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Chapter 7
Rachel
“Knock, knock,” a voice beckoned from the entrance of Rachel’s apartment. She smiled, realizing immediately who it was.
“We’re back!” Gigi yelled out, and Rachel smiled to see Beatrice right behind her, wearing her signature red hat and sunglasses. Gigi was wearing what looked like Mardi Gras beads round her neck, and both were rocking killer tans. They sashayed into the living room where Rachel sat, beaming at her.
Frank Sinatra barked from Gigi’s purse as she crossed the floor, handing Rachel a gift bag.
“How was Vegas?” Rachel asked as Beatrice leaned in to kiss both of Rachel’s cheeks, probably leaving some of her signature red lipstick on her. Rachel didn’t care. It was so good to have her neighbors back in town. She’d missed them these past couple of weeks as they were out and about.
“Fabulous, but we’re so sorry we weren’t here when you needed us. Look at you, poor thing, stuck on those clunky crutches. You must be going crazy,” Gigi said, sitting down on the sofa beside Rachel, letting Frank out of her purse. The dog jumped right up on Rachel, tail wagging. Rachel often babysat Frank when he couldn’t go along with Gigi and Beatrice, so they had excellent rapport.
“We’ve told you to be careful on those balconies. You know in our glory days, Gigi did the same thing. She broke a toe though. Was laid up for a month. You’re lucky it’s just a sprain.”
Rachel smiled. “How do you know what happened?” She hadn’t talked to the two of them since her accident. However, she wasn’t really surprised they knew more about her accident than she probably even did. Gigi and Beatrice were the pure definition of gossip queens. They knew everything about everyone before it even occurred. It was part of their charm—unless you were the one trying to keep a secret. Rachel slept peacefully at night knowing without a doubt no serial killers or people of ill repute lived nearby—because certainly Gigi and Beatrice would have tipped her off if they did.
“We saw Mr. Jenson downstairs when we were coming home. He told us he had seen you hobbling on crutches earlier in the week. And so I called Tula—you know Tula, right? From the stage crew?—to get the scoop. Apparently, Miss, you’re the talk of the show. Everyone feels so badly that this happened, and doing a volunteer workshop, to boot. If this is Karma, well, then there’s something wrong with it, huh?”
“Great,” Rachel replied, sighing at the thought that even the stage crew knew all the lovely details about her klutzy accident. Just what she needed—the entire cast and crew knowing she was a moron. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“Now, darling, don’t we always tell you it’s better to be talked about than not? No shame in falling from a balcony, especially if it gets your name out there,” Gigi reassured, patting Rachel’s knee.
“It’ll get my name out there for being a klutz.”
“And there are plenty of roles out there for klutzes. Played a few myself,” Beatrice answered. “In fact, those were some of the most fun roles.”
“Oh, I do miss the stage. I’d throw myself from a balcony if it got me back there,” Gigi replied, sighing as she settled back into the couch even more.
“You could always go back,” Rachel said, smiling.
“Don’t tempt her. She would in a heartbeat. I, on the other hand, can accept when I’m all dried up and too wrinkly to look good in the spotlight,” Beatrice replied.
“Well, you are older than me,” Gigi answered.
“A freaking year. Just accept it, honey. You’re older than dirt. Nothing wrong with that. Besides, we’re having fun exploring the world, aren’t we? You can’t do that performing all those shows a week,” Beatrice argued.
Rachel smiled, listening to the two continue to bicker about age and who had more wrinkles.
When she’d moved into this apartment and the landlord had told her she’d be living next to two retired Broadway stars, she’d been excited at the news. When she met Gigi and Beatrice, she’d been elated to find they were not only willing to mentor her through the processes of Broadway but were hilarious to be around. Over the past few years, she’d spent plenty of Fridays with Gigi and Beatrice drinking wine and getting filled in on all the gossip from their apartment complex and the stage. Even though they were retired, they still had their connections and still had plenty of juicy gossip. They’d also been amazing networking connections for Rachel, actually introducing her to Michael and getting her the first audition. They’d been her cheerleaders through this entire process. More than that, though, they’d been her friends, two faces in the city she was always happy to see.
She could only imagine the life they brought to the stage in their glory days because they brought so much life to everything now. They were her spirit animals, she always said. She hoped she could be that much fun later in life.
“So anyway, enough about us. Tell us about you. How did Michael take the news? Because if he so much as said anything negative to you, I will go down there and take care of it,” Gigi said, slamming her fist in her hand to demonstrate.
“He was fine with it. But I can’t help but worry what this will do to my career. It’s not like I have an important role, but I need to be there if I’m going to build a name for myself.”
“Darling, first of all, stop downing yourself. A chorus role is just as important as a leading role. You know we know that’s true. And second, it will be fine. It’s never a bad thing to take a couple of weeks off. You have decades ahead of you to be on stage and to work. Some time off never hurt anyone. Take care of yourself, drink some wine, and kick back. You’ll be back on stage before you know it.”
“And besides, being off might not be such a bad thing when you’ve got a handsome hunk to take care of you,” Gigi added, winking.
Frank Sinatra jumped up on Rachel, licking her face as if agreeing. Rachel shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you know we know about the sexy man who was here with roses. We have eyes all over this building. You can’t sneak some hot one-night stand in without us knowing. Good job, sweetheart. Snagging a hottie while you’re laid up. Nice,” Beatrice replied, giving a little shoulder shimmy to demonstrate her approval.
Rachel shook her head. “It’s not like that. Geez, you two are like mini stalkers.”
“Nothing mini about us,” Gigi replied. “But what’s it like then? Because when a man brings roses, his intentions aren’t pure. That’s all I know.”
