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The Thespians: Volume One


“His jokes are quaint, and fairly faint, he may be full of hokum but I’ve no complaint, he might be just a bore but on the floor he ain’t, and oh boy, oh boy can that boy foxtrot!” The piano hit the final note. The small crowd gathered at the dark 5th Avenue pub began applauding, and Anne Winderfine took a few bows. Her turn at the mic had ended, and so she went to join her friends at their table while the next singer readied onstage.

“That was great, Anne!” Rhonda French said with a smile. Rhonda, though a bit younger than Anne, had gone to school with her. Her petite frame and reddish hair stood in sharp contrast to Anne’s dark brown eyes and blonde locks. But they met over their shared love of all things Broadway.

Anne’s other friend, Harry Bigelow, tapped her on the shoulder. He was older than both girls, brown-haired and blue-eyed, and had been a Gypsy Robe recipient- twice. “Look at that, Annie.”

Anne turned her head. It was so sparsely lit in there. “What is it?”

“Julius Enzo! Do you see him? He’d been watching you like a hawk during the whole song! Perhaps he’s going to whisk you away and put you in his next production.” Harry laughed infectiously, and before long, the entire trio was giggling so much that they were spilling their drinks. Speaking of drinks…

A waitress arrived at their table, carrying a champagne glass on a tray. “For the young lady Anne,” she said. “Compliments of Mr. Enzo.” The friends exchanged shocked glances.

Anne took the flute. “Thank you. Might I ask why this was sent?”

“I do not know, Miss, but I also have a note here. Hopefully it will answer your question.” With that, she handed Anne a folded piece of paper and disappeared into the ether.

“What does it say?!” asked Rhonda eagerly.

“Dear Miss Winderfine,” Anne read aloud. “When you have a minute, please drop me a line at and we’ll share a few thoughts about your next steps.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m shocked that this guy remembered me. I have only talked to him once.”

“Wait- you know him?” Harry inquired.

“Sort of. I phoned his office once to ask some questions about what it meant to produce shows. Next thing I know, I get a call from Mr. Enzo himself, and we had a nice conversation. I told him a little about myself, he told me about his career, but I thought that’d be the end of it.”

“Well, obviously it wasn’t!” Harry exclaimed. He put his arm around her warmly. “For you, kiddo, this is only the beginning.” Little did he know, of course, that over the next few weeks they would all be facing new beginnings…



"I am a seagull, I am an actress." -Anton Chekhov (And sometimes I like to write stuff, too.)

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