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“Two months,” he said. “Since I got here.”
“You’ve only been in New York two months?”
“Fresh off the boat,” he confirmed. “After two traveling shows, I got it in my head that I was going to come to New York no matter what happened, succeed or fail. My timing was shit and I was only able to get this role in The Proposition, but it’s a foothold. Real theater work while I look for other casting calls. I was lucky to meet Braden and them.”
“You didn’t know them beforehand?”
“Oh no,” he said with a chuckle. “The three of them already knew each other. I was just lucky enough to lose the part to Braden.”
“You what?”
“I originally auditioned for the lead in the show,” he explained. “We had our callbacks the same day, and we were the last two up for the part. He and I struck up a conversation while waiting to go in and say our lines. We made a deal that whoever won the part would buy the other a drink. Director Atkins made his decision immediately after, and I took him up on the drink. One drink turned into six… And he told me he needed a roommate. I think he felt bad for beating me out.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “So you’re living in his townhouse because you lost the lead role?”
“Yep. Honestly, it’s probably better that way. I’ve got a buddy in the city who was letting me crash on his couch while I auditioned, but that wouldn’t have lasted long. If I didn’t have my free room at Braden’s place, I’d be paying three grand a month for a studio somewhere, and working three jobs just to afford it.”
“Technically you only have half a room since I took yours,” I said, giving him a friendly elbow in the ribs. “Wait. So you’re really living there for free too?”
“All of us are,” he said. “We cover utilities and other incidentals, and Braden’s grandma’s trust covers property tax and everything else.”
“That’s… incredibly generous of him,” I said.
Dorian shrugged one shoulder. “Braden’s the kind of guy who likes having other people around. Better than living in a big townhouse by himself.” He nodded. “But yeah, it’s super generous, too. Thanks to him, I only have to work this temp job for some spending money. It gives me more time to focus on my craft.”
Up to this point, I’d felt extremely awkward about living with them rent-free. Like I owed a debt which would be paid out with services, sexual or otherwise. Knowing the others all stayed there for free, I felt a little less weird about it.
Only a little bit, though. The whole situation was still pretty weird on its own.
We got off at the 138th Street station and walked two blocks to the temp agency office, which was in a featureless old building crammed between a pawn shop and a laundromat. It looked like it might have been a convenience store in a previous life. There was already a line of 12 people waiting for them to open, but it started moving as soon as we got in the back.
They didn’t bother checking my social security card or anything else. All they did was take our names down on a sign-up sheet and hand us two cardboard boxes. The boxes were small but heavy, and would have fit a sheet of paper inside perfectly. Instead, there were two stacks of long rectangular fliers.
“7th Ave and 45th Street,” the man behind the counter said. He looked past me and shouted, “Next!”
I carried my box away from the counter and frowned. “7th Avenue? Way down there?” I pictured a map of the city in my head. Why did it sound familiar…
Dorian gave me a wry look. “Hope you like tourists.”
“Oh, goddamnit,” I said when I realized. “That’s Times Square.”
We took the 6-train all the way south to Lexington and transferred to the R-train. We got off at the 49th Street station and had to walk six blocks to Times Square while carrying the boxes of fliers, which were just heavy enough to be annoying. By the time we reached the crowded tourist spot, my elbows ached from holding the box against my belly.
Even at 8:00 in the morning, Times Square was crowded with tourists taking photos. “So how’s this work?” I asked Dorian.
He led me over to the Sunglass Hut and we deposited the boxes on the ground. “This is home base. Grab a handful of fliers, hand them out to people walking by, and then grab more. Rinse and repeat until they’re empty.”
I opened the box and removed a layer of cardboard that had come from the printer to keep the fliers from jostling, then grabbed a stack of paper. I snorted when I saw what they were advertising.
“Seriously? A new Pizza Hut location in Manhattan? Who the hell comes to New York City and then buys pizza from a chain?”
“A crime worse than murder,” Dorian declared soberly as he grabbed his own stack. “But tourists do. And that’s who we’re targeting today, so don’t waste your breath on any real New Yorkers.”
We got to work handing out fliers. It was a simple task: shove it in someone’s face and hope they took it out of my hand. I cringed while doing it. I was the kind of person who hated bothering someone. Hell, I chose the aisle seat on airplanes because I would rather be inconvenienced than inconvenience someone else. If I was given the wrong food at a restaurant, I smiled and pretended like it was fine.
But after a while, I got into a rhythm of handing them out. I turned it into a game, trying to win over each individual person with the right word, just enough for them to take the flier from me without thinking. It was amazing how far a pretty girl could get with a convincing smile.
Plus, it’s a million times better than selling shoes to bitchy women.
