“I figured that out from your texts before the show. What happened?”
“I’ve been on all these dates trying to find someone for opening night, and I didn’t see the amazing man in the apartment next door. I totally friend-zoned him. And now, I think I hurt him because he thinks I’m back with Asher.”
“Whoa, how the heck did that happen? And please tell me you’re not back with Asher.”
“Why does everyone keep thinking I would ever get back with Asher?” Johnny didn’t say anything, but the look he shot me had sarcasm written all over it. “I’m most definitely not with Asher. He’s finally realized he’s 100 percent gay. He’s a Kinsey 6.0; 5.5 at the lowest.” I sipped from my champagne flute and followed it up with a swig of hot cocoa.
“What happened? I can tell when you’re stalling. And you are totally stalling.”
I let out an overly exaggerated sigh and told Johnny the story. “So, I’m meeting with Kirk tomorrow afternoon to ‘talk about things.’” I looked up at Johnny, and he reached out and grabbed my hand. “I’m worried I friend-zoned him too long.”
“Well, all you can do is put it out there and see what he says.” A tear was coming on, so I moved my other hand to wipe it away. “Oh no, girl! There will be no crying over men tonight. We’ve been through this. In the words of my grand pappy, two tears in the bucket, mother f—“
“Elf it?” I offered, and we both laughed.
Before long, Amani called Johnny to let him know he was off from work and was bringing him home a celebratory dessert he’d made at the restaurant. I walked Johnny to the front door and said goodnight before heading off to bed. Once Johnny was gone, Bootsy jumped up on the bed and made it clear that he was ready for both of us to be asleep.
I got up the next morning, showered, and dashed around Midtown to get my errands finished. I had to go back to the shop and pick up the dress I was wearing for the afterparty that evening. The designer wanted to do one more fitting. Once he was happy, he promised to have it at the theater before 7:00 p.m.
I then had lunch plans with Brice and my parents at Juniors across the street. I had taken my parents to Juniors for cheesecake after a show once, and they’d fallen in love with the place. Anytime they talked about coming to the city, getting Junior’s split pea soup was right at the top of the agenda. Since Juniors was right across the street from my parents’ hotel, I texted them I’d meet them there at eleven, then ensured Brice knew where we were meeting them.
I showed up at 10:59 and found my parents were already seated at a table with Brice…and my sisters.
“Surprise!” my sisters said in unison.
“No one told me you were coming,” I said, still shocked that my sisters had shown up for an opening. They’d never made it out to see me in a show here. They’d seen me back home, but they’d never seen me perform professionally. I looked at my mother. “This has your handwriting all over it.”
“Of course, it does, dear,” my mother said. “Your sisters were so sorry they never saw that last show before your little…accident.”And my mental breakdown, my mother was kind enough to not add.
“But I don’t have tickets for them tonight,” I spat out and dropped into my chair.
“Not to worry,” my mother said, patting me on the knee. “We already had everything taken care of.”
I thought about it for a second and turned my head to look at Brice. “You knew,” I said, squinting my eyes and making an overly dramatic angry face, “didn’t you?”
Brice laughed. “Of course, I did. Once I realized tickets would be hard to get through the new year, I called your mother and warned her. She then convinced your sisters to come out for a few days and fly back to be with their families late tomorrow night. They’ll miss most of Christmas Eve with their husbands and children, but they’ll be there for Christmas Day.”
“I can’t believe you pulled this off,” I admitted.
“What she’s not saying,” my father added, looking at Brice, “is that we tried to throw her a surprise birthday party two or three times, and she always figured it out weeks before it happened.”
“I was a slightly nosy child,” I said with a shrug.
The waiter came by and interrupted us as we all ordered. I had a small salad. My youngest sister, Teresa, listened to me and said, “That’s all you’re going to eat? Don’t you need something more…substantial to get you ready for a show?”
I smiled and explained that I didn’t like eating heavy on show days because it would drag me down. I then explained my basic diet, which was practically foreign to them. I’m not one of those granola cruncher types, but I don’t want to put anything in my body that would prevent me from performing at 110 percent.
“Oh, that’s right,” my older sister Kimber said. “You have reporters in the audience tonight.”
“Actually,” Brice interjected. “Most of the major theater critics have already seen the show. A couple may still be there tonight, but most are probably writing their stories right now or have them sitting on a hard drive waiting to print as soon as the show has officially opened. The days of the critics showing up for opening night, then running toThe Timesto write a story to make sure it made it into the morning edition, are days gone by.”
“Well, that takes some of the drama out of it,” Kimber said.
“Today, most people know everything going on with a show before a critic has even seen the show,” Brice admitted. “As your sister’s agent, I work with the show’s publicist to ensure Erica is seen in the best light possible.”
“Does this mean you already know the reviews?” my mom asked, clearly interested in the conversation.
“No,” Brice said flatly. “But I have a pretty good sense about how shows will be reviewed. Occasionally, a critic surprises me, but rarely.”
