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Nadia
I walked out of the theater and was instantly bombarded with the chill night air and the constant background noise of New York City. I wrapped my coat around myself tighter and savored the sound. Nobody who lived here minded the city noise. After a while, you learned to love every car horn and vendor shout and taxi squeal. It was the heartbeat of the city.
I glanced at the sign above the theater entrance. The theater itself still didn’t have a name since being renovated, but the producer had made sure to put up a sign announcing the show:
COMING SOON
THE PROPOSITION
“Coming soon… if we can get our shit together,” I muttered.
The show was like a love-triangle Romeo & Juliet. Jane, the star character, is in a struggling marriage with a man trying to make it as a musician. Jane struggles to earn enough money to make ends meet, until her handsome neighbor offers to help pay her bills in exchange for a romantic affair. Jane accepts, and falls deeply in love with the neighbor. Eventually she is unable to juggle her double-life, and her husband finds out. When she loses both men, she drinks poison to kill herself.
Not exactly the feel-good musical of the season. But it was a stepping-stone to my dream of being a Broadway actress.
I walked the eight blocks to work, grabbing a slice of pizza and a red bull from a street vendor along the way. The bar I worked at was rarely crowded on a weeknight, but after walking through the door I couldn’t see the bar thanks to all the customers crowding around it. Robbie, my fellow bartender, rushed back and forth from the customers to the beer taps, only the top of his head visible from across the room.
“About time you got here!” he said after I’d shouldered through the crowd.
I looked at my phone. “Dude, I’m 15 minutes early.”
“And Stacey ducked out an hour ago without telling anyone.”
I put away my coat and rolled up my sleeves. “Typical Stacey. What’s with this crowd?”
“A tour bus from Missouri dumped them out front. They’re killing time before doing a tour of Central Park.”
I raised my voice for the customers. “Have no fear; your alcohol-distributing angel is here!”
They didn’t cheer like I’d hoped they would.
We churned through the orders slowly but steadily. Most of the men wanted beer—Budweiser, despite our excellent craft selections—while the women all wanted to order martinis so they could pretend they were on Sex and the City. Robbie and I got into a good groove as the line diminished. Eventually they dispersed, leaving just a few people sitting at the bar.
“That was exciting,” muttered Jack, one of the bar regulars. He looked like Stan Lee, with thick glasses and white hair greased back, and he was here pretty much every night. “Next time that happens, I’m going to hide in the bathroom.”
“You mean you don’t like being swarmed with Missourians?” Robbie asked.
“There’s a reason I don’t live in St. Louis,” Jack grumbled.
I filled a cup with ice water, drank it down, and refilled it. With time to breathe, I leaned against the bar and savored the peace of not having orders shouted at me.
“So,” Robbie said as he filled his own cup with water. “What had you all hot and bothered?”
I frowned at him. “Uh, the 20 martinis I just made?”
“No, I mean before that. You had a silly look on your face when you got here.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.
Robbie gave me a look that said don’t even try. “You looked like you spent 15 hot minutes in bed with someone before you came to work. You were practically glowing.”
I laughed. “Technically, that’s kind of true.”
Several customers raised their heads at the bar.
“Don’t get too excited,” I said, waving them off. “It was a scene from a show. A few steamy lines and a shirtless guy on top of me on a stage mattress.”
“You didn’t tell me you got a speaking role!” Robbie said. “I thought you were just a dancer!
