“True…but wait till the end.”
I kept watching. Right at the end there was a short video message. “This video of the homophobic Erika Lynsay Saunders’ man-hating cabaret act was shot last weekend. It’s time to tell the cabaret spaces in New York not to book her. Join us in boycotting 54 Below.”
“What?” I gasped. “Why are they boycotting? I’m not homophobic. I thought we put that nonsense behind us?”
After I caught Asher, my ex, making out with one of our costars on opening night three years ago, I may have said a few things that I regretted later. But I was pissed. And I wasn’t mad at him because of his sexual orientation. I was pissed that he made out with someone on the day our show opened. He knew how important our opening was to me…to us. I don’t understand how he could think so little of me that he did that. Sure, several highly inappropriate words flew out of my mouth in the heat of the moment, but I’m not homophobic. Straight guys scared me more than any gay guys I knew. My agent is gay. My best friend is gay. I work in the gayest field imaginable. I love my gays. I, in that moment, hated Asher, so I may have called him a few choice words that he then released on the Internet while I was still laid up in the hospital. I found out about all that while I was on the mend when my gay nurse showed me the video.
“Gurl,” the nurse had said, coming in one afternoon. “Your boyfriend must be pissed at you. He splayed your fight all over the Internet.”
“He did what?” I had asked. Again, I’m not the most technically savvy person in the world.
“He uploaded that to YouTube.”
That’s right, fucking YouTube! So, here I was again, having another bout of YouTube problems because of Asher. I wasn’t sure which I hated more at that moment, YouTube or Asher.
“So, what now?” I asked Brice. “Did 54 Below cancel the rest of my engagement?”
“Nope. I talked with them this morning, and they’ve seen a spike in tickets, so they’re not planning on canceling this booking. Plus, they know you. They know you ‘love the gays,’ and the ’gays love you.’”
I belted my best Matron Mama Morton impersonation.
“Yes, yes, yes, go on with your bad self,Chicagogirl. Oh wait, you turned down the role of Roxy inChicagolast year—“
“In Columbus, Ohio. I wasn’t going to spend six weeks doing stock in Columbus. I’d rather work at Starbucks.”
“If you don’t get a job soon, you’ll be working at Starbucks,” Brice said. I could practically see him rolling his eyes as he leaned back. “How are you doing financially?”
“I’m fine. I’m pretty good with money, and living at the Manhattan Plaza helps keep my budget, despite my occasional splurge on something I shouldn’t own.”
“Trust me, girl. I noticed the shoes in the video,” Brice said in one of his gayer moments.
“Don’t hate the playa, hate the game.”
“You’re playing the game called poverty right now. I need you to get your head in the game and start playing the game of Broadway,capisce?”
“Since when are you doing a guest role on the remake ofThe Sopranos?“ I asked. There was a long pause. I thought my quip was funny, but I could sense Brice’s frustration through the phone. We’d had this exact conversation a dozen times over the past year. I wasn’t ready to audition again. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be prepared to audition again. After my last experience on Broadway, I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to take that dive into the lion’s den.
I love Broadway. I love musical theater. I don’t think a one-sided relationship is very healthy. And right now, Broadway was the bad boyfriend I couldn’t shake. Every time I thought I’d gotten away and made a clean cut, something would happen, and I would get drawn into another audition, only to have my hopes and dreams dashed against the shore of the Hudson River.
“But really, Erika, I’m worried about you.” I could tell from the change in his voice he had grown serious. “I’m going to have a problem keeping you on as a client. The senior partners keep asking why I’m keeping you on at this point.”
I sighed. I knew this conversation was going to happen eventually. As much as I hated admitting it, I needed to get my act together already. “So, what do you have for me?”
“That’s the spirit!”
Deep in my soul, I knew I would regret this, but I held my tongue.
“There’s a new musical being mounted, and I got you an audition for later today.”
“Today!” What was I going to sing? What would I wear? This was happening faster than I expected. I thought I’d at least have a few days.
Brice went on as if he hadn’t heard my exclamation. “It’s a musical adaptation of a movie from 1940 calledBeyond Tomorrow.”
“Never heard of it,” I admitted.
“Most people probably haven’t. The producers went with this property because it’s considered a Christmas movie, even if it is only partially related to Christmas itself.”
“Have you seen the movie?”
