Still, the pay is good. If I wanted this hustle year-round, I could probably make out better than I do working for The Edison. However, my goal in life is not to be a jazz pianist playing gigs every weekend.
I've got plans. I've had them for as long as I can remember. And nothing's going to stand in my way of achieving them.
It's why I've been working so hard on composing and writing my own show. If I have my way, my name'll be up there with Stephen Sondheim and Lin Manuel Miranda. So I pay my dues at The Edison and pay my bills with fancy gigs. It's a balance I hope I don't have to maintain forever.
By the time we get the gear loaded up in D'von's van, it's almost midnight. Tuxedo bag slung over my shoulder, I approach Mei. "Are you coming back to my place tonight?" She usually does after gigs, both of us too wired to sleep right away.
Might as well pass the time together.
"I didn't bring a change of clothes, so we'll have to go to my place."
I hate going to her place. Her roommates are loud and annoying. Plus I was sort of hoping to work on my show once Mei fell asleep. I do some of my best composing as I'm trying to doze off, and I don't have my notebook to write anything down in.
"Fine."
She wrinkles her nose. "Don't sound so excited about it. You don't have to come over. I'm pretty sure I'll live without you tonight."
I step back and look at her. She's stunning. Her voice is smooth and sultry. But other than that, I'm not sure what's really there between us, other than the physical.
"I think I'll just go home. I need to work on my show."
She rolls her eyes. "Right. The show."
"It's coming together. I have the end of Act One and the ballad left to write, and I got some of that down earlier tonight while we were waiting for you." I pat my pocket, where I've folded up the sheet music so I don't lose my creation. "Once I can get this done, I'll be able to focus more on … other things," I finish lamely.
"I've heard that before. Fine. You don't want to come home with me, don't. It's your loss." She turns on her heel, storming toward the door.
I shake my head and pull out my phone to get an Uber. It's too late and I'm too tired to worry about taking the subway to my Brooklyn apartment. Plus, I've got five hundred bucks in cash burning a hole in my pocket, tempting me to live a little dangerously.
It's probably better for me when I get Venmo'd the money. At least that way, I'm less inclined to spend it right away.
My phone alerts me that my car is approaching, so I head out into the cold March night. Spring is threatening to thaw us out, but she's certainly taking her own sweet time getting here. As I exit the building, I see a flash of Mei's leg as she climbs into the back of her own ride. The sedan pulls away from the curb, and I swear I see another body in the back with her. God, I hate it when she UberPools. You never know what kind of person you'll be sharing a car with.
Damn, I should have bitten the bullet and gone back to her place. On the other hand, this show isn't going to write itself. I'd always hoped that maybe Grayson would offer to do the show at The Edison, at least to start off. But now I see that D'von is right. Tabby Cat may be the shot I need.
I've got to get this done.
I hum out the tune I'd been working on earlier as I change into sweats and a faded T-shirt. It's only after I'm dressed do I realize what I'm wearing. Most people would assume the "STP" logo is for the band, Stone Temple Pilots, but I know it stands for Stagehands Theatre Productions.
It's the theater camp that changed my life.
It showed me what I wanted in life. I'd always known music was what I wanted, but until those eight weeks in the Catskill Mountains, I didn't know exactly how I'd want to pursue that career. Prior to that, I'd only been part of the pit band when the school was desperate. I'd never actually considered theater. That summer changed everything.
In fact, it was then, ten years ago, that I first came up with the idea for my show. It washerassigned summer reading, so we spent countless hours acting it out with each other.
That was my first mistake.
Falling in love with her was my second.
I shake my head, desperate to clear those memories. No, I need to focus. It's the ballad. The one the show will be known for.
I've got to get this right. I'm sure there's some deep-seated message here about how I've spent the past five years writing a musical to a play we read together five years before that. A show about betrayal and lying.
And love.
Chapter 3: Leslie
Three Months Later
