Page 3 of Serving the Couturier

“I know, I know,” Gin said, trying to offer some comfort. “It sucks, but don’t let this get you down. You’re too talented to let one setback define you.”

“But it’s not just one setback,” I said, my voice cracking. “It is constant rejection and disappointment. How much more can I take?”

“You’re a fighter, London. You’ll get through this,” Gin said, her voice full of encouragement.

As we said our goodbyes, I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling defeated, hungover, and wondering what could have been, the bitter taste of rejection still in my mouth.

TWO

SPENCER

As the curtaincame down on my hit show’s performance in London’s West End, I felt a rush of excitement. The crowd erupted into applause, with cries of “Bravo!” and “Encore!” ringing through the theater. I took a deep breath, soaking up the energy of the space and feeling grateful for the journey that led to this moment. Despite the long nights and endless rehearsals, it had all been worth it.

But it was bittersweet. After a year of sold-out shows and critical success, it was time for a break. The theater needed renovations, so we were going on a six-month hiatus.

I should have been delighted, but a nagging sense of uncertainty lingered in the back of my mind. I had made plans with a director to set up another show during the hiatus, but those plans had fallen through. It wasn’t the first time this director had backed out on me, and once again, I was disappointed. But I refused to let it dampen the celebratory atmosphere of the night.

The reverberating sound from the applause was ringing in my ears. The energy of the theater still buzzed around me, and I looked around, taking it all in for one last time.

This was it.

This was why I became a theater producer. It wasn’t for the money or fame. I wanted to create art. My goal was for people to associate the name Spencer York with productions that evoked emotions like joy, tears, and entertainment. Despite not having formal training in acting, set design, or music, I had a clear vision in my head and the resources to bring it to fruition.

I had come a long way since my early days as a producer, when I was still finding my footing and trying to establish myself in the industry. It certainly hadn’t been easy, but I never let go of my dream to create meaningful and impactful theater. And now, here I was in one of the most prestigious theaters in London, surrounded by a cast and crew who had become like family to me.

As the applause faded and the audience headed for the exits, I made my way backstage to congratulate everybody on a brilliant performance. The excitement was palpable, with actors milling around, the scent of stage makeup and hairspray in the air, and the sounds of chatter and laughter all around. I loved every bit, and the energy of the theater was fueling my passion for the craft.

I always prided myself on being hands on with the cast and crew, taking the time to know each of them by name. I loved working with them and helping them grow as performers.

I greeted everyone, shaking hands and even hugging some. As I made my way to the dressing rooms, I came to the lead, Anjelika Pym, a talented and fresh-faced actress who made her debut in my show. Her performance had been nothing short of magnificent.

“Anjelika, my dear,” I said, congratulating her as I leaned in to kiss her cheeks. “You were breathtaking tonight. I have a feeling you’ll shine even brighter when you’re back on stage in the renovated theater.”

“Merci, Spencer,” Anjelika replied with a smile, her French accent becoming more pronounced now that she was out of character. “You always know how to make a girl feel special.”

I noticed a plane ticket peeking out of her purse on the dressing table. “Ah, the life of a traveling performer,” I grinned. “I bet you’ll be sipping café au lait and indulging in croissants every morning in Paris for the next few months? It sounds a lot more appealing than the traditional English breakfast of a greasy fry-up and a cup of lukewarm tea.”

“You know me too well, Spencer,” Anjelika laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve been counting down the days until I can see my family again. It’s been way too long.”

With her stunning beauty and undeniable talent, Anjelika left most men mesmerized, including me. Her sparkling eyes and charming smile were a constant temptation, but I knew that acting on these feelings would be unprofessional and could harm my relationship with her and the rest of the cast.

But, oh boy, it was difficult to resist her charm. The way her costume accentuated her curves, and her accent emphasized her words. It was all incredibly tempting.

For this reason, I kept the conversation light and centered on the future, discussing plans for the upcoming hiatus and our shared excitement for returning to the renovated theater in six months.

As the place emptied, I took in the lingering energy before leaving. The costumes and sets were being packed away, the lights were dimmed, and the stage crew was wrapping up for the last time. Props were scattered, and the floor was littered with confetti, creating a beautiful mess.

As I stepped out the door, the crisp November air hit my face, sending shivers down my spine. The sky was dark, lit only by streetlamps and passing cars. The chill seeped through my coat, and I pulled it tighter around me, as the familiar scent of London, a mix of damp earth and diesel, enveloped me.

I was halfway to my car when my phone rang, and I checked the caller ID. The number wasn’t familiar, but I answered it anyway.

“Spencer, how are you?”

“Stan?” I said, recognizing the voice on the other end. Stan Longley, a New Yorker in his mid-forties, came to London a few years ago to check out the scene. We had become friends and kept in touch, but him calling me out of the blue on a Saturday night was unexpected. “I’m well,” I said. “Everything okay?”

“It sure is,” he said with a chuckle. “Tonight was your last night before your show goes on hiatus, right?”

“Yes,” I replied, surprised that he knew.

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