Truly: You’re a goddess. I’ll see if I can twist their arms. It’ll be hard, but I’ll do my darnedest. Anyway, thanks again for connecting me with Darren. To answer your question, he likes Gin Joint. But he wants something else first. I was kind of hoping he’d say a Parisian-style bar.

Charlotte: A Parisian-style bar would be amazing. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time too.

Truly: Sadly, that’s not his first choice, and that’s the problem. Wait! It’s not a problem. I don’t believe in problems. I believe in challenges. I’m simply still marinating on this one.

Charlotte: Ooh, intriguing. Tell me more. What style does he want?

Truly: Something I know little about. But I might have told Darren I know a helluva lot more about it than I actually do.

Charlotte: Guess it’s time to come up with a whole new game plan.

Truly: That’s exactly what I’ll have to do.

4

“A divorce? You want a work divorce already?”

I’m shocked at Nora’s declaration, and I don’t want to lose my partner in crime. The groomsman-for-hire work used to be a solo gig, but lately a few men have asked me to bring a date. They figure if I have a date, there is less opportunity for guests to figure out I’m not part of the regular chummy club of guys. That’s why Nora became my standing partner this summer.

“But it’ll be an amicable split, I promise. This is good news, I swear. Don’t you want to hear the reason why? I’m bursting. Bursting, I tell ya.”

“Right. Sure. Give me the deets.” As much as I want to keep working with Nora, she’s a friend, and I ought to put her ahead of my own frustration over losing her. As the train chugs out of the station, I circle back to earlier. “Was it your agent who called?”

Her smile goes full Cheshire cat. “Yes! And I want to tell you every single thing.” She sits straighter, doling out details with teaspoons. “First, do you remember the Steiner wedding we did the other week?”

“Sure. The bratwurst king. German guy needed a British best man.”

“Yes,” she squeals. “And that wedding gave me the final touch I needed.”

“How so?”

“Don’t you remember that wedding? I went for a German accent. And that was what I needed for my most recent audition. My agent just called to tell me I’ve been cast in a Chicago company. Say you’re happy for me. Say you’re very happy for me.” Her eyes twinkle with the prospect of Tony awards and regular paychecks.

And mine, I hope, show nothing but true happiness for my friend. I yank her in for a huge hug. “That’s incredible. I’m thrilled for you.”

Her voice catches, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “This is what I’ve wanted. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“The opportunity?”

“Well, you know I was always workshopping roles as your date.”

Once, she was my artist lover from St. Petersburg; another time she slipped into the role of an ex-cheerleader from the heart of Texas; still another, she assumed the part of a buttoned-up banker from Berlin.

“In that case, I’m thrilled that you apprenticed at the Jason Reynolds School of Undercover Groomsmen and Their Plus-Ones. And don’t forget to thank me when you nab your first Tony. Promise?”

She makes an X on her chest. “Cross my heart. Hope to die.”

“Don’t die. That would be bad. Or at the very least, wait till you’ve finished starring in Chicago.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not Chicago the Musical. It’s a Chicago production. An out-of-town tryout for a new show. I’m going to be in the new musical adaptation of Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

One of my eyebrows rises in question. “They’re adapting that for the stage?”

“Complete with the giant boulder and everything.”

“What about the snakes?”

“Those are fake. Thank God. I hate snakes.”

“Yeah, everyone does. And the tunes?”

“They’re fantastic. Based on many famous lines from the movie.”

I break into an impromptu show tune, snapping my fingers to lyrics I make up on the fly. “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? Oh why, oh why, oh why did it have to be snakes?”

She dives in alongside me. “It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage.”

I try to picture the rugged adventurer high-kicking it on stage with his whip and hat, and I can’t quite manage it. Then, the marquees on the Great White Way read more like a cineplex of unlikely musicals: Tootsie, Pretty Woman, Mean Girls . . . You don’t know whether to log on to Broadway.com or Fandango.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time before Raiders stepped up for the musical treatment. Who are you playing? Marion?”

She sighs dreamily. “I wish. That went to a big-name actor. I’m playing a German spy. And that’s why the accent came in handy. I’m in the spy chorus.”

“That doesn’t ring a bell. Were there that many spies in the movie?”

She waves a hand airily. “No, but who cares? There will be on stage. Anyway, can you find someone else to serve as your plus-one?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Annoyance has no place here. “The stage is your dream, and I couldn’t be happier for you.”

Besides, I know a thing or two about pursuing true dreams. I chase them every damn day and into the night too, working late on the blog, seeking out media opportunities, penning guest columns, and trying to find every opportunity to be the expert source. But now’s not the time to dwell on my goals or my needs.

“Tell me more about the songs the coolest hero ever in film sings . . .”

She rattles on about the production until the train reaches her stop. Then she says goodbye, and I’ll miss having her by my side at the next wedding.

No help for it. I definitely require a shot or two tonight. Looks like a stop at Gin Joint is in order.

When I exit the subway on Eighteenth Street, I turn down the block and find a text from my buddy Malone, sent about ten minutes ago.

Malone: Just finished a set at Gin Joint. Incidentally, I killed it. I’m here with Nick and Harper for a few if you want to join.

Well, sounds like he can read my mind. I tap out a reply, then stop when I spot him walking toward me, dressed in a tailored suit, his silk tie loosened a bit. Times like this, you’d be hard-pressed to believe he wears a white coat during the day as he examines cats and dogs. After hours, he looks every bit the part of the dapper lounge singer.

“If it isn’t the vet by day, Harry Connick Jr. by night.”

“I am something of a superhero. But then, don’t we all have our secret identities?”