Chapter 1
December 2012
Angelica Shepard tossed aside the script she’d been reading. It was beyond her skills as an actress even to begin to get into character for a part in yet another off-off-Broadway play under financial duress, and most likely—and this is only if she was lucky—it would have a short run, and the reviews would be atrocious.
When she began to study acting right out of high school, she’d given herself ten years to “make it” to the top. Meaning, she would be able to support herself and, if the gods smiled on her, she’d be able to quit her second job. At eighteen, ten years had seemed like a lifetime. Now at thirty-two, four years past her self-imposed deadline, she was still searching for the role that would catapult her to stardom.
She glanced at the script, then told herself to forget it. Something better was sure to come along.
A cup of tea would be nice right now, she decided as she walked three feet from her living room/bedroom to the small kitchen—if you could even call it a kitchen. It consisted of one small counter, four cabinets that hung above the countertop, a mini-stove, and a refrigerator. She’d made the best of the limited space, calling it home for more than ten years. It was a small studio, even by New York standards, but Angelica couldn’t help feeling a wee bit of pride. Purchasing the place on her own, and in the city, was quite an accomplishment. Yes, she had to supplement her acting career with a part-time job bartending at one of New York’s hottest nightspots, but without that job, she would never have been able to pay the mortgage, much less continue to pursue an acting career. Many times, Angelica had wanted to throw in the towel and just work at the club full-time, but she was determined to pursue an acting career a while longer. Maybe after six months, she would once again reevaluate her career choice.
She filled the white ceramic teakettle from the tap and placed it on top of the burner. Walking the few feet back into the living room/bedroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the small chest of drawers that held her entire wardrobe. She had medium-length coffee-colored hair and hazel eyes, which were just beginning to reveal the first signs of crow’s-feet. Her skin was still smooth, her lips full, her teeth perfectly aligned, but she could see the beginning signs of aging. Maybe she should consider having Botox injections. Her friends swore by the stuff. But the thought of injecting botulism in her system was a bit too much.
She’d had high hopes for a part she’d auditioned for just last week. The role had called for an actress in her mid to late twenties who could sing reasonably well, dance, and, of course, act. Her agent, Al Greenberg, a kindly old guy who’d been in the business forever, had promised her he would call and tell her if she’d gotten the part. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than her cell phone’s musical ring filled the small studio apartment at the same time the teakettle began its low whistle. She grabbed her cell phone, leapt to the stove, and removed the kettle.
“Hello,” she said anxiously.
“Angelica, my dear, how is my favorite client?”
She took a deep breath. “It depends on why you’re calling,” she said, hoping to sound light and silly rather than dark and desperate.
Al laughed before responding. “Now, now, don’t hold me responsible for your moods, kiddo.” He paused.
Angelica heard his intake of breath and knew then that his reason for calling was not to impart the news she’d hoped for. A heavy sigh escaped her before she spoke. “Go ahead, Al. Shoot.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard it myself. Ross called.” Ross was the director and producer of the play Angelica had auditioned for. “He wants Waverly Costas for the part.”
Silence.
Al did not need to explain to her what that meant. Waverly Costas was twenty-three, with beautiful ash brown hair and a body to match. The sad thing was, and Angelica couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact, the younger woman was actually a gifted actress. Her stomach instantly knotted, and her eyes pooled.
Darn, dang, and double darn! She’d really wanted the part! Inhaling, then slowly exhaling as she’d been taught in her yoga class, Angelica chewed her bottom lip, then plunked down on the cream-colored sofa. “It’s okay, Al. As you always say, it must not be the right part for me.”
She heard Al’s heavy sigh. “That’s true. It takes time. Everyone wants to star on Broadway. You know the competition is tough, but your time will come, Angie.” He used the pet name that he’d given her years ago.
“Sure, Al. You’ve been telling me that for how long now?” Of course, she knew exactly how long. He’d been her agent for twelve years. Yes, she’d had a number of good roles, all supporting, but never a lead.
“Ahh, come on, Angie, don’t be discouraged. I hear that Johnny Jones has something in the works. It’ll be the perfect role for you. Rumor is that Morgan Freeman has accepted the leading male role.”
How many times had she missed out on “the perfect role”? And this one was with Morgan Freeman? Her favorite male actor in the world. Al knew it, too. She could just see it now. Her name beneath his on the playbill. Blotting her eyes with a corner of the dark green throw tossed on the back of the sofa, Angelica took another deep breath. “Listen, Al. We both know I’m not getting any younger. Maybe it’s time to call it quits. We know youth rules the business these days. The younger, the better. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, truly I do. Maybe I’ll take some time off during the holidays, rethink my career choice.”
Al’s robust laughter filled her ears. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Angie, best I’ve heard all day. Why don’t you head out West? I know how much you enjoy skiing. Hell, who knows, you might even meet some lucky ski bum.”
Her spirits sank even further. Al sure had a way of making her feel good about herself today. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. As a matter of fact, I’ll call the travel agency now. I’ll get in touch when I return.”
“See? That’s the attitude! You have a Merry Christmas, kid, and I’ll see you when you come home. Who knows what’ll be waiting for you?”
“Yeah, who knows? Merry Christmas, Al.” Angelica disconnected. She suddenly felt as though she were about to say a final good-bye to her dreams.
Fourteen years of hard work.
Down the drain.