Was this a sign from the universe that it wasn’t meant to be?
The next time Reese glanced up, she was in the thick of Times Square.
She slumped down on a stone pillar, bag in her lap, and watched the electronic stock market ticker tape fly left beneath a Calvin Klein billboard. And she tried to gather enough courage to take the phone back out of her purse and call her mother with the devastating news.
“Rough day, honey?”
Reese looked around for the source of the raspy voice, but none of the people currently zooming in both directions appeared to be speaking to her.
“Over here.” Again, she looked, but there was no one paying her the least bit of attention. “The Pikachu, honey. I’m literally sitting right next to you.”
“Oh.” She shook herself, doing a quick once-over of the man leaned up against the neighboring pillar. Indeed, he was well over six feet, dressed like the bright yellow Pokémon character, with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Er…hello.”
“Don’t feel bad for overlooking me,” he said, taking a long drag. “In my experience, not getting excited by a grown man in a costume is a good sign you’re a well-adjusted adult. We’re more for the kids, you know? It’s uncomfortable when grown-ups get excited over a Pikachu.”
Reese ordered up a smile, though it felt nothing short of sickly. “Well. If you were SpongeBob, all bets would be off.”
“Ouch. You really went there.” He clucked his tongue. “There’s a lot of competition between us yellow guys, you know.”
“I sincerely apologize.”
“Ah, I’m just fucking with you.” He offered her a yellow…paw? “I’m Link.”
“Reese.” She shook the cushioned felt. “And yes, you could say it’s been a rough day.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You sure? I’m dressed as Pikachu in Times Square.” He blew out a jet stream of cigarette smoke. “I’m the undisputed king of bad days.”
What would it hurt to unburden herself to this stranger at the crossroads of the world? There was virtually no chance that she would ever run into him again. Besides, she could see through the face hole of his costume that he was roughly nearing the end of his forties and the lines on his face gave him kind of a fatherly vibe. Or what she imagined might be one. At the very least, telling Link what happened would delay the phone call with her mother by a few minutes. “I missed my audition. It was a huge one, with the king of musical theater.” She swallowed, the reality of the situation washing over her again in a hot wave. “I had some…no, a lot of travel issues trying to get here with one day’s notice and it was my only chance. I can’t keep pretending I’m going to make it one day when that is becoming less likely by the minute.”
“Can’t you call and tell the king dude what happened? Plead your case?”
“No. The thing about dance is…there are zero excuses. It’s unforgiving—and getting in front of this guy in particular is like winning the lottery. I can’t ask them to let me win twice. In this world, you show up. You perform. No one cares about your reasons for failing, you know? You just failed.”
“So you’re just going to give up? Like that?”
She removed the rubber band from her long, dirty-blonde hair and scrubbed at her scalp. “I don’t see it as giving up. I see it as being realistic.”
“No way.” He tossed down his cigarette and stubbed it out with the foot of his costume, which couldn’t possibly be safe, but she didn’t feel compelled to point it out. “Based on your accent, I’m guessing you’re not from around here.”
“Wisconsin.”
“You got all the way to New York on a day’s notice and you’re just going to pack it up and go home to friggin’ Wisconsin? At the first sign of an obstacle?” He gestured to himself. “Do you know how many guys I had to beat out to land Pikachu?”
“Um…”
“None. Are you serious? That was a joke, honey. Here’s my point…” He shifted his stance. “When a door is closed in your face, you have to at least look for a side door. Or an emergency exit. Or a window. And try to get in.”
“That sounds a lot like breaking and entering.”
“That’s exactly what it is—and I should know. Breaking and entering is why I have to battle Captain America and a Smurf every morning for sidewalk space.”
Unbelievably, Reese had to fend off a laugh.
“There we go. Now you’re coming back from the dead,” he said, cuffing her lightly on the shoulder with his paw. “Don’t take what I’m saying literally. What I mean is, you have to find another way to get in front of the man. It’s easy to blow someone off over the phone, but face to face? Especially with a young kid like you? Not so easy.”
The lack of sleep was definitely beginning to creep up on Reese if the Pikachu’s words were carrying water. Where would she even begin trying to track down Bexley? In a city like this, he was a veritable needle in a haystack. Throw in the fact that he notoriously kept a low profile—
“Wait.” Her spine snapped straight and she started leafing through her bag. “On the way here, I was reading an article about him in Front and Center and he has…a son? Yes, a son. He owns a bakery or something. There was a quip made about him refusing to follow in his father’s footsteps…” She found the magazine and flipped to the dog-eared page. “Here it is. Bexley’s son, Leo, owns a bakery on the Upper West Side known for perfecting the classics.” She twisted her lips. “It doesn’t mention the name.”
“You have a phone, don’t you? Google it.”
“I will.” She fumbled for the device “I am. I really shouldn’t be doing this, tracking down Bexley’s son. It’s probably only going to piss him off.”
“Or he’ll respect your tenacity.”
“It’s not like he can blacklist me. I’ve never even been on the list in the first place. I mean, I really have nothing to lose at this point.”
“Now you’re thinking like a Times Square Pikachu.”
“The compliment of the century,” she muttered, making him laugh. “So what exactly am I doing here? Just breezing into the bakery and asking this stranger to give me an audience with his father? God, that’s so gross.”
“It won’t hurt to charm him a little.” He pinched his finger and thumb together. “Make him feel like a hero for helping you out.”
“That’s terrible advice. No. I’m going to walk in, be straightforward and hope for the best.” Her Google search yielded its results. “Okay, here it is.” She clicked on an article from Time Out titled “Whipping up Wonder on the UWS.” “Leo Bexley…ooh. It’s called The Cookie Jar. That’s pretty cute.” Reese stood and shouldered her bag. “I guess I better find somewhere to stay for the night first. Just in case it works out.”
They fist-bumped, knuckles to foam. “Break a leg, hon.”
“Thanks.” She shook her head. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this has been weird.”