“Danny called about an hour ago. I had to wake Mom up from a dead sleep. I tried to hand her the phone but she couldn’t see to grab it,” I explained to Philippa as we sat on a bench in Central Park on Monday morning. I had invited Philippa to come with me as I took Alice on her daily constitutional.

“Didn’t have her glasses on?” Philippa guessed.

“No, Mom always wears a sleep mask. Anyway, I overheard Danny asking Mom if she was coming in today.”

“Well?”

“She is. I don’t know how she came to this decision. When she came back from the spa last night, she almost immediately went to bed. Imagine! She said she was exhausted from three days of therapeutic pampering…”

Philippa interjected, “Annie was almost out the door when I was pouring myself a cup of coffee an hour ago. She said something about Danny calling her to say your mom was going to apologize to everyone today at the studio—"

“That’s not what Mom told me. She said Danny told her that Annie was going to apologize to her. Then she put her mask on again and went back to sleep.”

We both chuckled.

“So I’ve got a personal update to tell you,” Philippa gushed.

“So do I,” I parried. “I had a great time on Saturday night with that boy, Carson, that I told you about. He’s a real chad. Here, take a look.” I took out my phone and showed her a photo I’d taken of Carson outside of the Shake Shack on 86th Street.

“Impressive,” nodded Philippa.

“And he’s very talented too,” I said proudly.

“And…?” Philippa waited.

I picked Alice up and hugged her to my breasts. Looking away from Philippa, I said in a breathy tone, “I think he really likes me.”

“So you’re really into these musician types, eh?”

“He and his group are really good, Philippa. You should have heard the crowd at the Bowery Ballroom. They demanded three encores! You know, he gave me a thumb drive with some songs his group recorded at a friend’s studio. I’m going to give it to Trent to listen to. Maybe he can get them an audition with a record label—”

“Did he ask you to give it to Trent?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Just be careful, Cherry. You think he really likes you but it might just be a case of going through you to get to Trent—”

“No, it’s not that. He knows all about me.”

“What do you mean? What does he know?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Forget I said that. I’m not that naïve. I know when a guy is really into me and not because of my mother or anyone I’m connected to being in the business.”

“You sound very experienced for a 16-year-old.”

“I’ll be 17 in two months! Anyway, what’s your news? Have you met a boy too?”

“No, silly, I’m not boy-crazy like you. No offense but I’m a few years past that stage, if I ever was. Don’t give me that look. I’m not dissing you. Just be careful. Keep your eyes wide open. Okay?”

“Okay, alright? Now, tell me what your news is.”

“I’m moving into my brother’s loft in Dumbo on Wednesday night.”

“Dumbo? Don’t tell me he lives in a building shaped like a cartoon elephant.”

“Cherry, you’re a scream. Dumbo stands for Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. It’s in Brooklyn. Bohemian chic. Rich artists like Chris live and work there.”

“You and Annie had a dust-up or something?”

“Now that Annie’s stupid idea about us being lesbian lovers has been exposed, it makes sense for me to cut the apron strings, so to speak. She wanted me to live as a girl for the summer. I can do that on my own without her, no? And Chris is going to be in New York all summer. He just signed a deal with the producers of the show to be the art director on all of its promotional media. That includes posters, signage, print ads, and TV commercials. He’ll be coming around the studio and the preview theater to get ideas for it.”

“I’ve got to start working on finding a guy for you. Summer romances are so hot!”

“It’s the warm weather. But, really, you’re obsessed with match-making, aren’t you?”

“Hmmm. Anyone in the cast…other than Trent…float your boat?” I asked as Alice licked my face.

“Save yourself the trouble, Cherry. Oh, that’s the other thing. Chris is holding a little cocktail party to celebrate his new deal Saturday night in his…I mean, our loft. Everyone from the play and executives from the Netherlander Organization and the ad agency are going to be invited. I guess that would include you…unless you had other plans.”

“Do you think Chris is going to hire a band for the party?”

“I can hear the gears spinning in your head, Cherry.”

Dan Dantley stood before us in the rehearsal studio, his hands on his hips and a stern expression on face.

“Settle down everyone. Welcome back to our ‘second’ first day of black box rehearsals. The Broadway veterans among us (and that doesn’t include me, ha ha) are familiar with this new space that we’re in today. We’re going to start blocking out the scenes and, as you can see from the light fixtures all around us, configure the lighting schemes for each scene. It’s tedious but absolutely necessary, so bear with us. So don’t let the lights throw you. And don’t throw the lights…”

No one laughed except Maris Lafferty, who got the Elvis in Vegas reference.

“You’re making me feel so old. First item on our agenda! As you all well know, our rehearsals were interrupted last week by a minor squabble between two of our cast members, Lulu and Annie. Without getting into the specifics of their contretemps, I’ve received assurances from both of them that it’s all water under the bridge and we can all proceed to finish preparing for a grand opening night in September, without rancor. Ladies, anything you’d like to say to each other?”

Mom and Annie met in the center of the room and placed their hands on their hips, trying not to look directly into each other’s eyes. Annie offered her hand to Lulu.

“I’m sorry for blowing up at you, Lulu. Let’s bury the hatchet, okay?”

“As long as it’s not in each other’s heads, yeah. I’m sorry too.”

They shook hands but smiles did not replace their frowns. Dan applauded their peace-making, prompting everyone else to politely applaud as well.

“Five minutes everyone. Be ready to block the first scene.”

I glanced over at Trent, standing by the craft services table, nervously downing half a bottle of water. He had been avoiding the glances and outright stares of the cast and even some of our technicians, trying to hide in the back of the room. When I walked over to him, he flinched.

“Trent, do you have a minute?” I asked.

“Hey, Cherry. I’d rather not talk about it. So, unless it’s about the weather, don’t ask—”

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to hear anything about that. I even put my hands over my ears when Mom mentions it…which she’s only done once when we were soaking in a thermal bath and she was falling asleep. I know, TMI. Listen,” I reached into my purse (darn these girls’ jeans don’t have real pockets) and took out Carson’s thumb drive. “I’ve got a friend who’s a really talented musician and his band plays locally. They just opened for The Master Builders this past weekend at Bowery Ballroom. They killed! Can you give this a listen? Maybe give us your professional opinion? They’re really good!”

He took the thumb drive and looked at it for a brief second before pocketing it in his shirt.

“Sure. When I get a few minutes, I’ll pop it into my laptop.”

“They’re really good,” I repeated, as I walked back to my seat next to Philippa.

Unable to find a minute to talk to Dan alone in the first couple of hours of scene blocking in rehearsal, I invited myself to lunch with Dan, Maia, and David Wetherell. We settled into a table in the Times Square plaza and started to unwrap the hotdogs we got from John’s Famous cart on West 46th. I shocked the others by ordering the jumbo Reuben Dog, with sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and Thousand Island Dressing. Pretty pricey at $11 but David was chivalrous enough to pay for it.

“I really like the changes you made in the second scene, Maia,” I said between chomping on my dog.

“That’d make you the first person to like them,” Maia snickered.

“I think it’s just Maris complaining about having her lines cut,” Dan offered, relish trickling down his chin.

“I’ve a favor to ask of you, Dan,” I quietly ventured.

“Sure, Cherry, what is it?”

“Maia’s probably told you I’m taking a filmmaking course this summer at Columbia—”

“She did. It’s a great opportunity. I wish I could’ve taken a course like that when I was still in high school.”

“Well, the group I’m in wants to do our class project on the preparations for the play during rehearsals and previews. The class ends at the end of August…”

“And who chose the subject of this project?” Dan raised an eyebrow.

“I did…but they all loved the idea! And since I have an in with the director…”

“The next few weeks is going to be pretty intense, Cherry. We don’t need unnecessary distractions.”

“Mom said you’d be okay with it,” I drew out hopefully.

“Oh, Cherry, don’t go there. Dan isn’t too fond of your mom right now,” Maia warned.

“I don’t think it’ll be a distraction, Dan. I know Lulu, Annie and I – even Trent – are used to crews shooting promo rolls while we’re filming. I’m sure Cherry and her mates can be discreet while documenting our rehearsals and such,” David smiled at me.

“And we want to arrange interviews with the leading figures…like you, Dan, Maia, and the cast.” I waited for the wheels to turn in Dan’s brain.

“But Chris Chang’s going to be doing pretty much the same thing, you know, observing everything. His input will shape the advertising and promotional efforts—”

“It’s a school project, Dan, have a care, will you,” David exclaimed in exasperation.

Maia brushed Dan’s arm with a sympathetic expression on her face, winking at me.

“Oh, alright, but I want you to be as quiet as dormice. Just stay out of the way—” Dan surrendered.

“Thank you! Thank you all!” I leaped out of my seat and smeared Thousand Island Dressing all over Dan’s cheek.

“Maia, give me a napkin!”

“No one consulted me about this!” Maris cried. Dan crossed his arms and looked annoyed.

“Maris, I didn’t think it’d be such a big deal.”

“I’m not dressed properly to be filmed. Someone should have given me a head’s up at least.”

“Maris, you look fine,” Mom told her, her arms akimbo.

“Why couldn’t you have waited until dress rehearsals next week, sweetheart,” turning to me, standing next to Anders and a tripod, aiming the Canon XL2 for a wide-angle shot of the scene being rehearsed. Charlotte was sitting off to the side, monitoring the audio and video on her laptop.

“We probably won’t be using the footage we’re shooting today. We’re just trying to get accustomed to the lighting and sight-lines. And the audio—”

“Can we get back to rehearsing this scene?” Dan implored, his hands held out specifically to Maris.

“Okay, okay.” She muttered, “I’ve got only two lines in this scene anyway…”

Dan was relieved to have us confirm to him we were only going to shoot a couple of days a week. Mostly Tuesdays and Thursdays after class. Of course, if we could fit it into everyone’s schedules, there’d be exceptions to the rule. In particular, I wanted to conduct the interviews outside of the studio or theater, probably on a Saturday or Sunday when there were no rehearsals or previews.

While taking Alice for her morning constitutional on Wednesday, I called Carson, hoping he was awake. Being a musician, he kept pretty late hours. I guess it becomes a habit when you’re working into the wee hours. Surprisingly, he picked up after the second ring.

“Cherry! I just woke up. We had a gig in Hartford at Webster’s last night. Boy, we escaped that part of town by the skin of our teeth. Some kids were trying to break into our van when we came out—”

“Carson! Do you have a gig tonight?”

“No, not until Friday in the city. Why?”

“I can get you a gig for a cocktail party on Saturday—”

“Cherry, we don’t play cocktail parties. Don’t you want a jazz trio or string quartet for something like that?”

“Chris Chang, the famous artist, is holding a party in his loft in Dumbo. He’s a young dude. I’m sure he’d like your music. Everyone from the play and some high-flying execs from advertising and Broadway are also going to be there—”

“I don’t know who Chris Chang is. And that guest list doesn’t sound like an audience that’d appreciate what we play. Our stuff would have the ice cubes jumping out of their champagne glasses.”

“Carson, Trent Foster will be there!”

“Oh, yeah. What did he say about our shit?”

“Well, I don’t think he’s actually listened to it yet. But he’ll have to listen at the party. You’ll wow him, I’m sure.”

“That sounds like a plan, Cherry. Call me when you clinch the date and give me the coordinates. I’m going back to sleep—”

“No, Carson! You have to come with me to Chris’ loft. Tonight! I’m helping his sister move in. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to meet him and we’ll convince him to hire you on the spot!”

“I’ll have to cancel rehearsal for the band but…okay…if you think this dude will really hire us.”

“I’ll text you the address of Chris’ loft and the time we’ll be arriving. Go back to bed, Carson.”

“Go back? I’m still in bed.”

“Don’t you have anything you want to tell me, Carson?”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks for everything. You’re a champ.”

He disconnected.

“If I’d known you all were coming, I’d have baked a cake,” joked Chris as he ushered us into his loft.

It was the entire floor of a renovated warehouse, now converted into work and living spaces for artists of every stripe. We (myself, Annie, Philippa, and Carson) found ourselves in a huge central room. There were some wall-filling canvases, paintings by Chris, on three sides. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Plymouth Street, with the Manhattan Bridge looming in the distance.

We had headed over to the loft after rehearsal, so it was a little after 6 PM. Carson was punctual, waiting for us when we stepped out of the Uber Annie had ordered. I introduced Annie and Philippa to Carson.

Whispering into my ear, Annie asked, “How do you do it? First it’s that blond bombshell Anders and now Mr. Tall, Dark & Studly, Carson.”

I laughed. “They’re just friends, Annie. Not everything is carnal.”

“It isn’t? Nobody told me that.”

---

“You guys are good,” Chris declared after listening to a few minutes of the thumb drive Carson had handed to him. “I don’t know if it’s right for the crowd at my party. Most of the guests will be into smooth jazz or classical.”

Shaking his head, Carson whispered to me, “See. I told you.”

“They’ll play for free!” I shouted.

“Wait! What? Cherry!” Carson was confused by my offer to Chris.

“I know the women at the party will like the visuals as much as the music,” Annie said with a smirk.

“How can you say no, Chris,” Philippa asked. “They’re willing to play for zilch. And they’re good anyway. Hiring a jazz trio or classical musicians would be so out of sync with you as an avant-garde artist and the Bohemian hipster neighborhood we’re in. Your guests expect you to color outside the lines, Chris.”

“Okay, okay, I can see when I’m out-numbered. But, I will pay you, Carson. Being an artist myself, I’m constitutionally against freebies.” He extended his hand to Carson. “You’re hired.”

They shook hands. Carson had a big grin on his face as he couldn’t stop shaking Chris’ hand.

---

As Chris took us on a tour of his loft, which turned out to have more rooms than a medium-sized house, I sidled up to Annie.

“Sorry about how Trent treated you,” I said sympathetically.

“Thanks but I’m over him. And I’m really sorry for taking it out on your mom. She’s not to blame. It’s all Trent’s fault. He’s a player. That’s all he is.”

“I know. I’m working on getting her away from that bum.”

“And how, pray tell, are you going to accomplish that? Tell her to avoid looking into those puppy dog eyes and at the dimples in his cheeks…upper and lower.”

“Annie! You make it sound so…so lewd and salacious.”

“Well, that’s the way it is, honey. No offense but your mother should stick to her own age group.”

“So, what do you think of Chris? He’s kind of dreamy, don’t you think?”

“I met him three years ago. At a Hollywood party. I think it was for another of Dan’s film premieres or TV shows. I don’t remember. This was before I’d ever met Philippa. Well, she would’ve been presenting as Philip back then. Anyway, Chris was just this scruffy-looking nerd who had worked for Dan in set design. He’s improved a lot since then, I’ll admit.”

“He’s been staring at you all evening. I think he’s crushing on you.”

“You really think so?”

“Now that he’s working on the visual media for the play and Philippa’s moved into the loft, that’s your excuse for spending time with him…as often as you wish.”

“Philippa was right about you. You are a little match-maker, aren’t you? I think you should work on your own case. Carson is a real honey. I just hope he’s not a Trent Foster wannabe, if you get my drift.”

“He’s the farthest thing from that. Don’t give me that look.”

---

The work week came to an end on Friday at 5PM and I looked forward to simply kicking back and having a quiet dinner in our suite with Mom before watching something interesting on Netflix. I was planning to make my famous Spaghetti Bolognese…for the first time. Mom might prefer to eat out at the latest fashionable restaurant but I’m more of a homebody. Also, I have to watch my intake of calories. Unlike my mother, I’m inherently a fattie. I guess I get that from my father’s side of the family. Whoever he is.

To my shock and disappointment, as I was packing up my shoulder bag to leave the studio, Mom came over to me, with Trent standing beside her, a shit-eating grin on his stupid face, and told me she and Trent were taking one of those evening cruises around Manhattan island. They were looking forward to the dulcet tones of a jazz band, a gourmet dinner with a wide choice of domestic and foreign wines, and dancing in the moonlight. The image of my mother dancing on board a tour boat with a veritable teenager, surrounded by couples closing in on their sunset years, made me want to puke. I was stunned into silence as they traipsed to the elevator, waving goodbye.

David Wetherell snapped me out of my trance as he repeated his question to me.

“Need a lift home, Cherry?”

“Oh…yes, thank you, daddy.”

“Did you just call me daddy?” He laughed.

“Did I? I’m sorry. Slip of the tongue.”

As I climbed onto his motorcycle, his extra helmet on my head, my arms wrapped themselves around his midriff. We moved into the rush hour traffic, heading toward The Carlyle. Unconsciously, I laid my cheek against the warm, slick leather of his jacket and tried to come up with a plan to get my mother and father back together again.