Mrs. Walker subtly lifts her cheetah-printed silk scarf. “I’ve got one, too. Don’t tell anyone. I just didn’t peg you as the superstitious type.”
We slowly walk toward Times Square, which is slightly less busy than it was twenty minutes ago. The matinee shows have started. “Why’s that?” I ask.
“You’ve always struck me as a make-your-own-luck kind of guy,” Mrs. Walker says, peering up at me through her bangs. “How are things? I’ve heard it’s been a rough start.”
Mrs. Walker has poured her money into this show. She’s fought for it to get to Broadway. I don’t want her to be more stressed or to think that we—I—can’t handle it. Especially not after what she’s done for me.
I can respond positively.Challenges make us better, I almost say.
Nothing we can’t handlehas been a comfortable go-to.
I’m grateful to even have this job.Another subtle way I’ve basically gaslit myself in the name of gratitude.
But that would be dishonest for what Mrs. Walker’s really trying to ask.
I can redirect. Readjust. Or at least try. Clearly, this is a mindset that’s going to take a while to retrain.
“It has been rough, yes. Very rough, actually,” I admit. I practically have to bite down on my tongue from tacking on anything else that counteracts this statement. “Have you ever wanted to not produce?”
“You’re asking if I ever wanted to quit?” Mrs. Walker asks as I nod. “Most days. I’ve thought about starting over. Going back into acting. Hell, I’ve even considered retiring. Long before now.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask, keeping hold of Mrs. Walker by her arm.
“Working in the theater, it’s demanding. What every single person does within those walls is hard work. But we’re on Broadway! This is the dream.” Her head swivels over to me. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of quitting.”
I glance up at the billboards featuring shows old and new. “I just… I thought I’d be more prepared,” I say. “More ready. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if this is going to make my rent go up, but… so many things have gone wrong because of me. I wanted to do right by you and Roman. I couldn’t even do that after everything you’ve done for me.”
Saying this to my boss and my landlord is probably not the way to handle this. I’m in charge. I should be portraying the picture of confidence, but that’s just not where I am.
Mrs. Walker’s mouth is a hard underscore before she releases a long sigh. “Ah well. Love does that to a person.”
I do a double-take, looking over as her words take a second to sink in. Then I’m not so confused.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
She chuckles. “Is Times Square bright at night?” she poses. “I’venever heard you utter a negative word in the entire time I’ve known you, so clearly someone’s affected you in a good way.”
“You think my negativity is good?”
“I think the fact you’re being honest about how hard work has been is good,” she clarifies.
I’m back to being confused. It must come across in my silence as I try to figure it out.
Mrs. Walker clasps my arm. “It’s easy when a job is your entire life. It’s all you have to think about, all you have to focus on.” She looks up at me. “But when your life is your jobandsomeone else, well, it’s different. Love… it’s the greatest thing in the world. It’s also distracting.”
“I promise you this show is important to me. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.”
We’re in the thick of Times Square now, shuffling past people—tourists, mostly—in our lap around the block. Most people I meet think of this area as chaos. These five blocks contain the best theater productions in the world, plus shopping, restaurants, and the brightest lights in all of Manhattan. Chaos? It’s more like an energy source.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Mrs. Walker says as we pass a human-size Minnie Mouse. I immediately think of Hazel and her tattoo. “This work saved your life. I know how important it is to you. And now you’ve found someone who makes you want to put work second. And I don’t mean it doesn’t matter to you, but not everything can come first. When your priorities shift like this, growth happens. Growth is uncomfortable.”
Can that be true? Do I really care more about Hazel than I care about my work? I couldn’t even pinpoint the moment that happened. Ever since meeting her, she just gradually, naturally, became more important. She became my priority.
“When a show moves from Off Broadway to Broadway,”Mrs. Walker continues, “there’s a lot of discomfort that comes with it. It’s hard to see something great change, but it must. You need more money, production becomes more complicated, the sets get bigger. The show isn’t better or worse, but it is different. You have to learn to accept that.”
“And I’m… Broadway now?” I ask, trying to keep up.
“Your life has more in it. You’re on Broadway and in love,” she says dreamily. “It doesn’t get better than that!”
