Chapter 1: Pandora’s Box – Part 6


 Chapter 1: Pandora’s Box – Part 6

I call my parents. My mom’s first question:
“Do you get health insurance?”

Not “Congratulations,” not “I’m so proud of you,” not even “When do you leave?”
Nope. It’s always about the benefits.

I could win the Nobel Peace Prize and my mother would still ask, “But do you get dental?”

I flip through my phone book (yes, an actual book—this was before iPhones turned us all into contact-hoarding monsters) and begin dialing from A to Z. I call everyone. Friends, acquaintances, that one guy from acting class whose number I meant to delete—I’m telling everyone. Plans are made. Farewells scheduled. I’ve got a lot to do and not much time to do it.

I ring up the Company’s Casting Director to get the official word.
“You’ll be playing the lead villain in all three shows,” he says.
The shows themselves? Still to be determined.

But I don’t care. I’m ecstatic.

Over the following weeks, the phone calls keep coming. Each one adds another layer to what now sounds like a fantasy contract:

·       Broadway auditions will be flown to us during rehearsals.

·       Dance teachers will be imported from across the country to keep us “artistically sharp.”

·       We’ll each have our own bedroom in a beach-facing condo in the Bahamas.

·       Sword-fighting lessons from one of Broadway’s best fight choreographers.

Every time the phone rings, it’s another glittering promise. It’s as if I’m not taking a job—I’m being knighted.

And yet, in the back of my mind, I remember what someone once told me:
If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

But that voice is drowned out by the louder one yelling: “FREE ROOM WITH AN OCEAN VIEW!”

Questions tend to come slowly when you're offered a dream gig. But eventually, I muster one.
“Will this be an Equity contract?”

I’m told no, but reassured: “Because we’ll be far from American soil, Equity has no jurisdiction. But we’ll follow all their guidelines. Don’t worry—everyone cast is Equity.”

Red flag? Maybe. But I wanted the job too badly to see the color.

Finally, the day arrives. I’ve sublet my apartment, rerouted my bills, forwarded my calls, and given my agent a heartfelt goodbye.

I grab a taxi and head to the airport.

I am leaving New York City with a one-way ticket, a suitcase full of leotards, and a heart full of hope.

What could possibly go wrong?

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