For a moment, I simply stood in the phone booth holding the receiver. Then a man in an overcoat and a wide-brim hat knocked on the glass so hard I thought he’d shatter the glass all over me.
“Sorry,” I said, opening the door. He grunted. I stepped out quickly and passed him to hurry away. I seemed to be rushing away from everyone right after the moment I had arrived here. I thought I probably already looked like a New Yorker to anyone else who had just arrived. It wouldn’t have surprised me to have someone stop me to ask directions to somewhere in Manhattan.
When I reached the entrance to the restaurant, I paused and sucked in my breath the way I would just before I swam underwater. Then I walked in and stood there gazing at the booths, tables, and counter filled with patrons. There was some music vaguely audible over the clang of dishes and conversations. The walls were crowded with pictures of what I imagined were celebrities who had eaten here, spaced in between large photographs of New York City scenes, including the East and Hudson Rivers, as well as the Statue of Liberty.
By the authoritative manner in which Donald Manning came walking toward me the moment I entered the Last Diner, I knew it was he. He was a tall, lean, dark-brown-haired man with a thick dark-brown mustache. He was wearing a gray tie and a black sports jacket with charcoal-gray slacks. I didn’t think he was smiling so much as merely pressing his lips in tightly at the corners. I didn’t move or so much as grin, unsure of the greeting I was going to receive. I knew I wasn’t late, given the time I was told to appear the day after I had arrived, but I so desperately needed a bright welcome.
“Emma Corey?”
“Yes.”
He looked me over and nodded. I was afraid he was going to tell me there was no job for me after all. I knew I looked younger than eighteen, but he finally smiled. I released the air nervously trapped in my lungs.
“Billy gave me a good description. I can see why you won his heart,” he said, and leaned closer to add, “but he was always a softy for a pretty face.”
“I’m not just another pretty face,” I said, sounding a bit too indignant. It was not a good way to meet your boss for the first time, but there it was again, that part of my father in me, self-pride not afraid to reveal itself.
Donald Manning surprised me with a laugh. “No, I don’t imagine that’s all you are.” He stopped smiling. “Just know that New York is full of pretty faces. It’s no ticket to Broadway on its own, but I suspect Billy made you aware of that. You ever wait tables?”
“Only at home,” I said. “My sole job’s been behind a perfume and cologne counter at a department store in Guildford. And singing at a pub, of course.”
“Well, we’ll save your singing for your auditions. How’s your apartment?”
“It’s fine, sir. Thank you for what you’ve done. I’ll pay you back.”
He folded his arms across his narrow chest. “It wasn’t me. It was Billy Wollard who had all that set up for you. He sent me a money order, and I did what he asked. Not that I wouldn’t have done what he wanted anyway. He did me a lot of favors when we were classmates and studying music at Surrey.”
“You studied at Surrey?”
Just hearing the name of a school in Guildford brought me comfort.
“I spent a few years in the military, ended up living in the U.K., and enrolled in some courses because I thought I’d be the next Louis Armstrong.”
“So you play the trumpet?”
I had learned a while back that singers and musicians are more comfortable in the company of other singers and musicians. It was as if we all shared a secret.
“Haven’t for about ten years. It’s buried in a closet. I think I broke Billy’s heart more than my own when I gave it up. I got into the restaurant business over there first in London and then returned to sanity here.”
He nudged me out of the way of some incoming customers and then took on a more somber look.
“Now, I respect Billy’s opinion when it comes to you, but there are teachers like Billy all over this country who believe their protégés can make it on the Great White Way. I’ve had at least