Chapter 8
Chapter
It’s difficult to say who’s keeping their distance from whom, but for the next two days, Adam and I barely cross paths.
Our interactions continue to be minimal.
Cordial, but minimal. Adam stays out of my way, and I stay out of his.
On occasion we’ll see each other in the kitchen, but if one of us is in the living room, the other goes straight to their bedroom.
It’s how normal roommates interact, two people cohabitating. What Adam and I used to be wasn’t that.
I stay in bed until I can hear Adam leave for work. Once I hear the front door close, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I’m in New York.
I send the text and place my phone on the bathroom counter. Not even thirty seconds later, the name Chloe Patel flashes on my screen. I spit my toothpaste out and answerit.
“June…” Chloe’s whisper sounds threatening. She’s clearly at work; otherwise, I’m positive I would be hearing a much louder reaction. “Since when?!”
“I know, I know.” I nod, feeling guilty.
I haven’t seen Chloe in two years. The last time we were together was when she came to LA for a case she was working on.
We text each other as often as friends with full-time jobs and kids do, time permitting, but between living across the country and life naturally happening, it’s surprising how quickly two years can go by.
“I would’ve told you sooner, but it was only supposed to be forty-eight hours and…
things changed. Besides, you’re like two hours away! ”
“Okay, Connecticut is only an hour and a half away.” A few years after law school, Chloe got a job at one of the top law firms in Stamford.
She still likes to say that she lives in New York since it’s only a train ride away, and I’ll never pass up an opportunity to tease her about it.
“How long are you in town for? I’m seeing you, obviously,” she says.
“Obviously.”
“Are you filming something?”
“No, just taking care of some things,” I say.
“Where are you staying?”
“Would you believe me if I told you my place?”
“Your place?” she says. “What place?”
“Perry—”
“I don’t get it.” She sounds not amused in the slightest and I suck my lips in, not saying anything. “You’re at Perry? How?!”
“It’s a long story.”
“Tell me what the fuck is happening right now, I swear to God—”
“In person.” I fall onto the bed. “When are you free? I can come to you.”
“Ugh, I’m in back-to-backs all day,” she groans. “Sunday after lunch?”
“Perfect. Where should I meet you?”
“No, I’m coming to you,” Chloe says, and it’s crazy to think that the two of us will be back in the city together again.
But then, a lot of what’s happening this week is crazy.
“Shit, I have a meeting right now. I guess I’ll see you…
at Perry?” she says, and I can picture exactly the puzzled look on her face.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I throw my hand up because this entire situation is laughable. “See you tomorrow.”
When taking my morning stroll, I find myself walking the same route I used to.
Slowly, I become one with the flow of bodies around me, as if I never left.
Once, I read an article in The New York Times describing the West Village as low-key with a small-scale charm, which is spot-on.
Sprinkled on every corner are mom-and-pop coffee shops, and in Washington Square Park you’re guaranteed to find regulars playing chess.
The streets are narrow, with curved corners full of undeniably charming architecture, making it a true village within a concrete jungle.
Between the dogs, big and small, being walked along Bleecker and the crisp September air combating steam rising from the construction chimneys, it’s difficult to not romanticize my life while being here.
On a stretch well populated with small independent shops sits a stationery store full of bright-colored pens, pencils, and cards that catch my eye. I’m about to enter when Theo’s name appears on my phone screen.
“Hello?” I answer, and hold my breath.
“Hey! You’re still in New York, right?”
“I am.”
“Perfect. Dan Sackler wants to have lunch with you tomorrow,” Theo says matter-of-factly.
I search my brain because the name doesn’t sound familiar.
Then again, I haven’t been plugged into the theater world lately.
“He’s kind of an up-and-coming director.
Done a few things Off-Broadway, but he’s really talented.
I saw his production of Belfast Girls last year. ”
“That’s amazing.” I make a mental note to do some research. “I’m excited to meet him! Do you know how far along they are in everything?”
“Girl, I’m getting to it!” She laughs. “So, he’s currently casting. I just know they have their Valjean, and no, I don’t know who it is. But— Beckham, please leave Mommy for two minutes. I’m on the phone…With a friend…Yes, we’ll do yoga after —he’s not looking for huge names.”
Not a huge name is something I hear quite often when I get put up for roles.
It’s never easy hearing you’re not as well established as you could be.
I’ve been consistently working for the past ten years, wondering when my résumé is finally going to pay off, but I’ll take not being big enough if that’s what they want.
“But, they came to me directly asking for you, so…” Theo’s voice trails off.
“Seriously?” I perkup.
“June, I told you, this is going to be a really great pivot. I— Stella, I told Beckham Mommy’s on the phone. Start the yoga video without me —I’ll send you the details in a bit.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Theo.”
“Of course.” She takes a beat. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re doing in New York? The hellmouth of all things?”
I laugh at her using my own words against me. “Okay, I know I talk shit, but it’s not that bad…I actually like it.”
“Yeah, welcome to the eightieth percentile. So, what are you doing there?”
“Just visiting a friend,” I say.
“Got it. Well, have fun. I’ll text you in like an hour.”
There’s a stupid grin on my face the rest of the morning. I take my time during the remainder of my walk and treat myself to a colorful greeting card that reads YOU’VE GOT THIS at the stationery store. As I turn onto Perry and the house is within view, my phone vibrates.
Saturday, 1:30pm at Alden in SoHo. I’ve been dying to go so let me know how itis.
I considered asking Theo to change the reservation, but I left it.
Being difficult before meeting Dan probably isn’t the best first impression, and I selfishly want to see what Alden is all about.
Adam works in the kitchen, which means the chances of running into him are slim to none.
So, what I don’t do is tell him I’m having lunch at the place where he works.
My outfit consists of an oversized houndstooth blazer on top of my white shirt and jeans.
I stack my gold rings on my fingers, layer on a thin necklace, and gently run my fingers through my curls.
As I take a final look in the mirror, it hits me that it’s been too long since I’ve done this.
I’m used to self-tapes and lengthy auditions with a group of people who look almost identical tome.
Despite what people think, being an actor in LA is not all that it’s cut out to be.
What I do is quite depressing actually—it’s a service industry, as Theo would say: catering to what people need and giving them what they want.
But today, thinking about a live audience instead of a boom operator on their phone reminds me exactly why I do this.
The cobbled streets of SoHo lead to a brick-covered establishment with a small gold plaque that reads Alden by the door. Aside from the discreet signage, there’s no indication of a restaurant being here.
Inside, it’s loud. The sound of chatter from deep conversations over appetizers and wine blends with the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, mixed with a subtle undertone of upbeat jazz to tie it all together.
It’s no surprise why this place is impossible to get a reservation at.
There’s an impressive lunch rush, maybe a few empty tables here and there with a Reserved sign on top, but there’s no doubt it’s full.
There’s a wall covered with a variety of wine bottles of all colors that travels from the floor to the ceiling, while on another wall is a collection of black-and-white photographs in frames.
It’s beautiful, with the natural light seeping through the windows, but I’m already curious to see what the restaurant looks like at night.
The mismatched chairs and tableware complement one another, and it’s almost shocking how this place is Adam.
If he were a restaurant, this would be it.
His being able to land a job at a place like this is, for lack of a better word, perfect.
Behind the hostess stand is a young redhead wearing high-waisted black pants and a matching vest.
“Hi,” I say, looking around to see if I can spot Dan. “Reservation under ‘Sackler.’?”
Her eyes trail the sheet below her and she smiles and grabs two menus.
“You’re the first one here. You can follow me.
” She leads me over blue-and-burnt-orange checkered tiling and past a giant olive tree in the middle of the restaurant.
We walk by tables filled with dishes that tempt me to ask excuse me, that looks delicious.
What did you order? I’m guided to a spot deep in the restaurant across from an elaborate glass window granting me a view of the kitchen.
My eyes widen and I quickly scan the faces through the pane.
Thankfully, it looks like Adam isn’t working today.
Regardless, I’d rather be safe than sorry, and choose the seat facing away from the kitchen and any chance of him seeingme.