Snowmageddon E-Book

Tere Michaels

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Broadway or Bust
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 182

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Luca Vocci--director, dancer, Broadway baby--has lost his love for theatre. He's off to Los Angeles to try his luck there...but first, he needs to host a group of precocious high school kids at the historic home of his surrogate parents. 

Simple. 

Except for an unexpected blizzard. 

Some grouchy uncles.

A mysterious musical. 

And feelings. So many feelings.

Leseprobe

SNOWMAGEDDON

BROADWAY OR BUST

BOOK 1

TERE MICHAELS

THE WRITER GARAGE

CONTENTS

Broadway or Bust

Foreword

1. The Hot Seat (And Everything Else)

2. December 10

3. Field Trip Day!

4. Enter Stage Left

5. Meet the Kids

6. Enter: Annoyed Uncles

7. Sleepover Due to Weather

8. Adulting

9. Master Class

10. When in Doubt, Sing

11. Uncovering a Gem

12. Luca Has Notes

13. Everyone Gets an A

14. Showtime!

15. In Nev’s Office

16. It’s a Theatre Thing

17. Who Can Sleep When There’s a Piano?

18. Everything Old is New Again

Epilogue

Also by Tere Michaels

Afterword

About the Author

Copyright © 2024 by Tere Michaels

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ebook ISBN: 979-8-9903515-4-7

Published by: PublishDrive

First printing, 2021.

Publisher: The Writer Garage

(Tere Michaels)

Ridgefield Park, New Jersey 07660

www.thewritergarage.com

Formatted with Vellum

BROADWAY OR BUST

“You’ve got to get to the stage in life where going for it is more import- ant than winning or losing.”

—Arthur Ashe

“Life is like a piano. What you get out of it depends on how you play it.”

—Tom Lehrer

“I regard the theater as the greatest of all art forms, the most immediate way in which a human being can share with another the sense of what it is to be a human being.”

—Oscar Wilde

This one’s for my friend Lauren, who told me a story about a job she had when she was younger, which sparked the entire Broadway or Bust series.

Thank you! If this show were real, I’d cast you first.

Plus a shout-out to the theater kids (past, present, and future) who can always find a reason to burst into song. And will.

FOREWORD

I’ve loved musicals my entire life, even when the experience was solely based on listening to the vinyl editions of South Pacific and Fiddler on the Roof, or watching West Side Story every Oscar weekend when it was on regular television. Some of my happiest memories are working backstage on school musicals, and even performing in the chorus during senior year. (We did George M!) This series is a natural for me—if only to give me a reason to watch/listen to Broadway shows repeatedly (for research).

When the idea of a winter novella came up, I had the wild idea to make it your introduction to the main character in the Broadway or Bust series, Luca Vocci. And then it got a little wilder when I decided that he’d be guided into this world by characters from my other books.

So welcome to the family, Luca! And welcome back to our costars, Sean Callahan and Nate Brandywine (from Holiday Roommates in the One Holiday Ever After anthology), and Josiah Hill, Caroline Drake- Shea, and Sadie Ames (from the Faith, Love, & Devotion series), and our very special guest stars, Matt and Evan (who need no introduction). The Broadway or Bust series is Luca’s, but I wanted to give him a lot of support for his arrival.

If you haven’t read Holiday Roommates or the Faith, Love, & Devotion series, you’re okay! I think there’s enough information in this story to understand what’s going on. If you’re curious, check them out!

A quick note: Nev and Bitty Cohen and all their shows are entirely made up for this project, as is the Mosgrave Theatre. Shake and Shimmy doesn’t exist either. In my head, however, they are running on continuous loops.

So sit back and enjoy this little story! Luca (and others) will be back!

Tere

1

THE HOT SEAT (AND EVERYTHING ELSE)

Luca Vocci lay on the floor of his Chelsea walk-up in his boxer-briefs, listening to his ancient air conditioner wheeze through another blistering August afternoon. He’d been immersed in old Broadway scores for four days now, because no way, no how he was walking into the devil’s anus that was New York City at the moment. Also, he had nothing to do and nowhere to go, all of which was entirely his fault. How far the great had fallen. All the way to the floor.

The music soothed him. Some were shows he’d performed in—the chorus, a better role in the touring cast—and some he’d just dreamed of doing, particularly when life, and the money guys, handed him jukebox musical after jukebox musical to direct. He’d spent most of his long life in the theater or at the piano, slightly drunk, at parties and bars.

It made him nostalgic. It made his knee hurt in muscle memory. It made him think of Nev Cohen, tucked into a Lake George mausoleum, and Bitty Cohen, painting sailboats and tending her tomatoes, alone.

It made him think of eight months previously, when he was arranging a Zoom memorial for the Nev Cohen, composer/producer of three generations’ worth of Broadway shows… but also Nev, his surrogate father and the mentor who’d influenced Luca’s life—for better or worse—since he was seven years old.

Then Yvonne DeCarlo sang, “I got through all of last year and I’m still here” on the Follies soundtrack—vinyl, thank you very much; the scratchiness added to the nostalgia—and with a gasp of theatrical resolve, he decided that was going to be his theme song going forward. And he was going to get up off the goddamned floor and find something to do.

In month “who the fuck remembers” of the shutdown, his ex- roommate/fellow chorus boy Teddy texted him from Los Angeles and asked, Do you think Broadway can come back from this? and Luca laughed. Heartily.

He’d been in the business since he was five years old. At just a shade under fifty—God save the queen—he’d been through the AIDS crisis, spiking violence, cratering economies, numerous “normal people fleeing the city because it’s a toilet” headlines, 9/11, protests, riots, blackouts, a cavalcade of drugs…. Not to mention his own personal slideshow of bad relationships, worse marriages, blowing his knee out during a Saturday matinee, escaping the easy drugs of the eighties and nineties only to have his life threatened by shit he got from a doctor, all tacked on with sequin glue.

Did he think Broadway could come back from this? Could he come back from this?

Duh.

I got through all of my life and I’m still here. Thank you very much.

Shoyer. Shave. The idea of leaving the apartment and going wherever he wanted to still had not sunk in entirely, so he dawdled for a half hour, tearing through his closet and drawers for an outfit that might signal a destination.

Khakis. A white T-shirt. Boat shoes. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but at least he wouldn’t burst into flames, which might be an excellent mantra for his life. Just to be sure, Luca slopped some sunscreen onto his naturally tanned skin, faintly and fondly remembering the days of lying out on the roof of someone’s building, marinated in Hawaiian Tropic, Sun In, and Seagram’s Wine Coolers, without a care in the world. Now he dreaded every “it was just a little spot, and then the doctor said…” story at cocktail parties.

He grabbed his phone, wallet, sunglasses, and keys, then descended to the lobby, where Pedro was mopping the “vintage” marble floors.

“Shoulda worn a hat,” Pedro said as he walked out the door.

Shoulda,woulda, coulda—unfortunately that was the current

mantra of Luca’s life. The heat rose off the pavement to smack him in the face, as the whole world seemed to pulse and throb around him. Ten steps outside his building and he was sure he’d melted three inches. This wasn’t going to do.

Around the corner the darkness and quiet of a local bar pulled him in. It wasn’t his usual haunt, just barely up a step from those places where regulars were installed on their stools and into their first layer of buzz before the clock hit noon. The walls were paneled in dark wood, as was… everything else. The faint smell of liquor and cleaning solvent caught his nose.

First customer of the day.

Luca checked his phone—it was twelve thirty, which was lunchtime, which meant he could drink. Bless. He settled at a far corner table, his back to the wall like all good Italians who’d watched too many mob movies. Half a block of walking, and he felt soaked through his clothing. Well, he’d just have to stay here until the sun went down.

The fish and chips were actually pretty good, and the lager the waitress/bartender/cook/manager suggested matched nicely. He’d lived in this neighborhood for years, but most of his evening activities revolved around wherever the theater he was working was located. At some point Luca’d lost touch with his own backyard—metaphorically. He ate slowly, checking his phone, then mentally reprimanding himself when he skipped over everything related to business. Or Bitty.

He was self-aware enough to know he was avoiding deciding what was next. There were calls to his agent when Broadway got word they could start planning the reopening. Could he replace a director who got a gig in Los Angeles? Could he do some choreography for a new show? A couple of producers were in his ear—or at least his voicemail—trying to seduce him into working with some “projects in development with our LA counterparts,” which sounded like yet another musical based on a movie based on a television show based on a puppet based on a cereal. There was a rumor going around about a Care Bears musical that Luca prayed was just someone being drunk and funny at a party and hoping to become a meme.

Which didn’t save Luca from the nightmares that one of the producers wanted to offer it to him.

Nev Cohen’s “boy”—as he was commonly referred to by showbiz people over seventy—wasn’t going to direct a musical about stuffed animals with feelings for any amount of money.

Because he didn’t need money. He wouldn’t mind a Tony after all these years, but frankly if he got it for musical bears, he’d have to throw himself off the Empire State Building.

So, Luca skipped all the how r u doin?!?!?! emails and texts he knew were preludes to schmoozing, and he blew past all the ones from actors and musicians and set designers who were desperate to get back to work because he didn’t have any answers that might help, only an ocean of guilt that he was having an existential crisis and not worried about rent.

The email from Bitty he passed at least four times and chose to read a spam message about human growth hormone CHEAP before clicking on it.

From:[email protected] To: [email protected] cc: [email protected] Subject: Are you dead?

Dear Luca,

Come to Lake George. It’s beautiful and not too hot. I have central air, remember? Or maybe you don’t because you haven’t been here since Nev passed. I assure you, his ghost isn’t puttering around, waiting to tell you what you’re wrong about. I’m still here, I can handle it.

I promise not to ask you why you don’t have a show yet.

Make sure you drink enough water.

Bitty

Elzbieta Cohen

PS: Maria went back to Poland for a few weeks. I have a new assistant. If you need anything, email him.

Luca drained his beer, then raised his glass to signal the waitress/ bartender/cook/manager he was going to need another.

I got through all of last year and I’m here.

Yes, Luca was still here, and suddenly those words were infused with not only badass empowerment but also a note of why are you still here? A lot of your friends are in Los Angeles taking meetings and posting pictures from their swimming pools. You don’t even have a tub. You’re almost fifty—what do you have to show for it?

Bittypromised not to mention he didn’t have a show yet.

Why didn’t he have a show yet?

Why hadn’t he called his agent back in a week?

Why couldn’t he get his ass up to Lake George to see Bitty?

Hestayed at the bar for three hours. He was the only customer the entire time. Feeling bad, he overtipped, then headed back out to the furnace.

See? He couldn’t move to Los Angeles. Even if they had pools, it was hot like this all the time. No snow! He’d have to wear shorts twelve months out of the year and explain the crisscross of scars on his knee every time he met someone new. And he’d have to replace 92 percent of his wardrobe because it was all black.

He couldn’t leave Bitty; he was all she had left. And Jesus, he needed to get his ass in a rental car and drive up to see her. What a dick he was.

Lucawent to the grocery store, to the ATM, to a pet store to look at fish for no actual reason. He’d never had a pet because he was never home. By the time he hit his lobby again—where Pedro continued to wash the same two-by-two section of the floor—he was exhausted. He blamed that wrung-out, brain-melted feeling for answering Bitty’s email with a Reply All as the elevator creaked up to his floor.

From:[email protected]

To: [email protected] cc: [email protected] Re: Subject: Not dead

Bitty,

I’m sorry I haven’t been up to see you. How’s next week?

I’ll rent a car and spend a few days admiring your sailboats and tomatoes.

Love, Luca

PS: Send me a shopping list of whatever you want from the city,

where they make stuff that just tastes better.

PPSS: Don’t tell Ewa I said that because I really want her to make pierogis.

From:[email protected] To: [email protected] cc: [email protected]

Re: Re: Subject: Good

I’m glad you’re coming. I have something for you.

Bitty

Elzbieta Cohen

To:[email protected] From: [email protected] Re: Your Upcoming Visit

Dear Mr. Vocci,

Please let me know your day/time arrival (estimate) so I can have the housekeeper make up a guest room. Also, if there are any items required for your stay.

Maria Bartosz

To:[email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: Re: I thought Maria went back to Poland?

I guess you haven’t changed her signature. Anyway, you know that blue bedroom at the end of the second-floor hall, facing the view of the lake? That’s my room. Ewa—assuming she hasn’t gone back to Poland as well—knows I’d like pierogis once or twice while I’m visiting. Otherwise, I’m good.

Thanks.

To:[email protected] From: [email protected] Re: Re: Your Visit

Noted.

Maria Bartosz

“Noted”? Dick, Luca thought as he lay on the floor of his apartment, listening to the air conditioner crackle and huff in the heat. Clearly he was going to need to vet this man when he got up there. Bitty didn’t need some stuffy rude jerk as her only company.

Provided he didn’t spontaneously combust or accidentally agree to direct a musical about singing, feeling bears. God, he really wanted cold weather. Bring on the damn snow.

2

DECEMBER 10

Lucastill hadn’t started packing. He didn’t even have boxes or bubble wrap.

The heat and confusion of August left him feeling untethered, and that feeling lingered for months. A visit to Bitty in Lake George would have been the cure, except upon arrival it sunk in that she was eighty- seven and one day she would be interred next to Nev—a fact she decided to discuss with him, at length.

She wrote out what she wanted her funeral and memorial to be like, including a list of songs and who was allowed to sing them. Then Bitty whipped out a copy of the will and Luca’s brain went slightly off-line.

He’d get both houses: the Lake George “cottage,” a four-million- dollar waterfront cedar-and-brick home that Bitty and Nev retired to years ago; and the townhouse on the Upper West Side they’d lived in once Bridge to Everywhere became a runaway hit. Luca sat there stunned as Bitty pulled out neatly organized folders on the screened-in porch one night. There was money, of course, lots of it, and Bitty had a list of charities she wanted to gift beyond what she was leaving Luca and her various staff, present and former. Items of sentimental value she wanted to pass along. Scholarships in hers and Nev’s names for musicians and actors and writers, a scholarship in the name of her only son, who died in Vietnam at nineteen.

Everything else would go to Luca. Including their legacy.

Luca accepted it all then, because Bitty was counting on him, her blue eyes clear and glittering. She wasn’t one to show a great deal of emotion, but he was aware that as much as he was Nev’s boy, he was also Bitty’s, and it was nearly impossible to say no to her.

Back home in New York, Luca walked around like a zombie for a full week.

Nev Cohen was… had been…. Nev Cohen was a legend.

Being his surrogate son—this one who sang and danced, not like the one who rejected his parents’ world and their pacifist beliefs entirely, to go and die in a war that Nev spoke out against—opened a hell of a lot of doors. When Luca’s knees stopped him from dancing, Nev said, “You should direct,” so he did. A little Cohen-sponsored apprenticeship and boom, Luca was a director. When the pain pills for his knee surgery got to be too much, Bitty deposited him in a rehab facility.

He owed the Cohens everything.

But being handed their legacy was terrifying, particularly when he was feeling so down about his Broadway prospects. The Golden Days were long gone, and Luca was left with remixes and reimaginings and retreads.

Teddy called at a particular low point. Teddy, who had gotten out while his knees and back still worked, got a law degree and moved to the West Coast to be a millionaire entertainment lawyer mover-and- shaker.

Come to Los Angeles. You can stay with me. Take some meetings. It’s just what you need, a new start. It’s been such a hard year, Luca….

I got through all of last year and I’m here. Only not for long.

On the first day of the New Year, Luca would be flying to Los Angeles to stay with Teddy “for a few weeks,” he told Bitty, who admonished him to wear sunscreen and drink enough water.

He swallowed the guilt.

Luca was going to Los Angeles, and he wasn’t coming back.

Hisphone rang and Luca grabbed it to answer, not even looking at who called because frankly talking to someone about his nonexistent car’s warranty was better than facing an apartment full of unpacked belongings.

“Luca Vocci,” he said briskly, walking toward his front door, his back to the reminder of his dithering.

“Luca, hey. It’s Nate. Nate Brandywine.”

“Nate!” Luca relaxed. He’d appeased his agent by finally calling him back and giving him an assignment for LA, but everyone here in New York still wanted a piece of him, unaware he was on his way out. Nate, though—he was a good kid and excellent singer Luca had worked with on Shake and Shimmy a few years ago. “What’s going on? Where are you working?”

“Nothing and nowhere actually,” Nate said, with a tone that indicated he was doing something other than performing. Damnit. Here came the guilt. “I uh, heard a rumor….”

Please let it be about Care Bears and not me leaving the city, Luca thought. He didn’t want to face the legions of friends and associates who would ask him to stay, fully aware that any one of them might be able to persuade him.

“Uh-oh.”

“No, it’s nothing bad. Well, Jillian at the Mosgrave—her assistant and I are in the same yoga class—she said you were uh… handling the Cohens’ New York place.”

Luca was flummoxed. The New York townhouse? Luca wasn’t selling, that was for sure. He’d arranged for June Herman, the house manager, to stay on; they’d let students and professionals come to use the vast and impressive library of produced and unproduced shows, the rare recordings, for research. It made Luca feel at least a little bit better, like he was sharing the Cohens’ legacy.

“Yes,” he answered slowly.

“So… in lieu of not having a show now, or in the past two years actually, I’ve been teaching at a private school in Dutchess County. Drama and stuff. I started back during lockdown on Zoom, and then they asked me to come back for the school year. I said yes, and I’m actually glad. Some of these kids are amazing.” He paused. “And uh, I have this… honors theater class.”

“Okay.” Luca turned around and leaned against the door.

“I was hoping maybe I could get them into the house to get a quick tour? They’re super responsible kids, and it’s just a handful of them.” Nate’s pace picked up. “I realize it’s last-minute, but it would be for next week, one day, a few hours. I might even get the school to pay for it.”

“Bitty would kill me if I charged theater kids money to get into that house,” Luca said, relieved it was something he could handle guilt-free. “Tell me the day and I’ll have the house manager set everything up.”

Nate blew out a relieved breath. “Luca, you’re a saint. I was freaking out about what to do with them, and they’re like…. They’ve been to shows. They’ve been backstage. At least half of them live in houses with a shelf full of awards their parents have won. They’re rarely impressed by anything. This would…. This’ll blow their minds.”