To begin our visual New York tour of Black Dust, we appropriately open at an off-Broadway theater. The Davenport is a simple small theater on 45th St. surrounded by dance schools, the Al Hirshfeld Theater and Schmackery’s, the best cookies in New York. But for Toby and Emmett, it’s where they will always remember their story picking up where it left off.
Mac closed the door and turned his laptop to face her as she sat down in the chair opposite his desk.
“November sixth, ten p.m.: Toby. Davenport Theater,” she read. “Well look at that. I told you he wouldn’t hang up.”
…
You sure you don’t want to join us tonight?” Monica, Tobias’s double bass for the little off-Broadway production, squeezed by him on their way out of the theater.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He took her hand before she could leave for the train. “Sorry, by the way. I’m—I was distracted tonight.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah… ” Tobias looked over her shoulder to the small parking lot next to the smaller theater. “I’m fine. Or, I will be.”
“Good, because if I have to guess when the hell you want me to come in after that interminable flute solo again—”
“Yeah, yeah. You won’t come in at all,” Tobias said. “Except we both know you will, because you’re more of a perfectionist than I am.”
