“And who was the person who designed the lighting? The stage was either over-saturated with light or so dark you couldn’t see anything. It was like a trained monkey sat in the back and randomly flipped switches.”
“You’re definitely opinionated.”
I looked up into his blue eyes, which perfectly matched the color of his suit. I expected to see a hint of mockery, but I didn’t see any there. “Yes, I’m opinionated. This is my career. This show is their career,” I said, pointing to the stage door queue where a handful of people had lined up for autographs. “When a show like this gets mounted, it’s bad for everyone. Sure, it makes for great internet fodder, but a lot of actors are going to be unemployed soon. I never wish for a show to close because I know what it means to everyone involved.”
The corner of his lip quirked up. “It’s rare to find someone so passionate about their vocation. I want to hear more of your passion over dinner. Shall we go?” he asked, offering his arm. I looped my arm in his and let him lead me.
“Where are we heading?” I asked. I hadn’t bothered to ask Johnny where we’d be going to dinner after the show, so I was open to whatever surprise Ralph threw at me.
“I was thinking somewhere not too touristy that was good but quiet. How about Serafina’s? It’s the restaurant in the Time Hotel. The menu is eclectic, but it’s a nice ambiance.”
“Sounds perfect.”
We crossed the street at 8thAvenue and continued northward until 49thStreet. I’d never been in The Time before. Still, I remember hearing about it years ago on a Discovery Channel episode about hotels in New York City. As we entered, it was clear that the old version of The Time had been revamped with a high-end, sleek design. There were only a handful of couples in the restaurant, so we were seated almost immediately.
We spent a few minutes perusing the menu. Ultimately, I went with the red snapper served with root vegetables. Ralph had a rack of lamb with mixed grilled vegetables and purple mashed potatoes.
We talked about our lives and where we were from. One thing about living in Manhattan, most people seem to be originally from somewhere other than Manhattan. Only crazy people from across the world wanted to live in the city’s heart. Our meals arrived, and they were cooked to perfection.
“I have a question for you,” I said hesitantly. “As someone who’s working on publicity forThe Hallow Men, how do you polish this turd for the press?”
He poked a piece of lamb into his mouth and chewed. When he was done chewing, he said, “First, we hope the Internet doesn’t crucify the show. It is still in previews, and we hope the team can fix this thing before it officially opens. If the internet trolls come for us, we do our best to deflect. I’ll say something like, ‘They’re still completing the artistic vision for the show’ or ‘Reviewing a show in previews is like reviewing a cook by only looking at the ingredients.’ The goal is to spin the show. Good, bad, or train wreck, my job is to put a positive light on everything.”
“You saw that monstrosity tonight. How do you save it?”
His face fell. “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s hard for me to know what we’ll be up against until I see what people say online or in the tabloids. I have a couple of interns who scour the Internet looking for any content about the shows we represent. I’m thankful for those interns because watching social media is almost 24/7 job these days. And every time I turn around, there’s a new website, blog, or TikTok channel vying for my attention. I can’t be everywhere at once, so having a team that does this for me frees me up to work on the big guns likeThe New York Times,The Washington Post, orVariety.”
“Interesting… I don’t think I could be in your world very long without yelling at my computer monitor.”
“Oh, trust me,” he started, “there’s a lot of that, too. I had a colleague who put his fist through a wall many years ago. He’d had enough of one of the Broadway gossip columnists who made it her personal goal to sink the show.”
“Let me guess, Michelle Bouvier?”
“I take it you’ve had your dealings with Ms. Bouvier?”
“Me, personally? No. Thankfully, I’ve never had a run-in with her. But I’ve had a lot of friends raked over the open fire by that hatchet job over the years.”
“Yeah, Ms. Bouvier is the type of reporter you always want to be leery of. They hold more power than many Broadway producers. I’ve spent a good deal of my adult life cleaning up after her. She’s like a one-woman stampede when she decides she wants to take someone down a few notches.”
I sighed, glad that I wasn’t the one who had to deal with the press like that regularly. As an actor, I know dealing with the press is part of life, but dealing with them is the ultimate double-edged sword. On one side, the press can help you build word of mouth for your show. I’ve seen many little Off-Off-Broadway shows garner the attention of the press only to be transferred to Broadway and turned into Tony Award-winning mega-hits. On the other side, they can cut you down without a moment’s hesitation, and poof, there goes the show. Sometimes, the drama reported by the press is completely legitimate. Still, other times, it feels like the reporter is out to get you or the show.
The server came by the table and took away our dishes before asking if we wanted dessert. Both Ralph and I passed on the dessert. After dinner, Ralph walked me all the way to my apartment. He was everything I look for in a guy. He’s tall. He’s gorgeous. He’s articulate. He understands the world I live and work in. And he’s conscientious of others, even if he was late.
Standing outside the Manhattan Plaza, he said, “This has been a charming evening. Admittedly, I wish we’d seen a different show, but the company and conversation were enjoyable.”
“I agree completely.”
He hesitated before saying, “Well, you should get inside where it’s warm. I have an early morning tomorrow. After seeing the show tonight, I know I have a long Sunday ahead of me.”
“Thank you for a perfectly amazing evening.”
I reached out to give him a hug goodbye. He enveloped me in his strong arms. My face pressed against his chest. I could practically feel his muscles under my cheek. I slightly twisted my head and he stared down at me. Before long, his soft lips were pressed against mine. It was a completely swoon-worthy moment. If this had been a movie, my leg would have lifted off the ground behind me as I floated on air in his embrace. Instead, someone on the other side of the street yelled, “Get a room!”
That caused both of us to separate and start laughing. “Well, I guess I better be going,” Ralph said. “I hope to see you again.”
“Likewise.” We said goodbye, and he watched as I walked into the building. The warm embrace of the lobby was a nice contrast to the bitter cold of the November evening. I said hello to the security guard and made my way to the elevator bank. I was about to push the button when I remembered I’d forgotten to pick up cat food for Bootsy. I quickly hurried my way out of the building when my phone vibrated.
Ralph:Already missing you. Had a great time tonight.
