Move the Stars (Something in the Way 3)

I looked up just as a man in a suit approached us. “Sorry to interrupt, Carl,” he said.

The show’s director turned. “Mike Galloway. Nice to see you.” They shook hands. “Coming to steal away one of my stars?”

“Can’t I just sneak behind the curtain to give praise? Do I need another reason?” He winked at me. “Off-Broadway is the new Broadway, I hear.”

Carl snorted. “Right. I’d tell you to leave us alone, but the show’s run its course anyway. Who you here for? Gina? Keith?”

“No.” The man’s eyes were still on me. “Lake, right? Do you have a moment?”

I glanced back at Corbin, mostly out of confusion, but Corbin must’ve thought I needed help. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Regarding?” he asked.

“Apologies. I should’ve introduced myself first.” He stuck out his hand for me. “I’m Mike Galloway, a casting director from California. Mind if we talk in private?”

My director tilted his head at me. “Well, go on, kid. Don’t you know who Mike Galloway is?”

Admittedly, I didn’t. The name was familiar, maybe someone Roger or a castmate of mine had mentioned. Despite the fact that the rest of the world was obsessed with Hollywood, I hadn’t given it much attention. Here in New York, we performed. This was theater. We didn’t hide behind glitz and glam like they did in Los Angeles. Not to mention, Southern California continued to be a sore reminder of what could’ve been.

I led Mike Galloway and Corbin to the dressing rooms. Mike didn’t bother looking around, and I got the feeling he’d been here before. “Have a seat,” he said to me, even though it was my room.

Corbin and I exchanged a glance, but we sat. “What’s this about?” I asked.

“Lake Kaplan.” He smiled, gliding his hand in front of him. “It’d look good in opening credits, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s just my name.”

“Not anymore. Lake, this is the second time I’ve come to see the show, and I assure you it’s not because I think it’s any good.”

“All the way from L.A.?” I asked. “Do you normally come to the theater looking for . . .” I sat back. “What are you looking for?”

“You have a friend working as a PA on the new Marvel movie?” Mike asked.

“Val?” Corbin and I asked at the same time. Val had left New York soon after the Twin Tower terrorist attacks. For one of the strongest, most resilient people I knew, Val had been shaken to the core by 9/11. She’d been wanting to break into Hollywood for some time, and that was the catalyst she’d needed to move. She’d been a production assistant on more than a few film crews but was still struggling to break in. I’d only spoken to her a few days ago, but she hadn’t mentioned any of this.

“She gave your name to a colleague of mine who knew I was coming out here in search of talent. But you aren’t just talent, Miss Kaplan. You’re a star.”

“I’m a supporting role, and a small one at that,” I deadpanned. “Plus, my vocals don’t compare to anyone else’s in the show—yet—and my footwork needs—”

“That stuff’s not important for what I need.” He waved a hand. “Your director is notorious for overlooking star quality anyway. He always puts the good ones in the back, and that’s where I often find my hidden gems. You, Lake—you have a look that I’m after.”

I touched the ends of my hair. “What?”

He scratched his chin. “I’m casting a TV show in California, and I want you to come meet with us. I’ve shown your headshots to the directors and they’re very interested.”

My gut reaction was a nervous giggle. Neither Corbin nor Mike laughed, and that made my bubbling laughter more embarrassing. Not only was Hollywood knocking on my door, but they wanted me to pursue a life in Los Angeles, the exact thing I’d run away from years ago? Why? I had a lot of work to do on my craft. My castmates had been at this since they could walk. I often felt like I was playing catch up with them. I’d worked hard and come a long way, but acting didn’t come naturally to me, and from most angles, I was still an amateur.

“Do you have a business card?” Corbin asked.

Mike took one out of his wallet and handed it to him. “I’m not here to say Lake has the part, but I can assure you, it’s promising.” He shifted his attention to me. “I’ve already spoken to your agent. You should have a message, or five, from June. Check your cell.”

I just blinked at him. “I can’t afford a phone,” I said.

“Your pager, then. Surely you’ve got one of those?”

Between monthly rent and student loan payments, I rarely had much cash left over. My part didn’t pay well, and yet I’d devoted time to perfecting it that I probably should’ve spent making money. “I don’t, and actually, flying out to Los Angeles would be financially difficult.”