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He leans back from me, a grimace on his face. Damn it. I knew a superhero show would attract a certain type of audience, but I didn’t think about how much it might repel another.
“They made a musical about that?” he says, eye twitching slightly.
“It’s not a musical, it’s… You know what, never mind,” I reply as smoothly as I can. I watch as he glances around—probably looking for an exit. “Tell me about you?”
Come on,I think to myself. Men love talking about themselves.
But my mega-rich companion merely shrugs my question off and leans away to shoot the bartender another question.
Fuck.
Okay fine. Maybe my theatrical debut wasn’t exactly Tony-Award worthy, but who is this asshole to reject me like that?
“Hey,” I say, tapping him on the shoulder. “What’s your problem?”
He turns and gives me a bored look. “I’m sorry, doll, I don’t date actresses.”
“You asked me!”
“Fine,” he says, getting up. “I only datesuccessfulactresses.”
“Asshole!” I sneer at him.
He leans down, patronizingly close. “Hey, at least you got a drink out of it.”
The contents of my glass are on his face before he has time to even pull away.
“You bitch!”
“Now we’re even,” I respond, just as patronizingly.
I turn on my heel to march away, my new “friend” cursing me out with every step. But I don’t get too far before a huge figure steps out in front of me, arms crossed and shaking his head.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave,” I say before the bouncer can even open his mouth.
As I pass him, he places a firm, guiding hand on my shoulder. But he needn’t bother. I’m just about sick of this place anyway. I give him a sarcastic salute as I back out of the club’s entrance.
Stepping out into the frigid New York morning helps me sober up a little. But I still have no recollection of where I am or how long it might take to get back to Juilliard. All these streets still look the same to me.
With a sigh, I give up and resolve to just call a taxi. I still have fifty dollars; I can afford a ride home, right?
Just as I grab my phone, it begins to ring in my hand.
CALLER ID: Douglas Jones MBE.
I smile at the name. My mentor and personal tutor at Juilliard has been one of the only good things about moving here. There’s something just so reassuring about his smooth British accent and the contagious charm he must have spent decades honing. Plus, having a living legend in your corner makes the impossible road to fame and fortune feel that little bit easier.
“Roisin, darling,” Douglas coos down the phone as soon as I answer. “I’m sorry for calling so early. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
I check the time on my phone. It’s almost six A.M. Well, shit.
“No, no. Not at all,” I reply sheepishly. “How can I help?”
“I was hoping you might swing by my office before rehearsal. There are a couple of matters I wish to discuss with you.”
“Is this about who will be playing the lead at the spring recital?”
I hear Doug chuckle a little at this. “That’s not my call to make. If it were, you’d already have the part, my dear.”
