15
On the results show the next night it's confirmed, and to no one's surprise Dominic and I are out. My feelings are conflicted as the show closes and the remaining cast surrounds us with well wishes. I realize that I've finally made some friends here. They were a tough group to crack, but now I can say there are some genuinely nice people.
We skip the normal post show interviews and are whisked to the airport. Between the three-hour time change and the need for us to get to the morning show studio by 7 a.m., there's no time to lose.
"Seriously?" I say to Dominic when we're seated in first class.
"Helps take the sting off losing, doesn't it?" He offers me the spacious window seat and takes the aisle, while the flight attendant stows our coats.
"You won't find me complaining." I snuggle in and call Tom. His show should be over by now.
He picks up. "How'd it go?"
"You'll never guess where I am?" I smooth my hand over the supple leather seat.
"At the airport?"
"Better. In first class!" He laughs, and I can't wait to see him in person. It’s been three weeks since I laid eyes on him.
"What time are you off the clock and officially mine?"
My stomach tingles at his words. I pull the phone away for a sec. "Dominic, what time are we done tomorrow?"
The flight attendant hands each of us a glass of champagne. Dominic clinks his glass to mine and says, "Around nine."
"Hear that?" I say into the phone.
"Yes. I'll see you both at nine."
I whisper into my phone hoping none of the other high fliers overhear my rookie excitement. "They just gave us champagne."
"You're living the high life now."
I take a sip of the bubbly, it goes to my nose, and I sneeze. Dominic leans over. "Chelsea, I can't make it tomorrow. I've got a meeting with my agent."
"Dominic can't join us, you okay with that?"
"And have you all to myself? Bummer. Does he want to come to the show? I’ve got two tickets if you want them."
"Of course I do!” I nudge Dominic and mouth the question. He nods. "Dominic will be there too."
The flight attendant collects our glasses and indicates that it's time to hang up. "I've got to go, I'll see you soon."
Dominic and I eat dinner and talk for a long time, still hyped from the show.
"This was a great season. We started rough, peaked, then ended rough. Who could ask for more?" he jokes.
"Sorry about that."
"It wasn't your fault. Sometimes things work out the best way possible, you just don't know it yet."
"So what is the meeting your agent about?"
"There's a movie I could audition for, a summer dance tour, maybe opening a studio of my own."
"That's incredible. You're agent's been busy."
"She's great. You know, you should consider getting an agent. I'm sure there are opportunities for you now that you're a known entity."
I shake my head. "Nah. My fifteen minutes are about to expire. I'm not cut out for this fame thing. It's time for me to start searching for a job."
“Or, take a couple months off to just relax and enjoy life. From what I’ve heard, you don’t take much time to treat yourself.”
“No. It’s never been an option.”
“Why don’t you take a few chances and try something different? We made it far enough in the show, you should have some decent bonus money.”
I just have my apartment rent and a couple of bills to pay for, which I should be able to cover. “Maybe, but I can’t imagine doing nothing.”
It isn't long before Dominic is reclined in his seat with his head back and mouth open like a teenager passed out after an all-nighter gaming. But I can't sleep, I get to see Tom soon. We've only spent a few hours together and yet he's turned my life upside down. Will he still like me after we spend the next two days together? God I hope so.
The flight drags, so I watch a movie. By the time I finally close my eyes, it's only a blink and the flight attendants are serving coffee and pastries.
New York City
Stepping into the late November New York chill takes my breath away after two and half months in mild L.A. The studio has sent a car to meet us. I'm tempted to call Tom, but it's so early, he probably isn't awake yet; and he has two shows today, so I don't want to bother him yet. I peer out the window, soaking in every detail as we approach Manhattan. The traffic slows and we inch through rush hour. People pour out of a subway exit, just like in the movies. Taxis dodge in and out of traffic, and food carts crowd every corner. The air smells of baked goods and vehicle exhaust. Dominic points out the historic Grand Central Station and later the New York Public Library with its giant lions standing guard.
We arrive at the morning show studio in Times Square just before 7 a.m., and I change into a fitted blue dress and black boots. We're briefed by a producer, and my makeup is touched up. When there’s a spare moment, I sneak in a text to Tom.
The interview goes well. Jokes are made about my stubborn start to the show, and the growth I've made. They ask who we think will win. Dominic evades, saying it's too close to call, but I declare it's Brady and Leyna.
Afterward, our luggage is whisked away to our hotel, so Dominic and I can go our separate ways. I slip on the new coat that I bought special for the trip. Thanks to all the professional primping, I feel fantastic.
Dominic and I push through the doors and onto the sidewalk in Times Square. Cars and buses crowd the street and billboards flash with lights. I hear a distant siren as people hustle through the cool morning. There's Tom, with his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket, leaning against the light post and wearing a crooked smile and a dark scarf.
It's really happened. I'm here. And he's here, and we have a whole day together, other than his two shows. I smile and head toward him. He pushes off from his spot and meets me halfway, greeting me with a kiss. Ah, the familiar touch of his lips. His hair flutters in the breeze and the morning sun sparkles in his blue eyes. A city bus roars by in a cloud of exhaust.
"Welcome to New York," he laughs.
There’s an excited nervousness between us. We’ve waited for this moment for so long, but what now?
"How did the interview go?"
"It's sort of weird. The hosts talk like they know me."
"You made the semifinals. You're a celebrity."
I cringe. "Hardly. If I'm what people consider a celebrity these days, that's pretty pathetic."
Tom gestures with his head to a couple of tourists taking our picture.
"They must be here for you," I say.
"It's all you. People only recognize me when I'm standing outside the theatre immediately after a show. Twenty minutes and two blocks away, I'm a regular shmoe just like everyone else."
I lean in and whisper, “They look like they’re going to come over here. What do I do?”
His arm goes around me. “Do you want to talk to them?”
I turn my back to the strangers. “I want to slink away, is that rude?”
“Nope.” Before the onlookers make their move, he guides me down a street away from Times Square. "I thought we could catch a late breakfast. Are you hungry?" he asks.
"I am. They served a breakfast sandwich on the plane, but that was almost four hours ago. My internal clock is messed up. I only slept for an hour or so. I was too excited."
"I know all about that." He smiles.
We walk a few blocks and stop at a red light. The breeze is brisk. The cold air on my legs is unexpected. I pull the neck of my coat tighter.
"Cold?" He removes his scarf and wraps it around me, smiling as he tucks the ends into my coat. "It's not too fashionable, but it should help."
It smells exactly how I remember him from his last visit—a mix of cologne, fresh air, and something that's pure essence of Tom.
He taps the tip of my nose with his finger and smiles. "Your nose is red."
"I'm not used to this cool weather. I grew up in the Midwest, but after not really experiencing a normal Fall in L.A., this cooler weather is going to take some adjustment."
He holds me close enough to shield me from the wind as we walk. We pass restaurants, souvenir shops, and a couple of theaters with huge marquees. I'm trying not to act too much like a tourist, so I don't point or stop to take pictures, but I'm wide-eyed and soaking up every detail.
We walk a couple blocks to a less congested street. He opens the door into a cozy cafe with a stone floor and butcher-block tables. Every wall is floor to ceiling bookshelves packed to overflowing. We order at the counter, collect our coffee, and take a table by the front window.
I slip off my coat and set his scarf over it. "This place is amazing."
"It's a good spot to come disappear when I need some peace and quiet."
"It reminds me a little bit of a coffee shop I went to in college."
"So you went to college in Iowa City? Why did you pick there?"
"I wanted to get away from the town where I grew up."
He blows on his coffee and takes a sip. "Why's that?"
"My mom had been gone for a long time, and my Grandpa too. I needed a fresh start." The truth is there wasn't much left for me there after my best friend moved away summer before senior year. College was a good time for me. I loved the structure and stability that I lacked during high school, and I finally began to put my life back together.
He holds my hand from across the table. "I'm sorry about your mum. That must have been horrible."
"It was, but it happened a long time ago."
He tilts his head and considers me. "I can't imagine you ever get over something like that."
"No. I don't suppose you do," I say with a wistful smile and sip my coffee. Not too many people ever talk about my mom, because they're afraid it will bring me down, so Tom's concern touches my heart.
"What was she like?"
"Mom was great." I smile thinking of her. "She did everything she could to give me the best life. We took a big vacation every summer, she supported my obsession with books—I have a picture of her, want to see?"
"Absolutely." He sets down his coffee.
I dig the photo out of my wallet and glance at Mom's loving eyes. I've stared at this image a thousand times over the years. The edges are worn and the photo fading. I hand it to him. "This is from my thirteenth birthday. It was the last picture of us together before she got really sick." I watch as he studies the old photo.
"She's beautiful," he says studying her face.
My heart swells with pride. It was only a few weeks later that she began to lose her hair and over the months wasted away.
"And look at you with braces and such an adorable smile."
I move to grab it away from him, but he holds it away. "That was my gawky stage."
"You look just like her."
"You think so?" I lean over and peer at the picture.
"Here." He turns it around.
Mom has a brilliant smile and laughing eyes. "Our hair is definitely the same color."
"And you have the exact same smile. Your eyes are a little different, but everything else is the same."
No one's ever told me we look alike before. Of course, there haven't been many people around who knew her either. "Thank you for that."
I gaze at Mom's face and miss her. The feeling fades sometimes, but then will surprise me again at unexpected times. He sips his coffee as I put the photo back.
The waitress arrives with our food. "Wow, you must be starved," I say, checking out his veggie omelet, with greens on the side, oatmeal, and bowl of fruit.
"It's a two-show day. I need all the energy I can to get through it." He digs in, and I feel a little guilty for showing up on such a busy day.
"Can I ask about your dad?" he asks softly.
I startle and look up from my ham and cheese omelet. So I guess we're going to have that awkward talk. "Sure, but there's not much to tell. My parents divorced when I was young and he left for a job in Paris."
"He just walked away?"
"Yup. I didn't see him again until Mom's funeral." I set my fork down and recall that long ago day. "I hugged him so hard when he showed up I think I scared him off."
"Why would you say that?"
"Maybe if I hadn't been so desperate, he might have let me go with him to live in France."
"You were a kid. He should have been there for you."
I stab at my eggs. "Well, he wasn't. He went back to his new family and left me with my grandfather who was suffering from Alzheimer’s."
"I can't believe he got away with that."
"Yeah, well he has a very good lawyer whose job was to keep me away from him, and my confused grandpa agreed to keep me, even though he was the one who needed care."
Tom shakes his head. "Are you sure you're okay talking about this?"
I know it's a shocking story for people to hear for the first time, but this is all old news. It's what happened, I'm long over the unfairness of it, but I get that Tom has questions. "I might as well get my skeletons out of the closet early. If you're going to bolt, I'd rather you did it before I actually start to like you."
"Oh, you like me," he says looking smug.
"You're mighty confident." I laugh, and take another bite.
"So what happened after your Grandpa passed?"
I wipe my mouth. "Well, the house had to be sold when Gramps went into the nursing home. I lived with my friend Jenny's family for a few months, but then her dad was transferred for work and they had to move to Seattle. It was the summer before my senior year."
"And you actually lived in your car." His tone is pained.
"I did." I say it as if it's no big deal, but the memories from that lonely time are carved in my psyche like a scar that won't fade.
"How long?"
"Until I graduated." Embarrassment creeps up at me. It shouldn't, but it does. I hate this feeling. I'm a survivor. I can take care of myself.
"Aren't winters really cold in Minnesota?"
I nod.
"You were a minor. Aren't there laws that should have protected you? I know this is none of my business, but didn't your mom or grandfather leave you any money?"
"My mother had life insurance money that she left to me in a trust, but my father, or rather I should say his lawyer, is in charge of it until I turn twenty-five. The only time I've been able to get access to it was for college tuition and books."
He grips his cup and his jaw clenches.
My eyes wander to the table, the floor, anywhere, but facing him. Talking about this was a mistake.
"More coffee?" The waitress offers brightly and I welcome the interruption.
"Yes. Thank you." She refills my cup and then Tom's. I hide behind my mug to avoid his concerned gaze.
"So, how about this weather?" I say.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that. It's unthinkably unfair, but for the record, love, I don’t scare easily, and I'm not going anywhere."
I smile weakly and hope it's true, but I don't want to count on anything yet. We barely know each other. My earlier excitement has been replaced by a weariness after drudging up my ugly past. But at least now the topics are lighter. He tells me about his family including his sister's kids, a three-year-old boy and a baby girl. We talk about my last performance. And then a yawn slips out.
"You're already bored with me," he says.
"I'm sorry, I guess I need a lot more coffee after so little sleep."
"You look beat. Where's your hotel, I can drop you off."
"I don't remember what hotel it is." I whip off a text and Dominic responds with the hotel name and that he tried to check in, but our rooms won't be ready until three. I'm not quite sure what to do about that.
"I've got to get to the theatre soon, but if you want, you can crash at my place until your room's ready."
"I hate to impose."
"That's crazy. If you don't mind a ten-minute walk, I can guarantee you total privacy and a comfortable bed. I've got the matinee, so you can relax, nap, or salsa. Between shows, I'll take you to your hotel."
"I hate to put you out."
"You're a high maintenance chick. I can handle it." He smirks. Tom is such a switch from any guy I've ever known.
Back outside with my arm tucked around his, and his scarf snuggled against my neck, we head down the street. He turns at the corner onto a fairly busy street where every other door is a restaurant, bar, or market.
"Don't you live in Hell's Kitchen?"
"That's right."
I shiver, not sure if it's because of the cold or because we're going to an unsafe part of the city.
After another couple blocks we turn onto a quiet street with brownstones and apartments on each side of a tree-lined walk. "Is it far?" I can't imagine a scary neighborhood near this one.
"Not far. In fact," he stops abruptly outside a brick building with an ornate wrought iron handrail. "We're here."
I glance around for sketchy criminals, but all I see is a peaceful street lined with residences, a senior center next door, and a yoga studio across the street. An old woman shuffles along the sidewalk.
"This is Hell's Kitchen?"
He laughs and climbs the steps. "It is."
"So where are all the criminals?" This quiet street looks like the least likely spot in New York for nefarious behavior.
"Years ago, it was a pretty rough neighborhood. I'm not sure where they moved. Maybe they're all reformed."
I jab him in the side. He laughs and pulls me close while unlocking the security door. Up two flights of stairs, he lets us into his apartment.
"This is it. Home sweet home." He drops his keys on the entry table.
It's more spacious than I would have guessed with two tall windows letting in natural light. There's a keyboard against one wall and a guitar case in the corner. "This is incredible. I thought New York apartments were tiny and cramped."
"A lot are, but this one is pretty great. I first moved here as a sublet."
"So it's not really yours?" I peek out the window. The apartment overlooks the intersection below, which features a Starbucks on one corner, a little market on another.
"It is now. I took over the lease about a year ago."
"Where's the original renter?"
"Out on tour."
"Is it weird living in someone else's apartment?"
"Nah, in the theatre world, people are always bouncing from one flat to another due to sudden casting, out of town tryouts, or tours. The bathroom is right here, and this is my room." He frowns and rushes to tidy up. "Sorry. I wasn't planning on company." He sweeps the scattered contents on the dresser into the top drawer, scoops up clothes from the floor and tosses them into a chair, then straightens the covers on the bed.
"I'm sorry to barge in."
"Seriously, it's no problem." He frowns at a stray sock on the floor and kicks it under the bed.
"Don't worry. I'm so tired, I'll be asleep in two minutes." But I love seeing his place. It's like a peek behind the curtains into who Tom really is.
He glances at a clock on the nightstand. "Shoot, I hate to ditch you, but I've really got to run."
"Not a problem."
"If you're sure." He scans the room as if looking for anything embarrassing or out of place.
I touch his arm. "Of course. Please go."
His eyes settle on me. "All right, but call or text if you need anything. I'm on stage during most of the show, but I'll check for messages during intermission."
"Thank you."
He runs a hand through his hair. "Geez, this morning went so fast. I'm sorry."
"Would you stop apologizing? Go to work." Which sounds so funny to tell someone performing in a musical to go to work.
"I'll be back between shows and then we'll go out for a late dinner after tonight's performance, so rest up."
"I think you're the one who's going to need the rest."
He grins. "True that." He kisses me on the lips slow and soft, leaving the promise of more. "Sweet dreams," he says. A few seconds later the apartment door closes and locks.
I take off my coat and glance around the living room getting a feel for his space. There's a dead fern collecting dust in the corner as well as giant plant that stretches up to the ceiling where hooks hold up the twining vines. Exhaustion is settling in, so back in his room I sit on the side of the bed. The bedding is dark and masculine. There are wood blinds on the windows. A desk is piled with papers, sheet music, and scripts. There's a stack of papers with his eight by ten head shot. I flip it over and see more pics of him and his bio, height and weight. He must use these when he auditions for a new show.
Tired, I grab his pillow and inhale. I can't help but grin. It smells just like him.