Wishing in the Wings by Mindy Klasky Read Free Book Online

ever again.
    The lease required us to give sixty days’ notice, and I might as well start the clock now. At least we had put down first and last month when we moved in; Dean couldn’t take that security blanket away from me. I only needed to cobble together one month of the completely impossible, utterly exorbitant rent, on a place I couldn’t access, with funds I didn’t have.
    Simple.
    I dug around in my purse for my wallet, tugged out a dog-eared business card that our landlord had given me the day that we moved in. Mechanically, I got an outside line, punched in the numbers, got an answering machine.
    I pasted a smile on my face so that my voice would seem bright, professional. I said that Dean and I needed to move out immediately, that I’d like to discuss the possibility of paying only one month, if I found someone to move in right away, to take my, er, our place. In any case, I was giving notice. I hung up the phone with a decisive sigh.
    If Dean reappeared and had a different plan? That wasn’t my problem. Nothing about Dean Marcus was my problem anymore. It was a good thing for him that the police had the place cordoned off. Given half a chance, I’d set every last one of his possessions on the curb, with a giant sign saying, “Free to a Good Home.”
    Like he’d really care, multi-millionaire that he’d become overnight.
    I gritted my teeth and focused on my next problem: a place to live. As if I could afford rent in New York City. I couldn’t turn to my friends, to all those people who had questioned my commitment to Dean over the last three and a half years. I was too embarrassed. Too ashamed. And frankly, most theater people in New York were already crammed in small apartments with no extra space.
    At least I had a temporary refuge—the Mercer had a large prop room, complete with a half dozen couches, held in storage until they were next needed onstage. Sure, they ranged in style from unsleepable Empire to overstuffed-and-perfectly-comfortable 1970s rec room. I could turn one into a bed. I could probably even scrounge up blankets, somewhere in the storage bins. The theater had dressing rooms, too, complete with showers.
    I didn’t think Hal would throw me out, if he caught me living backstage.
    Despite my determined problem-solving, my brain kept flashing on memories—Dean waiting for me outside a classroom, up in New Haven. Dean getting me drunk on Manhattans, having his entertainingly wicked way with a very willing me, the first time I visited him here in the city. Dean encouraging me through my most difficult classes, my most challenging exams, telling me that I could do it, that I had what it took to be a great dramaturg. Dean waiting for me at Penn Station, each and every time I took a train down to visit him.
    It hadn’t always been bad. He hadn’t always been the rotten guy he’d apparently turned out to be.
    No. Not “apparently.” The temptation of millions of dollars had unveiled a side of Dean that I’d never imagined existed. Somewhere along the way, he’d changed. I didn’t know the man anymore. The sooner I accepted that, the better.
    I forced my thoughts away from more fond memories, only to find that my imagination was more than willing to race forward, hurtling toward other disasters. The Mercer wasn’t standing still while my personal life crumbled around me. Crystal Dreams auditions were supposed to take place in ten days. Auditions that weren’t going to happen, for a play that we weren’t going to stage.
    I stared at my desk, at the towering stack of hopeless over-the-transom scripts. I’d tossed Ryan Thompson’s on top. At least it was neat, orderly, with its perfectly pasted address label.
    Maybe I should read it. Right now. See if it could be the play to save us. Sure, Ryan had seemed like a totally awkward geek. He’d barely been able to string two words together. He seemed uncomfortable in his own skin, uncertain about the most basic social interaction. But