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I hop off, right in front of the Piccadilly Theatre, and my feet immediately launch a protest. The flurry of blisters from all the walking I’ve done and the dull ache of my still-healing ankle are letting me know they’ve had enough.
But I don’t care. Standing in the heart of the theatre district makes the massive distance between us feel like it’s finally shrinking. I take out my phone and snap a selfie to send to Max.
Katie
Officially entering your world.
In front of me, the Piccadilly Theatre’s marquee is glowing a deep, sultry red. Moulin Rouge! is playing, and the energy in front of the theatre is electric. All around me, people are wandering toward the doors in velvet dresses and business attire.
On a total whim, I join the queue at the box office. I’m painfully aware that my baggy, damp hoodie and leggings aren’t exactly theatre attire, but when I spot a couple of people in jeans and T-shirts joining the crush, the self-conscious knot in my stomach loosens just enough for me to stay in line.
“Hi. Do you have any tickets left for the five p.m. show?” I ask the cashier when it’s my turn.
“I do.” He taps a laminated map listing the different prices for each section. Most of the seats are well over a hundred pounds, but then he points to a thin sliver at the very top. “These are standing room only. Back of the Royal Circle. Twenty pounds.”
For an actual West End production, and a show as iconic as Moulin Rouge!, I can suffer through a little more time on my feet. I swipe my card, grab my ticket, and slip into the theatre just as the house lights dip into a soft red.
I find my spot at the back, tucked against a velvet-padded rail. My legs are practically screaming for a chair, but the second the first notes of “Lady Marmalade” explode from the orchestra, the ache vanishes. I’m completely swept up in the whirlwind of the opening number.
By the time the final curtain falls and the confetti settles, I’m an emotional wreck. Musicals always do this to me. I live and die with the characters. I’m on the edge of my seat through every high note and tragic beat. It’s just as much of a workout as spending time at the gym. Both mentally and physically.
I spill out of the side exit with the rest of the crowd. The cool night air hits my skin, and for the first time since touching down at Heathrow, I’m smiling. I’m in a city with more theatres than I could visit in a year. If one show isn’t for me, there are dozens more waiting around the corner. The world just got so much bigger.
As I pass a glass-encased bulletin board outside the theatre, a splash of blood-orange ink catches my eye. I stop and study the teaser poster. There’s no title or any cast names. Just the minimalist silhouette of a man standing against a rising sun.
A single cryptic tagline in bone-white font reads: Even the gods must answer to fate. Below it, in smaller letters: A New Vision of the Classics. Coming This Winter.
I stare at it for several moments. Is this it? Is this the “Greek project” Max has been so consumed by?
Seeing the poster here, beside a giant like Moulin Rouge!, makes the stakes seem very real. This isn’t just another audition. It could be the role that changes everything for him.
But as I look at my tired reflection in the dark glass, I can’t help but wonder: Where do
I fit into that future?
Later that evening, as I’m unpacking some of the groceries I’ve picked up at the M&S around the corner, my phone vibrates with a text.
Max
You up?
Max
Saw your theatre district photo.
Max
I leave you unsupervised for one afternoon and you’ve already gone full tourist.
As fast as my first serve, I tap the video chat icon. The connection circles for a second before his face fills the screen. His signature mop of black hair is wetter and spikier than usual. Dark circles under his eyes reveal his exhaustion. But before I can even say hello, he belts out a few bars of “Willkommen” from Cabaret.
Goose bumps ripple across my skin. I’d forgotten how much I miss that voice.
“If I’d known that’s the type of greeting I’d get, I would’ve called you sooner,” I tease, sitting on the corner of my bed.
For a split second, his smile falters, replaced by a sheepish look that makes my chest tighten. “I’m so sorry I was unreachable today, Katie. I was hoping we’d be out earlier to give you a call before midnight.”
“Max.” I shake my head. “You don’t have to apologize. I knew what I was signing up for.”
