Waltz Time – Entry 14: A Door Opens

 Waltz Time – Entry 14: A Door Opens

“Sometimes the door that opens isn’t just to a job, but to an entirely new life.”

After our lunch at the diner, you walked me again to the 73rd Street

.

Subway. At the corner, before I descended the steps, you kissed me goodbye. It was soft, unhurried, a question as much as a promise. 

Then you asked, “When can I see you again? Are you free on Sunday? I’d like to invite you to my place.”

I carried those words with me as I stepped onto the A train, the city rattling around me, my mind caught between the sweetness of your invitation and the heaviness of my own questions. When would it be my turn? I had poured everything into this city—the endless auditions, the long hours in dance and voice classes, the acting lessons that demanded both money and faith. I wondered if the next call, the next role, the next chance would finally come.

The last thing I really needed was the distraction of a relationship. I was driven to succeed and determined not to let anything get in my way. But you were hard to resist—handsome, kind, and thoughtful in ways that unsettled my careful defenses.

And then, the very next day, the phone rang. It was you. Not just calling to say hello, but offering me a job. You were producing an industrial show for a large corporation. I remember thinking, Isn’t he too young to be a producer? But then again, was I really surprised? You had come to New York at seventeen and managed your life so well, with a self-assurance that felt beyond your years.

I said yes, of course. “Tell me more about the job,” I asked. You laughed lightly and said, “Ok, let’s meet on Sunday, and I’ll explain everything. But you’ll need to take time off from your waitressing job.”

I remember my palms were sweating because I suddenly became nervous. Was this an audition, or were you actually offering me a job? I climbed the steps to your building, rehearsing what I might say, my heart thumping faster with each floor.

I knocked on the door, and you greeted me with a huge smile and a hug. “Come on in!” you said, your voice carrying that easy warmth that instantly disarmed me.

Your apartment was a railroad-style prewar space with high ceilings that seemed to stretch the room taller than it was. The eat-in kitchen caught my eye first, with its classic black-and-white checkered tiles that looked like they had held the weight of decades. The hallway was lined with closets that reached from floor to ceiling, their glass doorknobs catching the light like small crystals.

It was the kind of apartment that seemed to hold a story in every corner. A place that felt both lived-in and full of possibility.

You gestured toward the table and said, “Let’s talk.” 

Suddenly, I wasn’t sure if this was about business or something more. My heart was caught between excitement and nerves. I sat down across from you, wondering if this was an audition or a real job.

The job turned out to be a three-week gig—two weeks of rehearsals followed by travel to a sales force conference for a pharmaceutical company. I would be hired as a dancer in the show.

You explained that industrial shows were designed to be big, bright, and aspirational, crafted to lift company spirits and especially to fire up the sales teams. They weren’t Broadway, but they had their own kind of spectacle—upbeat music, choreography, and an energy that bordered on evangelical.

And the pay was decent! Six hundred dollars a week for rehearsals and another five hundred for the two performances. To me, it felt like a fortune. On top of that, all food and accommodations would be covered by the company. The event would take place at a resort hotel, the kind with all the bells and whistles, a world away from the cramped apartments and diner lunches of my daily life.

For me, it was a chance to be paid for what I loved, to step out of the endless cycle of waitressing shifts and auditions and actually perform. The fact that it was you offering me this opportunity made it all the more surreal. In your voice, I heard both the professional producer and the young man who had kissed me at the subway corner. Somehow, you were both at once.

Rehearsals began the following week in a midtown studio with bright fluorescent lights and mirrored walls that never let me forget how every move looked. The cast was a mix of singers, dancers, and actors—each of us eager for the paycheck, but also secretly hungry for the stage, even if this stage was a corporate ballroom instead of a Broadway house.

You moved through the room with an ease that caught me off guard. Clipboard in hand, giving notes, checking timing, and encouraging the cast with the authority of someone twice your age. Watching you, I felt two things at once: admiration for your command of the room and a quickening in my chest that reminded me this wasn’t just business.

I could feel myself becoming more drawn to you. Your work ethic and leadership skills were so impressive—you were the complete package. What I didn’t know then was that you were as impressed with me as I was with you. I felt really inferior, but also really excited to lean in a bit closer. 

And in quiet moments, when I caught your eyes on me, I could feel you looking at me with a desire that was as unspoken as it was undeniable.

💞