Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I swallowed my pride and went home, tail tucked firmly between my legs.
Mom and Dad are getting old. Dad especially is in bad shape. They’ll need someone to take care of them while Rouge is running Aces. They didn’t support this dream, but they still love me and will give me a place to stay while I find my bearings once I come back to Chicago.
I don’t love the idea of returning to my childhood home in my thirties, but what else can I?—
My phone rings.
The number is one I don’t recognize. More than likely a robocall, but it’s a New York area code. I always answer those.
I was about to take the staircase down to the subway, but I walk to the edge of the sidewalk and answer the call, fully expecting an automated voice spewing some bullshit about my car’s extended warranty.
“Hello?”
“Bianca Montrose?” a male voice asks.
“Yes, speaking.”
“Wonderful. Lawrence Shippe, casting director for Skylight Productions. How are you doing this evening?”
Holy cow. A casting agent?
“Y-Yes. I’m doing fine. How are you?”
“Great, thanks for asking. Listen, Skylight is producing a new musical, Reflections, which we’re mounting at the Quadrille Theatre on Broadway in a few months. We loved your audition last week and would like to invite you to our callbacks to read for the role of Lisa. Are you available?”
My heart flutters. This is my first callback in ages, and my first ever for a show on actual Broadway.
I put the call on speaker and open the calendar app on my phone. “When were callbacks again?” I ask, praying I’m available.
“Thursday afternoon at Snowdrop Spaces. I trust you’re familiar?”
“Yes, I’ve done lots of auditions there.”
“Excellent. We’ll be calling back all the Lisas at three p.m. That work?”
I write it into my calendar app. “You bet it will!”
“Wonderful. Thanks, Bianca. We’re looking forward to seeing and hearing you.”
“Likewise.” I swallow. “I mean, rather, I’m looking forward to the callback.”
Mr. Shippe chuckles. “All right. Take care.”
Wow, Reflections.
That feels like a lifetime ago.
I sigh as I sit at my makeup station in my dressing room at Aces Underground. I’ve finished my pre-show routine. Steamed my voice, done some vocal warmups, looked over my music.
Now I’m fixing up my makeup for tonight’s show.
I prefer a natural look, but those pink lights in the Hearts section are harsh. I have to cake on a decent amount of foundation and shadow to counter them, otherwise my face will just be a rosy blob to the club patrons.
Not that many of them look at me. At least, not when I’m singing, that is.
A lot of the men get a look at all of me behind closed doors, but that’s another story.
I look at the woman in the mirror. I’m nearly forty now, but a lifestyle of going to the gym five times a week, eating well, and performing an intricate evening facial routine after each show has kept me looking youthful. Forty isn’t that old anymore, anyway.
