She had walked past the semitrailers and parked cars to where a crowd had gathered. Truckers and New Haven college students stood in separate groups laughing and talking as they ate quesadillas and burritos topped with bright green salsa. One college boy had looked at her askance as she’d joined the end of a line.
“I’ll take two tacos, please,” Annabelle said upon reaching the front of the food truck.
“What kind do you want?” asked the young girl leaning out its side window.
“Oh, dear. I don’t know. I don’t eat Mexican food all that much.” Her mind drew a blank as she studied the menu board. What she wanted to do was turn and run.
“Try the pork loin. They’re nice and juicy tonight,” whispered a voice in her ear.
Spinning around, she saw a trucker standing behind her, his T-shirt stretched tight across his chest and his nipples erect from the wind whipping across the Sound. His gold tooth caught the last rays of light, gleaming bright as hidden treasure.
“Trust me. They’re so moist you’re going to be begging for more. It’s a good night to try things you’ve never had before.” He leered at her and she did as he said. “Give her a beer too,” he added.
That was the first of many drinks Annabelle had that evening.
“My name is Tommy Corona. You know, Corona. Just like the beer.”
It was the last thing she remembered him saying. The next morning, she woke up in a strange bed.
“The chicken salad is nice and fresh today, miss. Why don’t I make a sandwich of it for you?”
The words plucked her from her thoughts and she looked up to where Jimmy stood smiling at her across the deli counter.
“Thank you. That would be nice. I’m sorry that I made you lose a customer.”
“Who? That mook? Oh, hell. Don’t worry about him, pardon my French.”
Annabelle watched as he spread the chicken salad neatly between two slices of bread. He was portly with a sparse head of hair that was carefully combed across his scalp. The tip of his tongue, pink as a wound, grazed his upper lip as he deftly sliced the sandwich in two. This was a man who clearly enjoyed his food.
“There. I think you’ll need a bag of chips to go along with that.”
Annabelle quickly calculated the total in her head. “Please don’t bother. Just the sandwich will be fine.”
“Here, take it,” he said, waving her ten-dollar bill away like a pesky fly. “Lunch is on the house today for having to deal with that jerk. I’d hate to think you wouldn’t come back again.”
“Of course I will. I’m rehearsing a play at Long Wharf Theater next door. So I’ll be working here for a while.”
He brightened and Annabelle thought he wasn’t such a bad-looking man after all. He’d be quite handsome if he were only thirty pounds lighter.
“I thought you looked like a movie star! What’s your name? Have I seen you in anything?”
Annabelle cringed inside, although her smile remained in place. She always sensed the disappointment that usually followed her answer. “Probably not. Most of my work is on the stage. I’m Annabelle Rogers. I’m sure you’ve never heard of me before.”
“Annabelle Rogers,” he repeated. The name tingled on his lips like a fine sparkling wine. “Well, if you’re not a movie star yet, you should be. You’re as pretty as one and you’ve got a good name. Pleased to meet you, Annabelle Rogers. I’m Jimmy Carbonara. You know, Carbonara. Like the spaghetti sauce.”
Annabelle shivered at the memory of Tommy Corona.
“You’re cold! Here, take a cup of coffee with you. Let me know if you like the sandwich and I’ll make something special for you next time.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she smiled. Annabelle Rogers was no twenty-year-old, but still totally doable. Tall and slim, she was stacked in all the right places. She was an absolute babe and completely out of his league. He’d never thought about going to the theater before. Maybe it was time he got some culture. He was already dreaming what to make her for lunch tomorrow as she waved goodbye and walked out the door.
Refrigerated trailers hummed where they sat in their bays and hand trucks groaned under the weight of crates loaded with sausages and boned chickens. Annabelle hurried past the meatpacking plants and walked through a parking lot the length of three football fields. Close to the docks, the theater was located in the heart of New Haven’s food terminal.
She hadn’t performed at Long Wharf Theater before and was grateful for the job. People always assumed an actor’s life was filled with glamour and glitz, but the profession wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. At least it hadn’t been for her, so far.
It had been nearly a year since her last acting gig, and the ones she tended to land paid very little. Some of them paid nothing at all. Unemployment checks gradually kicked in, but they eventually ran out and then she was left to scramble. Annabelle usually managed to find work waiting tables, temping as a phone-sex operator or a lowly telemarketer dialing for dollars. There were days when she felt as if her life had become nothing more than a walking cliché.
People always said that talent and hard work would eventually pay off. Annabelle had believed that to be true when she’d left Kansas and moved to New York City. She’d relentlessly studied her craft and gone on endless auditions and cattle calls. But years later she remained just another pretty face, one in a long line of hopefuls who were still pounding the pavement. Only now, at forty-six years old, she was no longer so young and her beauty was on the wane. It wasn’t the same for men. Show business could be cruel that way. George Clooney was box-office gold at fifty-four while Anne Hathaway felt washed up at thirty-two. A woman of Annabelle’s age was considered ancient.
She had vowed to give up acting any number of times but couldn’t get off the merry-go-round. A small role always seemed to come along that was just enough to keep her going. She found herself trapped in a perpetual game of trying to grab hold of the brass ring. What Annabelle needed was a decent break but she’d begun to think it would never come. Not until a few weeks ago.
Thank God for the casting director who’d seen her perform in some half-assed play at a run-down warehouse in Brooklyn. Her prayers were answered when he’d called and offered her the lead in a new production at Long Wharf Theater the very next day.
All those years of heartache and scrimping to get by might finally be over. A plum role and good reviews would help to launch her career. With any luck, the play would move to Broadway and movie roles would begin to roll in. Maybe she’d no longer be plagued by nightmares of being a bag lady. Instead, Ryan Seacrest would ask to interview her as she walked down the red carpet of her dreams.
She had worked hard for this and paid her dues. Success was now within her reach. Annabelle Rogers was bound and determined not to let anything stop her.
Jimmy Carbonara’s heart skipped a beat as she entered his store the next afternoon.
“So you must have liked the sandwich, huh?”
Annabelle smiled and he had to remind himself to breathe as the rest of the customers melted into the background.
“It was delicious, Jimmy. The best I’ve ever had.”
Just the way she said his name made his testosterone level soar. “That’s ’cause I put a little extra love into it. What can I get you today?”