AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Wow, so you’re still acting. That’s great. Living the dream,” Fitz said, genuine enthusiasm in his voice. “Your own theater.”
“I… Oh, no. I don’t own a theater. We just do our shows at a local bar for now.” It sounded pathetic even to his own ears. “But we’re going to be offering classes soon, too. Lucinda wants us to give a few classes here at WorkAround as a perk for members—you know, improv skills for business or whatever.”
“That’s cool.” Fitz gave him a pondering look, his brown eyes narrowing. “But you really should look into getting your own theater, one that has room for the classes, too. That’s where the real money is.”
Ha.The money. The real money wasn’t anywhere in comedy except at the very top, where there was only enough air for the chosen few to breathe. Right where Kenzie was headed. “I don’t think—”
“Plus, property’s where it’s at right now,” he went on. “I got a great deal on a place in the central business district. We’re renovating it now, but it’s going to save us a ton once we move out of here and into the CBD.”
“That’s cool,” Jasper said noncommittally, already backing away from the conversation. Business talk was not a pool he wanted to swim in. He’d drown. In fact, he was actively trying to ignore the fact that he was about to start teaching classes with the wordbusinessin the title.
“I’m telling you, man. There are still steals to be had in the city. Get yourself something that never got a post-Katrina reno, doll it up, and you’re in business,” Fitz said, making it sound like it was as easy as picking up a sandwich from the corner po-boy shop. “Best to snap the deals up before this city turns into Austin East and all the rents skyrocket.”
Jasper shifted. “Thanks, but that’s not in the cards right now. I just moved back from LA and am staying with my sister. Can’t go and buy buildings.”
“Details.” Fitz pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his slacks. “I might know a place. One of my clients looked at it and decided on something else, but I still have the info.” He scrolled through his phone with a look of concentration. “Damn, I must’ve archived it, but I’ll find the email and send it your way. Here, give me your number.”
Jasper took Fitz’s offered phone and typed in his number even though there was seriously no need.
His own theater? The idea was so ludicrous he shouldn’t even allow his brain to entertain the thought. He was pouring people’s coffee and living at Gretchen’s for fuck’s sake. He’d never owned anything beyond a used car. And even if he had the money, he couldn’t run a business. He’d flunked out of college the third semester because…math. It was a no-go idea.Look away, brain.
But the possibility snuck into his mind anyway, like a Vegas show girl in a shiny gold bikini—sparkly and sexy and impossible to ignore.Hey, sugar, let’s have some fun. Wouldn’t owning your own place show up all those people who told you that you couldn’t make it? Wouldn’t that be a good way to catch the attention of the big leagues?
Shut. Up. Brain.
He handed the phone back to Fitz. “I appreciate it, but I’m not really in the property-shopping position right now.” He cleared his throat and jabbed a thumb toward the coffee bar. “Living the actor’s life in every sense of the word. But I could make you a mean espresso.”
Fitz’s dark eyebrows shot up. “You’re the new coffee guy?”
Jasper smirked. “At your service. Feel free to judge my life choices.”
Fitz laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “No judgment, brother. If that’s what you have to do in order to do what you love, then screw anyone who judges you for it. I’m telling my clients that all the time. You want to live off ramen to save up and sail around the world? You want to go off the grid and live on a farm and raise goats or whatever? Go for it. Life’s short. Find a way not to starve and do your thing.”
Jasper walked back toward the coffee bar, break time over. “Yeah, well, I’m working on the not-starving part first.” He put a napkin on the counter. “What can I get ya?”
“Black coffee, two sugars,” Fitz said, a wrinkle between his brows.
Jasper turned his back to grab a cup.
“What about investors?” Fitz asked.
Jasper pulled a carafe from the warmer and poured the dark-black coffee, the scent both delicious and depressing. It was his personal smell of failure. “What do you mean?”
“If you don’t have the funds to get your own theater, what about getting some investors to go in with you? I mean, it’d be a tough sell to VCs.” When Jasper gave him a blank look, Fitz clarified. “Venture capitalists. Because the arts usually aren’t their cuppa. The growth is too slow and, in this case, too local. But you could find some angel investors. Locals who care about the arts and the entertainment scene of the city. They’d get some equity in the company and, in return, front you some money to get off the ground, do renovations, that kind of thing.”
Jasper shook his head as he dumped sugar into the coffee. “You’re nuts.” He turned and set the cup on the counter in front of his old schoolmate. “Who’s going to want to invest in some ragtag improv group they’ve never heard of?”
“Are y’all any good?” Fitz asked, pinning Jasper with a challenging look.
“We kick ass,” Jasper said without hesitation. The Hail Yes groupwasgood. That part he never doubted. He’d missed their effortless chemistry the minute he’d moved to California with Kenzie and had tried to join in with other groups. “But we’re in a tiny bar and off the beaten path and just one little show in a big city packed full of entertainment options. People don’t come to New Orleans looking for improv. They come for booze, music, and food. Maybe a burlesque or drag brunch in between. This isn’t LA, Chicago, or New York.”
Fitz leaned onto his beefy forearms. “Fuck that noise. You’re seeing old New Orleans, the one we grew up in. Have you looked around lately? The invasion is happening. There’s a place on Decatur that literally only sells avocado toasts. Like twenty different kinds. Walk down the street and there are more people with green juice than hurricanes. There’s a vinyl record store two doors down. The hipsters and West Coasters have arrived, looking for cheap property and cool shit. Look around.” He swept his hand toward the main floor and all the people working at hot desks. “You think these people want to go see burlesque every night or get wasted in one of the tourist traps on Bourbon?”
“Howie, the guy with the bow tie over there, is definitely into burlesque,” Jasper said with a serious tone. “I bet he has a habit.”
Fitz snorted and sipped his coffee. “You know what I mean. You give them a chill, casual theater with great improv done by people their own age, throw in a few potent drink options, and you’ve got yourself a real business.”
Jasper blew out a breath. “You make it sound easy. But you’re forgetting the part where I have no money. And no connections.”
