However, Jon eventually called, ostensibly to see how my work as a waitress was going. I knew I hadn’t left him with much hope. Perhaps he had thought that the passing of time would have softened me.
“I’m coming to the Last Diner with some of my associates for lunch on Thursday. Are you working then?”
“Yes, I am. I’m working extra hours to make up for new auditions. They take hours and hours for thirty seconds to a minute of performance. I barely have time to eat and sleep these days.”
He laughed. “It won’t take you long to become an experienced thespian,” he said. Because I had mentioned eating, I was expecting him to bring up our potential dinner date, but he didn’t. Anyway, if he had, I was determined to refuse. However, because he was so nice, I asked him for his advice on choosing which open audition to try between the two that were happening almost simultaneously on Friday.
“I’m not that familiar with either of the productions, but I’ll do some research for you. I know some people who follow theater. I’ll get back to you and get some information for you to make a wise choice.”
“Thank you, Jon.”
“I’ll tell you on Thursday,” he said. There was a pause. Here comes the dinner-date invitation, I thought, but he surprised me. “How’s everything else that’s going on in your life, your apartment, etcetera?”
I knew he was referring to Piper.
“I’m surviving,” I said. “I’m on what they call a learning curve.”
He laughed. “In New York, just realizing you have lots to learn about people is way more than half the battle. See you Thursday.”
“Yes,” I said, without much enthusiasm. “See you Thursday.”
I didn’t like being unappreciative and cold to someone who had been kind to me. Jon wasn’t the only one who had shown some concern for me, and I knew I should show everyone more gratitude. From the way Piper described her own initial experiences in New York and things I overheard other waiters and waitresses say at the restaurant, I realized I had been lucky to meet people who were considerate and took to watching out for my welfare.
Leo Abbot was always asking me how things were whenever he saw me, sometimes giving me the feeling he was waiting at his window to spot me coming home. Marge was more like an older sister now, and Donald Manning gave me every break he could. All the short-order cooks were treating me like their younger sister, too. I knew some of the other waitresses were jealous over the attention I was receiving. All this kindness made me homesick.
Twice during the week, I called home hoping Mummy would pick up. I called early enough so that both my father and Julia would be at work, but she didn’t answer. I was afraid to leave a message that my father might hear first and that would send him into some tirade that would bring my mother to more tears. I did write a letter, addressing it to “The Corey Family.” I described my start at work and the few auditions I had attended, making it all sound as perfect as I could. In the letter, I put my telephone number and some suggested times they could call.
But considering work, going to the auditions, and the time difference, my chances to receive a call or even make one were quite diminished. From Julia’s description, I could only imagine how troubled Mummy still was. If she did answer and hear my voice, I was sure she would only start crying, and I would not only make things worse for myself, I’d make them worse for her. Better to wait for either Julia or her to call me after they had received my letter, I thought. Or hopefully, when something positive happened and I could get them to see I was doing the right thing. It was the only chance I had to turn my father toward accepting what I had done. Even though I knew that if he did, it would be reluctantly. To get him to that point would be as difficult as pulling an elephant backward.
Meanwhile, each of the auditions I attended was similar to the first. For the first two new ones, the line seemed to be twice as long. For the third, we were all given a minute or so to read a song sheet for one of the numbers in