The Last Phone Booth in Manhattan by Beth Merlin & Danielle Modafferi

Author:Beth Merlin & Danielle Modafferi [Merlin, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2024-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lyla almost decided to skip her Bumble date to accompany me to the mystery address, but I insisted she go ahead and told her I’d be okay to do some digging on my own. According to my phone’s GPS, the address the phone booth gave, 27 Barrow Street, wasn’t far, but it also didn’t give me any indication of what kind of building I was being directed to.

I rounded the corner looking down at my phone and almost caused a domino effect when I practically rear-ended a young woman who was waiting in a verrrrrrry long line snaking up the block.

“Whoa! ’Scuse me,” I blurted out, maneuvering around her.

The young woman pulled a pair of AirPods from her ears. “Sorry, what?”

“Oh, never mind,” I said, continuing down the street. But with each step closer to 27 Barrow, I realized the line was queuing to enter that very address. I surveyed the people who were waiting like a line of ants at a picnic, a mix of men and women of all colors, shapes, and sizes, carrying headshots, listening to music, and muttering to themselves.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I searched for someone on the line without headphones. After zeroing in on a young guy in a long-sleeve waffle shirt, puffer jacket, and jeans, I tapped him squarely on his shoulder. He was scanning a piece of paper, putting it down and reciting passages from it to himself as I approached.

“Excuse me? Um . . . what’s this for?” I asked, motioning to the people waiting behind him.

Startled by the interruption, he took a second to respond. “It’s a line to the Greenwich House Theater. There’s an open call today.”

My ears perked up at open call. Open-call auditions usually meant that non-equity actors would be seen along with equity ones, and since I was still trying to get my equity card, it was currently the only type of audition I could go on.

I glanced up and down the line again, and asked, “Do you know who they’re auditioning?”

“It’s apparently a very open ‘open call’ for a new show coming in from the West End called Marley Is Dead. Do you know it?” He didn’t wait for my response before continuing, “With the director’s modern take and the show’s twist on traditional roles, not to mention the rave reviews coming out of London, I think half of the New York theater scene is here today . . . hence, the long line,” he grumbled as he gestured to the queue behind him.

Marley Is Dead?! The show I was supposed to see with Adam in London on New Year’s? Was this a coincidence, or had the phone booth sent me here so I could audition? The excitement of the latter, the possibility that this audition could be something as special as my encounter with Gabe turned out to be, made my heart pound against my rib cage and my legs tingle with anticipation.

“Do you know what they’re looking for?” I asked

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