***
After a good night’s sleep, Devon was ready to hit the ground running in his search for Melanie. She wouldn’t be off the ship for a couple more days, but he had some legwork to do first anyway. He didn’t know her last name; all he knew was that she was a waitress and an actress. Great. That should be easy, since New York had so few actresses and waitresses.
He scoffed at the thought as he took his iced coffee from the barista. “Thanks. Hey, are you an actress?” he asked the coffee girl on a whim.
She smiled wide and made a motion as if to toss her hair, even though it was tied back in a ponytail. “Why, yes, I am. How did you know?”
“Just a hunch,” he said. “But I’m hoping you might be able to help me. I need to know the main audition spots around town.”
“No problem!” She disappeared into the back for a minute and reemerged with a piece of paper in hand. “Here. I wrote them down for you. And the addresses.” Her smile was prodding. “Are you in television?”
Devon laughed. “No. Not really in entertainment at all.”
The smile remained on her face, but the light went out in her eyes. He was useless to her now.
“Well,” he said, “thanks for the addresses. And the coffee!”
He pocketed the piece of paper—he wouldn’t need it for a couple more days, at least, if at all. His plan was to gather as much information about where he might find Melanie, if for some reason he was unable to find her during the disembarking phase of the ship.
His next stop: Diners. There had to be a million of them in New York City, but he decided to start with ones local to the audition spaces. After the 6th or so diner, Devon was feeling weary. Diners were big operations, so each one took a good amount of time to get a hold of the person who might know if they had an employee named Melanie working there.
Another coffee was in order, so he popped into the nearest Starbucks. He sat down at a table and took a sip. As he contemplated his next move, he glanced out the window and stopped. Across the street was a tiny little diner that he might not have otherwise seen if he hadn’t been sitting directly across from it. Ironically, it was called Big Apple Diner.
With a renewed energy, Devon leapt from his chair and darted across the street, dodging taxis and busses as he did. A bell clanked overhead as he opened the door, and an older Greek woman greeted him with a smile.
“One for lunch?” she asked as she pulled a menu from its holder.
“Ah, no. I was just wondering if you have anyone by the name of Melanie who works here?”
“We did!”
Devon turned to see a large man in a white cook’s uniform striding toward them. “Did? As in, she doesn’t work here anymore?”
“Not a very reliable girl,” he said, and Devon realized this must have been the boss that Melanie hated but dealt with because she needed the money. “She’s visiting a sick uncle—” He used air quotes around sick uncle, “—but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Devon said, not really caring what he thought of Melanie. “Listen, do you have a last name for her?”
The small Greek woman stepped forward before the boss could say anything. “Who wants to know?”
Devon thought it was pretty obvious who wanted to know, but he answered her question anyway. He had finally found her diner, and he wasn’t going to blow this opportunity. “I do,” he said, with a great amount of reverence in his voice.
The woman folded her arms over her chest. “Why?”
It was do or die time. Without a good reason, this woman wasn’t going to give up the information he so desperately needed. So he appealed to her romantic side—he just had to hope she had one.
“Because…because I love her,” he said. The woman remained in her authoritative stance, but her face softened. He kept going. “Since it’s no secret that she wasn’t really visiting a sick uncle, I will tell you the truth. I met her on a cruise ship, but we didn’t exchange last names or numbers. We thought we had more time. But then I was fired and sent home without the opportunity to tell her how I felt. And now I have no way of finding her.” He paused for dramatic effect. “You’re my only hope.”
Nine
Melanie was one of the first off the ship the morning it pulled up to the New York City pier. She kept her eyes open, hoping to see Devon there, waiting for her. But he was nowhere to be found. Melanie’s hopes deflated further as she lugged her suitcase several avenues to the subway station and hoisted it down several flights of stairs. The ride home was depressing, and it was even more depressing to arrive back at her small, dingy apartment.
She missed the ship already. But mostly she just missed Devon.
She immediately cracked open her laptop and started Googling things like Devon masseuse, and Devon masseuse NYC. But no good leads turned up.
With a sigh, Melanie slumped back against her desk chair, her eyes fixated on the screen, but not really seeing it. It was time to stop dreaming. Time to accept those few days for what they were—a summer fling. Nothing more. Maybe one day she would run into Devon at a local Laundromat or diner, and they’d smile at each other fondly and ask how the other had been. Of course, by then they would both be married and maybe even have kids. But Melanie knew she would never be able to forget her few glorious days with him.
But none of that mattered now. She had to move on with her life. She was jobless and broke.
She opened up Backstage.com, ready to start the search for a temp job or another waitressing job, when she saw an ad for a dance teacher.
Dance, Dance Broadway looking for an experienced dancer to teach beginner jazz to 3-5 year olds.
Teaching. While many of Melanie’s friends had turned to teaching voice or dance for their income, Melanie had always shunned the idea. “Those who can’t, teach.” That phrase echoed in her head every time she thought about it. But the fact of the matter was that teaching seemed a hell of a lot better than waiting tables right now. She couldn’t fathom the idea of working in another restaurant, praying for enough tips to make her rent, all the while dealing with stingy tourist and crabby old New Yorkers.
She remembered her conversation with Devon on their first date. Telling him she was unhappy had been a huge step, but it was just the first step. Now she had to do something about it. It was time to take charge of her life and find that bliss everyone was always talking about. Maybe she would find it in teaching, maybe she wouldn’t. One thing was for sure, though: she would never find it in a restaurant.
Besides, she loved Dance, Dance Broadway. She’d taken many classes there over the years—it would be comfortable, if nothing else.
She picked up her phone and dialed the number to the dance school.
“Dance, Dance Broadway, how can I help you?”
“Hello, I’d like to apply for the teaching position you advertised in Backstage.”