The Last Phone Booth in Manhattan(70)
Reginald interrupted himself with a loud and boisterous “BUT,” startling the crap out of a young couple in front as they nearly tumbled backward into the plate of sticky toffee pudding resting beside the turkey. He stuck his index finger high into the air, further emphasizing the crescendo of his story. “This, ladies and gentlemen, was the very moment when Dickens needed to dig deep, and that he did, folks. And. That. He. Did. He produced A Christmas Carol in just six weeks’ time, crafting notably one of the most famous and well-loved works of fiction ever written. It is with this story that Dickens became a household name and changed forever the way the Western world celebrates the entire Christmas season—emphasizing generosity and love. And with that, don’t forget how much I too love generosity.”
He flipped his hat off his head and turned it into a makeshift collection plate. “Your tips are much appreciated, as are Yelp and Google reviews. Be sure to mention me by name, it’s Reginald, in case you forgot. Thank you all for coming!” he shouted to the room, and was met with a healthy round of applause from the enthusiastic and gracious group.
Gabe and I took a moment to peruse the details of the Cratchit House, all the decor and adornments they used to replicate the interior style of a typical lower-class Victorian home. I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of the crackling fire behind us and the scent of pine from the furniture and beams. Who would have thought I would have such a strong connection with Dickens and his personal story? And even though this was not what I had in mind when I thought about how to prepare for my final audition, I was flooded with gratitude for the experience of it all. I had a brand-new perspective, one I knew I’d be able to uniquely draw from when portraying the character of Marley onstage.
I reached down for Gabe’s hand and squeezed it, hoping to convey my appreciation through my affectionate gesture. “This was so great, Gabe. Like so, so great.” I leaned against him and rested my head on his shoulder as we faced the wall looking at old photographs of Dickens and lithograph illustrations from his life’s works.
“Good,” he said, leaning his head to mine. “I’m glad.” He gave my hand another squeeze. “Are you hungry? ’Cause I am starving. I’ll be ready to eat that plastic turkey and the sticky toffee pudding on the table if we don’t get outta here soon.”
“Yes! Agreed! Let’s just say goodbye and thank you to Reginald, and then we can find somewhere close by for dinner.”
We waited in a short queue to say our goodbyes to our host as Gabe drew a ten-pound note from inside his coat pocket.
Reginald’s eyes twinkled as he watched Gabe place the bill into the hat. “Much appreciated, kind sir.”
Turning his attention from Gabe to me, he locked his eyes on mine and asked, “Dinner plans?”
“No, actually,” I said, hoping he was getting ready to suggest a nearby favorite.
“Wonderful. Would you be interested in joining me for the best fish and chips in town? The best spot’s just around the corner,” he asked as his eyebrows danced suggestively up and down.
Still holding Gabe’s hand, I couldn’t help but crack a smile. Gabe’s fingers squeezed mine as we shared the laugh inwardly. “I would love to join you, but unfortunately, I’m already spoken for.” I lifted our intertwined hands up to eye level, and Reginald met it with a dramatic pout.
“Well, I had to try.” He turned to Gabe and said, “‘Love her, love her, love her! If she favors you, love her.’”
Gabe nodded. “Now that I can do,” he said and kissed me on the top of the head.
I looked at Reginald. “Great Expectations?”
“Ahhh yes, my dear, and it seems all my work here is now done.” He smiled and offered a wink. And with that, he emptied the bills and coins from his hat into his pockets, shimmied the cap back onto his head, and turned to leave.
Chapter Thirty-Four
We took Reginald’s suggestion and went to find some dinner at the fish-and-chips place around the corner. He wasn’t kidding. It must have been one of the most well-known hot spots in the city because the line was halfway down the block. It wasn’t a proper sit-down restaurant—instead, you ordered your food from the café window and took your plate to one of the nearby benches or, if you were lucky, wooden picnic tables.
“How about we divide and conquer,” Gabe suggested. “I’ll go and secure us a place to sit and a couple of pints and you stand in the queue?”
“Sounds good,” I answered, and watched him duck out of the line and make his way down the street.
Fortunately, due to the limited menu, the line moved pretty quickly. You had three options: fish and chips, bangers and mash, or shepherd’s pie. It all looked (and smelled!) delicious, but since Reginald raved about the fish and chips, I decided to go with that for me and Gabe, plus a shepherd’s pie for good measure.
After I paid, the cashier handed me a ticket and asked me to kindly step to the side. About ten minutes later, my number was called and I was handed two orders of fish and chips bundled in newspaper, the oil spreading farther and farther across the printed letters with each passing second.
“Don’t forget about your shepherd’s pie, dear,” the cashier hollered as I almost walked away without it. I couldn’t help but laugh—she sounded just like Mrs. Lovett from Sweeney Todd. I’d have to remember to tell Charlie about her when I got home.