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“I know very little about baseball, so I am not offended. But you might not want to say that too loud on a boat full of drunken New Yorkers.”
Beck laughed. “My grandfather got his start selling peanuts at the Chicago home games. He taught me everything he knew. Or should I say, he could explain everything in life in terms of how it related to baseball. Loyalty and where it lies. How to spot your rival, and what to do about them. Although, I was born after the rivalry died down between the Mets and Cubs, when they ended up in different divisions.”
He turned back to the lights of the stadium, leaning on the railing. “My grandpa would’ve loved this. I lost him earlier this fall.”
She rolled her hand over his, felt his grasp on the bar tighten. “I’m sorry. I know…same with my grandma, this past April. The feeling just sucks, right?”
Beck turned to face her. “And everyone always says that thing, when you lose someone, about their memory. May it be for a blessing. But…”
“I know…it doesn’t feel like we get nearly enough time with them to make all the memories.”
“Exactly.” His grip loosened, allowing her fingers to thread through his.
“My best memory will always stand out, though. My grandma taking me to my first Broadway show. It wasThe Lion Kingat the New Amsterdam Theatre.”
Beck shifted so his back shielded her from the wind, his body accommodating hers as she leaned in for warmth. “That’s the oldest operating theater on Broadway, isn’t it?”
“Impressive, Beckman.” She smiled. “I was eight, finally the age to make the pilgrimage with Bubbe. We dressed up. The show, of course, was amazing, in all its dramatic, sweeping theatrical glory. But intermission? That was truly magical to a little girl with a sweet tooth and a touch of ADHD.”
She could still recall the house lights, bringing everyone out of their spell. The opulence of the lobby, its red velvet and gold. Tuxedoed men and women, popping wine corks, popping corn, their glass counters full of treats to be enjoyed until the lights flashed. How even the labels on the treats were displayed in perfect symmetry. She shared all this with Beck. “I was hooked.”
“Is that what drew you to concessions?”
She gave him a warning look, to which he quickly added, “Origin stories don’t count as shop talk.”
That was true, and it did feel good to recall those early days. “It felt like…a family. In the best house in town. So, yes – working concessions was my first job in high school, and then I interned wardrobe shops for a few of the theaters during college – costume design major.”
Beck’s eyes widened. “On Broadway?”
“Yep.” She had a several draping credits to her name to prove it, too. “I was a swing dresser, meaning I would work on several different shows at once.”
Nora had loved the flurry of controlled chaos that came with the job, helping keep the shows on track and running smoothly, with the audience none the wiser as to all that had to happen backstage to achieve that.
“It always seems like magic to me,” Beck said, as if reading her thoughts. “How fast the actors are able to transform from one look to another. Especially such intricate costumes. In any show, much less a Broadway production, wow. You must know a lot of trade secrets.”
“Magnets, zippers and Velcro.” Nora laughed. “I could also bore you on the merits of trucker’s hitch knots and Whopper Poppers.”
“Not boring at all, in fact… I’d say it’s all prettyfasten-ating.” He gave her a nudge, goading her to laugh again.
“Go ahead, say your worst. You wouldn’t believe how many pick-up lines revolve around ‘how fast can you undress me?’ once guys find out you do that for a living.”
Beck cringed. “I’m not going to apologize on behalf of guys everywhere, but…that’s some aged Wisconsin cheese right there. We really need to step up our game.”
Nora hadn’t spoken about that part of her life in a while, but the thought of it was bittersweet. Costuming was a competitive industry and its coveted, full-time jobs were basically non-existent. And depending on “day work” – things like stitching, shoe calls, hat calls, beading calls – to supplement an evening show gigs in order to pay the rent had been exhilarating but exhausting.
She had meant for her move to Britesmith’s corporate office to be temporary after graduating, but somehow six years had gone by. Although the hours were better than backstage, and she could once again be in the audience and enjoy the shows, she knew it wasn’t her true calling.
What would her grandmother say, if she knew how far Nora had strayed off the path? Bubbe had been a trailblazer herself – she had been in the Radio City Rockettes in the ’70s, and had been instrumental in saving Radio City from the wrecking ball.
Her mantra to her granddaughter had always been tobe true to yourself, love what you do, and do the best job you can.
Up until today, Nora had been doing the best she could. But as the last straw had given way at the office party, she realized she had sacrificed the other two in the process.
Before her thoughts veered further into dangerous waters, Beck wrapped his other arm around her. “Speaking of cheese…how about finding some of that food your friend is famous for?”
“Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.”
* * *
