Nicky followed Robert into a room with a table and chair at one end. Robert grabbed a folding chair from a small utility closet and handed it to Nicky.
“I saw you in the movies, sir,” Nicky offered.
Robert smiled. “You did?”
“My cousin Rick took me.” Nicky didn’t know why or where they came from, but his eyes filled with tears. “He got killed in the war. He’s the only one in my family that did. We all went too. There were seven of us altogether, seven boys. Three brothers in my Uncle Dom’s family. Three in my Uncle Mike’s. I’m an only child. Orphan actually. Uncle Dom and Aunt Jo took me in. Ricky was the one who loved the show. Every Saturday, cartoon, newsreel, double feature. He sat through it twice. I know he’d be happy that I was here. That I was going to be an actor.”
Robert sat down at the table and indicated that Nicky should sit across from him.
Nicky pulled all his paperwork out of his pockets and put it on the table. “I would have been here sooner, but I had to wait for your spring semester to commence.”
Robert looked down at the pile. “You can give this to Miss Fletcher when we’re done,” he said kindly. “She handles the paperwork.”
*
Miss Fletcher closed the shades on the windows of the outer office. She knocked on the studio door, pushing it open enough to peek in. “Mrs. O’Byrne said to remind you you have theater tickets tonight.”
“That’s right. Thanks, Kathy. Here’s what we’ve got.” Robert turned to Nicky. “You can enroll in our first-year classes.”
“I’m in?”
“You’re in.” Robert grinned.
Nicky exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath the entire time that night, but perhaps even longer, since the day he found the posting at the Drama Book Shop. “Thank you.”
“You show a lot of promise, Nick.”
“Thank you. I won’t let you down.”
“We need an actor to read during auditions. You would sit in and read lines with the actor up for the part. Would you like to do that?”
“Sure. Absolutely.”
“We can’t pay a lot.”
“I drive a cab.”
“How many hours a week?”
“As many as sixty.”
“You have to drive those hours to make ends meet, don’t you?”
Nicky nodded. “More and more all the time, sir.”
“What else can you do?”
“Anything.”
“It’s important for you to be around here as many hours of the day as possible. We encourage the students to sit in on scene classes, as many as you can, in addition to your own course work. We’re open six days a week.”
“I’d be here seven if I could.”
Robert leaned back in his chair. “We just lost our janitor in the building.”
“I could clean up around here for you.”
“I’ll talk to the owner. He asked me if I knew anyone. Unless you love driving a cab.”
“I can take it or leave it.”
“Call me tomorrow, and I’ll have an answer for you. And it would be great if you could come in on Wednesday. We’re holding auditions. You’ll meet my wife, Gloria. She’s the director of the play. And the truth is, in our partnership, she’s the one with the talent.”
Nicky shook Robert’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“You did a fine job, Nick. Thank you.”
Nicky turned to leave the office. “Mr. O’Byrne?”
“Please call me Robert.”
“I don’t know what happened to me before. You know, when I came in. I haven’t thought about my cousin in the longest time.”
“Maybe you needed him, and he entered your consciousness at the right moment.”
Nicky left the office and went down the stairs and out into the night. His pockets were lighter, now that he’d left all the documents on the secretary’s desk, or maybe he was just lighter because he was sailing.
It was a cold April evening that had poured rain while Nicky was inside. All that was left of it was the glassy hue on the sidewalks and the cold wind that follows a spring storm. He put on his cap and pulled up his collar as he walked to the subway station. He was filled to the brim with the possibilities of his own potential. He didn’t know why he had been led to the Abbe Theater School, but he had never felt such a warmth and connection to a place in his life—well, not since Borelli’s. Nicky knew he wasn’t going to do anything less than his best as long as they’d have him. He would not squander this magnificent piece of luck.
*
The water in the pan on the hot plate boiled, making bubbles of white foam. Nicky added spaghetti to the water, careful to stir it thoroughly so the noodles wouldn’t clump. On the other burner, he placed a small pan. He drizzled olive oil until it danced in drops in the heat. He added garlic, picking up the pan and shaking it to cover the cloves in the oil. He drained the spaghetti, threw it in a bowl, and put a pat of butter on the hot strands. He cracked a fresh egg into the olive oil and garlic, cooked it sunny side up, and then threw the egg onto the spaghetti, tossing it thoroughly, until the strands were glazed golden yellow. After sprinkling cheese on the spaghetti, he poured himself a glass of homemade wine from Uncle Dom’s basement vintage and sat down at his table in his apartment to read the paper.
When he’d finished his meal, he felt satisfied. He lay on his bed and picked his leather address book off the nightstand. He had to share the news of the Abbe Theater School with someone who would understand the importance of it. It’s not every day a man’s life changes for the better. He flipped to the B’s and found Calla Borelli’s phone number.
He dialed her house, picturing the old gray clapboard on Ellsworth. He wondered if she had fixed the warped planks on the front porch or had the concrete repoured on the front walk. Probably not; Calla wasn’t a homebody. Nicky dialed the number. He took another sip of Uncle Dom’s wine.
An operator came on the line. “I’m sorry, that line is no longer in service.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been disconnected.”
“For how long?”
“The phone company does not release private information.”
“Can you give me a hint?”
“No, sir. I cannot.”
“Thank you.” Now it was Nicky who felt disconnected. He flipped through the book and called the theater box office.
“Borelli’s.” From the flat greeting, Nicky knew it was Rosa DeNero on the line.
“Rosa, it’s Nicky. Nicky Castone.”
“Who?”
“Nicky Castone. I used to work at the theater.”
“Oh yeah.”
“A couple years ago?”
“Yeah, I remember you. The actor that went to New York to make it. You were always busting my chops.”
“That’s me. Is Calla Borelli there?”
“I think she’s down in the dressing room.”
“Could you ask her to come to the phone?”
“I have to leave the booth.”
“It’s important.
Rosa sighed, and for the next three minutes, Nicky had enough time to beat himself up for being a bad friend. He wondered if Calla would even take his call.
“Hi, Nicky,” Calla said breathlessly into the phone.
Nicky couldn’t tell from the tone of her voice if she was happy to hear from him. “How are you?” He sat up straight and held the receiver close to his ear.
“I’m doing well. How are you?”
“I’m still in New York.”