

“But you know whodidwork at The Majestic Theatre?”

Ha! There it is.

He stops shuffling the folders and pulls his hands into his lap. He stares blankly at the screen in front of him and seems to be purposely avoiding my eyes.

“You.”

He draws in a deep, slow breath.

I go on. “Andthe artistic director was one of your students.” I pull up the theatre’s staff page on my phone, still open from last night’s deep dive, and read the pertinent information. “‘Harold Lowe was a longtime assistant director and student of Arthur Silverman. Together, the pair brought more than fifteen productions to The Majestic stage before Arthur’s retirement in 2021. Harold hopes to continue the Silverman tradition of teaching, encouraging, and using theatre to bring people together.’”

I look at him. “You sent them my information.”

He turns but doesn’t fully meet my eyes. “You have no proof.”

“Arthur!” I wait until he finally looks up. “Why would you do this for me?”

He finally relents. “All I did was get you the audition. You still have to get the part yourself.”

I pause, then say, “I got the email on Friday.”

His eyes widen. “And?”

“I haven’t opened it yet,” I say.

“Why not?” The lines in his forehead deepen with his frown.

“I was trying to make sure I was, you know, in the moment.”

He only stares.

“For the cast,” I say. “They deserve my undivided attention.”

He holds the silence for a beat, and then, as if it’s a line in a play, he says, “Well, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Now I’m the one frowning.

“Open it,” he says.

“Now?” I ask, but what I really mean is,“In front of you?”

He quirks a brow.

I typically don’t love to share my rejection, as evidenced by, well, the last seven years.

But maybe this will be good for me. Still, I hesitate.

And still, he stares.

“Fine.” I click over to my email, scroll to Britta’s name, and open it. My heart is racing with nerves as I scan the words that come in and out of focus on the screen.

“Well?” Arthur leans closer. “What does it say?”

My eyes jump to his, but I don’t let my expression give anything away. “Do you really not know?”

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