Chapter 8 #2
I hadn’t thought to search Alden’s menu beforehand, since I’d already heard all the chatter about it back in Los Angeles.
But scanning the menu now, I realize I had no idea how expensive it is.
My eyes fall to something called a Wagyu porterhouse and I see the number $255 beside it when I hear a voice aboveme.
“June?”
I know the man looking down at me is Dan Sackler.
He carries himself like a college professor—mousy brown hair and sneakers and an overworn jacket.
I did some extensive Google searching over the past twenty-four hours and Theo was right, he’s incredibly talented.
From what I’ve learned, he’s only in his early forties and he and his husband are a director/producer powerhouse on the path to taking over Broadway.
“Dan, hi!” I stand to shake his hand and wait for him to take a seat before I do. “It’s so nice to meet you!”
“Oh my God, please, I should be saying the exact same thing.” He takes off his jacket and places it on the seat beside him. “I know you’re based out of LA, so when I heard you were in the city, I had to make the time.”
It’s not often I hear of anyone taking time out of their day to see me—it’s usually the other way around.
“The pleasure is all mine,” I say. “Really.”
Our waiter comes by and Dan orders us both a glass of Pinot and the king crab risotto.
“You’re going to love it. It’s their specialty,” he says to me, and then hands the waiter our menus. “Okay, so, June, let’s cut to the chase. I’m a big fan of your work.”
I raise my eyebrows. “My work?”
“Yes! The revival of Rent was legendary,” he says, and my hands start to clam up. He’s not talking about my onscreen work; he’s talking about theater. “I saw you twice that year. You were incredible.”
“Oh.” I look down to hide my discomfort, but I don’t think Dan notices. “Thank you. Rent was really fun.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”
I’m unprepared for his candidness. Of course this would come up, why wouldn’t it? He knows this industry—it’s his industry.
“Well.” I clear my throat. “I moved to Los Angeles to pursue film and TV,” I answer, knowing that’s not what he’s asking.
“Yeah.” He nods along like I’ve just said the sky’s blue. “And Becca Kirke took over and the Tony would have been hers, but she was disqualified because she didn’t originate the role that year. I know…but what happened ?”
Well, he’s also clearly done his research. I’m looking at him like I’m a kid in the principal’s office, walking on eggshells with every answer. He already knows my career, whether he read it on BroadwayWorld.com or asked Theo. He knows, and there’s no pretending.
“I was just going through a hard time in my life,” I answer truthfully, hoping that’s enough.
“I’m sorry, June.” His eyebrows groove together. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” He relaxes into his seat. “Is coming back to Broadway the right move for you?”
“Yes, absolutely,” I say a little too quickly.
“I was young and stupid back then. More emotional than logical.” I swallow through a swell in my throat.
“ Les Mis is the reason I got into theater. I don’t even know what you had in mind for me, but I know this is an opportunity of a lifetime.
I will work my ass off,” I ramble, not even realizing how much I want it now that the opportunity may be slipping through my fingers.
“June,” he laughs. “I’m not worried about you working your ass off.
I saw what you’re capable of, and if I can be honest, your leaving the theater was a huge mistake—” Our waiter suddenly appears and sets out our wine, and Dan waits until he’s gone.
“Also, if this all works out, promise me you won’t give me that emotional-versus-logical bullshit.
That’s why we’re in theater. We all think with our hearts. ”
“Noted.” I let out a laugh and we clink our wineglasses.
The rest of lunch goes well and we hit it off.
Dan is open, honest, funny, and someone I want to be around.
As the next hour goes by, it becomes clearer that being a part of this revival is what I want.
There’s a current throughout my body that I’ve been longing for, for years.
I feel as if a small part of me that was gone is slowly being restored to life.
As I’m fawning over the fresh taste of garlic butter wine sauce and king crab, a tall figure in my peripheral view walks through the front door. A figure that my subconscious seems trained to spot, that for months after I moved to Los Angeles I would see wherever I went, taunting and teasingme.
My fork stays raised in midair while my head turns to see Adam walking by, holding his phone to the side of his face.
He’s wearing black slacks and dress shoes with a navy blue button-down shirt.
His sleeves are rolled down and he’s wearing that watch again.
He looks important, making his way through the restaurant in a way only someone with authority would, which puzzles me.
We make eye contact for a second and he does a double take, and I instinctively look down at my food as if that will hideme.
“That’s the owner,” Dan says as he leansin.
I look past Adam. “Where?”
“There.” He nods. “Tall guy, dark hair. He’s a really great guy too. Big supporter of the arts,” Dan says as he waves him over.
If my head had whipped any faster my neck might have snapped.
“ He’s the owner? Of this restaurant?” My thumb points to Adam, and when I turn back, he’s quickly approaching our table. I cough, then take a sip of my wine.
“Dan, how’s it going?” Adam puts his hand out and Dan stands to shake it, patting him on the back. My eyes are wider than I’m sure they’ve ever been in my entire life, but I don’t say anything.
“Good, good—you know how it is,” Dan says, still standing. “Working on a revival for the winter.”
“I heard. It’s the only thing anyone is talking about.” Adam smiles. “How does it feel?”
“Oh boy, I don’t know, a lot of pressure but— Oh, I’m so sorry, how rude of me.” Dan sits back down and turns to me. “This is—”
“June Wood,” Adam says, his gaze fixed on me, my heart quite literally skipping a beat. His mouth curls into a slight smile, and it’s a look I haven’t seen in the past few days. I haven’t seen it in years.
“You know each other?” Dan looks back and forth betweenus.
“Oh, I, um—” I hesitate, apparently losing the ability to talk.
“I’m a big fan of hers,” Adam says calmly.
Dan looks over at me, impressed. “Right. I mean, same. We were actually just talking about her time in Rent. ”
“You should hear her belt out ‘On My Own,’?” Adam says, casually dropping my favorite Les Misérables song, and it makes my stomach flip.
“I think I may have to.” Dan smiles.
“Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to a few things.” Adam nods to both of us. “Dan, hope to see you again here soon. June…how’s the food?”
For a brief moment, it’s only me and Adam. It’s eleven years ago and he’s showing me a dish he created on a random Thursday night. We’re young and hopeful and the whole world is ahead of us and our fate depends on me nailing my audition song and him impressing his culinary teacher.
“It’s delicious, Adam,” I say sincerely, and he smiles. He smiles like every critic’s praise in The New York Times doesn’t mean anything and like his restaurant hasn’t been booked solid since the day it opened. He smiles like my uneducated palate is the only opinion he cares about.
“I’m glad to hear. And please, don’t worry about anything. It’s on the house. So nice to see you both.” He puts a hand to his chest and walks toward the kitchen.
Adam Harper owns New York’s hottest restaurant.
Holy fucking shit.