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I crane my neck to check the bathroom door one last time. Still closed. I eye the red beetle. “Her ice is gonna melt…”
“And I bet she couldn’t care less,” Leah says.
I frown. If I were her, I’d be upset about that ice.
I settle further into my seat with a sigh. “I don’t get it. Call me old-fashioned, but you can’t seriously do that without developing some sort of feelings, right? I mean, how do you just walk away from something like that?”
“Pass me a Snickers, will you?” Leah asks, holding out a free hand.
I open one and hand it to her.
“You and your feelings…” she laughs as she takes a bite. “They’re just having fun. You’ve gotta loosen up a little bit. Your life is so PG-13.”
“It is not!” I shoot back at her, sitting up in my seat. She doesn’t reply, so I furrow my brow and repeat myself quietly. “It’s not…” Then I glare at her.
She watches me out of the corner of her eye. The playfulness dissolves from her expression. “No, you’re right though. You can really get caught up in the moment and let your emotions get the best of you. The trick is fighting that.”
“But why?” I refuse to understand the intrigue.
“Look, it’s not a way of life. Certainly not. But it can be exciting. When the right kind of guy shows up on the right kind of night, you just know.”
“I seriously doubt that…” I scoff, picturing overly eager men with cheesy pick-up lines and three-too-many drinks in their systems.
She laughs again. “You’ll never know until you try.”
“Hey...” I look pointedly at her. “I did.”
Leah takes another bite of her candy bar and frowns. “That was NOT the right kind of guy… I wouldn’t set that experience as the standard. And besides, it doesn’t have to just be a one-night thing. Sometimes they do call back. It might actually turn into something.”
I purse my lips and watch the buildings fly by. As much as Leah wants me to completely forget that messed-up night last winter, I’m far from making that a reality.
I change the subject. “So, are you getting excited?”
She grips the steering wheel tighter. “To meet Drew Conroy? Nah.” Sarcasm oozes from her lips as she takes a deep breath. “Soph, I’m freaking out over here.”
I smirk at her. She’s been waiting for this day for weeks. We’re headed out of the city to a nightclub in Long Island, and Drew Conroy, star of four award-winning Broadway productions and Leah’s longtime daydream fantasy man is slated to be there.
I don’t fawn over Drew the way Leah does. Sure, he’s tall and fit and blonde and smiles like he has a secret. But in interviews, his favorite topic of conversation is usually which crazed female fan asked him to sign her bra last week. I think he’s enjoying his fame a little too much. It feels inauthentic to jump on the Drew Conroy bandwagon.
I moved to the city three years ago to pursue my dream of acting on Broadway. I absolutely love the thrill of the stage. I love becoming someone else for just a few hours. It’s exhilarating. Freeing.
I currently pour coffee at the Starbucks on West 73rd and I’ve landed only a few bit roles in Off-Off-Broadway productions, but I’ve made enough connections to get invited to nights like this one. The first thing about being a stage actor in the city is that social events are frequent. From afterparties, to bar crawls, to fancy outings at sophisticated clubs, I get plenty of invitations from my more established actor friends. Usually, I decline because my introverted tendencies don’t lend well to big rooms full of loud music, too many people, and an overabundance of small talk.
I almost declined this one too, but when Leah found out Drew would be there, I no longer had a choice. At that point, our plans were set, and we were going.
I honestly can’t remember the last time I fawned over anyone like Leah does. She falls hard and fast, but I have my head so deep in reading scripts and preparing for auditions that I barely have time to give a second glance at the opposite sex.
Lifting my bottle of water to my lips, I ponder whether I should try a little harder. I know exactly what I want. He shouldn’t be that hard to find.
Maybe that guy who works the counter at the dry cleaners is kinda cute? He smiled at me last week.
“I want his babies…” Leah sighs.
I snort. “Who, Drew?”
“Yeah, we would make beautiful babies, don’t you think?” She grins.
I screw the cap back on. “Yes, Leah, you would.” I know it’s the answer she wants to hear, but it’s true. Leah is one of those drop-dead gorgeous brunettes; the kind a man can spot from a distance because she’s visually flawless. She’d make beautiful babies with anyone.
