“KatGirl! I’m coming to get you and tell you my news!”
Her heels banged across the floor as she ran down the hall and jumped onto my bed, bouncing a few times on her butt.
“Tell me your news.”
“I got a callback for the new musical. The new Frederick Stillman musical,” she said, referring to the revered composer. Theater actors fell all over themselves to land roles in his shows, be they new productions or revivals. He was nothing short of a legend and had attained God-like status in the thespian community.
I knocked fists with her. “You are a rock star!”
She twisted her index and middle finger together. “Don’t jinx me. But I hope so! I hope I’m a Broadway star.” She flopped back on my bed. “Oh my god, Kat. This is my dream. This is my f**king dream. A role in a Stillman musical. It’s called Crash the Moon and the score is to die for. Well, the song they gave me. It’s a rock ballad I have to sing. But the casting director saw my Eponine and called me in for a supporting role.”
“I didn’t even know you were auditioning for it.”
“I didn’t tell a soul. I was so terrified I’d blow it, so I kept it totally secret. Now, she wants to bring me in for the producer. And, word on the street is that Patrick Carlson is going to win the lead. I might have a chance to act with Patrick Carlson. He only pretty much inspired me through all of high school.”
“Yeah, and he’s the one straight actor in musical theater, right?”
She laughed. “Pretty much. Well, him and Reeve.”
Patrick Carlson was a few years older than Jill, and had risen quickly as a Broadway star, nabbing a Tony already, as well as a long list of gorgeous girlfriends. He had chiseled cheekbones and the voice of an angel. You could fall in love just hearing him sing. Well, if you weren’t already mad about someone, that is.
“When’s the callback?”
“Next week. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone because I’ll pretty much just be practicing my songs the whole time I’m not coaching my newest half-marathon club.”
“You’re going to blow them away and make gobs of money as a star. Break a leg.”
My phone rang. Jill raised an eyebrow as she picked up the Hello Kitty-encased device from my nightstand and brandished it at me. “I thought you two were on ice.”
I sat up straight and looked at the screen. Bryan’s name blared across it.
A part of me wanted to hear his voice. Another part urged me to resist. Neither part had a chance to debate it because Jill swiped her finger over the phone.
“Kat in the Box’s line. How may I help you?”
I rolled my eyes as she waited.
“No, I don’t believe she is available. She’ll be free again to speak with you in about five weeks.” Jill spoke in a professional voice as if she were my receptionist.
A pause. Jill smirked and nodded several times. “My, my, my. Isn’t that just convenient that the padlock deal came through.”
My shoulders tightened with excitement. Padlocks. That could only mean one thing.
“Oh, really? Well, you definitely shouldn’t go anywhere near the Hotel Marquis that’s just three blocks from the Eiffel Tower on rue Dupleix when you go to Paris tomorrow.” Jill clasped her hand over her mouth in an overly dramatic gesture. “Oh my. I did not mean to just happen to drop the name of Kat’s hotel. Especially since you two have your chastity belts on. Pretend I didn’t mention it. Wipe it from your brain. I’ll make sure she knows to stay away from the W Hotel too. Ta-ta for now.”
She hung up the phone and I stared at her, mouth agape.
She shrugged. “What was I to do? He was giving you a heads up that the city of Paris called him in for some last-minute meeting about the padlocks, whatever that means. He didn’t want you to be surprised if you see him at the airport tomorrow. He said he had to move up his flight a day because of the storm.” Jill winked. “Convenient, that mother nature, isn’t she?”
Très convenient. Or inconvenient. Depending on how you looked at it.
Chapter Twenty
The lights of the city shone like fireflies as New York City fell away below me. The plane soared higher, and I worked on a crossword puzzle since all my reading material was of the electronic kind. Though I often wondered — if the power from a simple eReader could disable a plane’s navigation on takeoff, what did that say about the sturdiness of the plane?
I returned to the clue in front of me, filling in edict as the answer for a five-letter word for doctrine. How apropos, given my self-imposed edict to stay away from Bryan for the next five weeks. I didn’t even see him when I boarded, but I suspected he was in first class, and I was stuck in lowly coach.
As I finished the puzzle, one of my least favorite odors permeated the air. The scent of smelly man foot. The guy next to me had removed his shoes. I wrinkled my nose and tried to breathe in through my mouth.
“Ah, that’s better,” he said to the woman with him as he wiggled his freed feet in their white tube socks. The woman smiled without showing any teeth, and then began clipping her nails.
Great. Now, I had not one, but two of my least favorite human activities on public transit taking place in a two-foot radius. At least I had the aisle seat. I turned, shifting my body away from them and hoping the lady might gently remind her man of proper social mores.
But after several minutes of sweaty-sock-scented air and the clip-clip-clip of nail maintenance, I started to wonder if perhaps my seatmates might break out Q-tips next and check for earwax. I frowned at the image as the plane reached its cruising altitude, and one of the flight attendants strolled down the aisle, a purposeful look in her eyes. When she reached me, she bent down. She wore her hair in a perfectly coiffed twist.