The Last Phone Booth in Manhattan(61)
I managed to squeak out another gracious thank-you to the group, before giving my old friend at the piano a wink as he handed me the sheet music. I hurried out of the room, practically floating three feet above the floor, until I was outside in the fresh air and able to take a deep breath that brought me back to earth.
I could barely wait another second before glancing down at the music to see what was in store for me at the final audition, and when I did, the name of the song, “No Space of Regret,” jarred me so forcefully, the air I’d just drawn in heaved back out with such ferocity I almost collapsed onto the sidewalk.
My eyes darted down to the first measure and accompanying lyrics, and though I knew what they would be before I even read the words, the hairs on my head still stood on end and a hot flash slammed into me, countering the cool March breeze. It felt like what I imagined it’d feel like to get struck by lightning.
The song began with the familiar words I’d first heard from the ghost guard on Christmas and each time I visited the phone booth since then—“No space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused”—and just then a large piece of the puzzle finally snapped into place.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Almost exploding with too many thoughts bombarding me at once, I took a moment to catch my breath on the bench in front of the Greenwich House Theater. I put my head between my knees and sucked in some much-needed air. Between securing a final audition on-site, a feat that on its own would have been enough to knock me on my ass, and then discovering the origin of the phrase “No Space of Regret,” I was practically incapacitated with confusion—and, even more so, curiosity. None of this could be a coincidence. Not anymore. There were too many serendipitous occurrences that proved to me this wild ride was all meant to show me something, or maybe teach me something, but hell if I knew exactly what that was yet.
I checked my watch. I would never have enough time to make it back to Bushwick before I was supposed to meet up with Gabe for a date he’d planned for us at our favorite French bistro, the one we’d opted to skip in favor of DiscOasis. Though I couldn’t wait to tell him about the audition, I hadn’t told him about my second encounter with the phone booth and was hoping to let the conversation flow and see if the subject could arise organically. (Not super sure how a discussion involving a magical phone booth could come up organically, but at this point, I was grasping at straws.)
With some time to kill before meeting Gabe, I walked to Mimi’s, about two miles uptown from the theater, hoping the fresh air and activity would help to clear my head and burn off some of the adrenaline still racing through my body. I figured I could freshen up in the restaurant’s dressing room before heading off to my date, which thankfully was just around the corner from the diner.
I strolled up Seventh Avenue toward Times Square and couldn’t help but imagine my name in big letters on the Marley Is Dead marquee that would one day (soon) adorn some theater’s front entrance and could envision my face on the staged show images that usually decorated the theater’s outside facade.
I swung open the door to Mimi’s to hear a handful of servers finishing up their rendition of “You Can’t Stop the Beat” from Hairspray. I clapped along with the raucous applause from the diner’s patrons as I made my way to the back to search for Charlie, unable to keep the news of the callback to myself for even one moment longer.
Seeing me, Charlie did a double take. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you have your callback today?”
“I did,” I answered, desperately trying to keep my face even so as to not give away my big news.
He literally dropped what he was doing, tossing a handful of the menus he’d been holding off to the side to gesture for me to continue. “And?! How did it go?!”
My face split into a wide grin, hardly able to keep myself from shouting it to everyone in the restaurant. “They asked me to audition at the final callback in front of the investors and full production team. I did it, Charlie. I’m so damn close I can taste it.”
“Oh my God, Avery! This is incredible and calls for a celebration! I’m going to get us a slice of The Wizard and Pie, the bright-green key lime one you like, and you can tell me all about it.” He ushered me into a booth close to the kitchen door and rushed away to grab us the dessert.
When he returned a minute later, he carried two big slices piled high with whipped cream, which he set on the table before sliding onto the bench across from me. “Thank you for this,” I said. “I can only have a few bites, though. I’m supposed to be meeting Gabe for dinner around the corner in a little while.” I took a bite of the pie and moaned inwardly. “Hmm . . . but it really is my favorite.”
“I know it is.” He smiled and leaned into the table. “Okay, so tell me everything, start to finish,” he said before he scooped a bite of the creamy dessert into his mouth.
I told Charlie about the first number, how well it went, and how positively the team had responded to me. Then, I told him about the ballad, how it was a little shakier but not a total disaster. “Then, they handed me a totally new scene from the show,” I continued, “and gave me fifteen minutes to work on it.”
“Sounds like you must’ve killed it if they offered you the final callback on the spot.”
“I was really feeling the material. I’ve never felt so connected to a character before. Like very connected.”