“I didn’t want to be offered an acting gig at all. I wanted him to ask me out on a date.”
“Ah, so that’s what this is all about. And that’s why you’re not taking his offer. So let me do it. I’ll even give you a cut. Because this man can pay our rent for an entire year. And I didn’t tell you, but my parents cut me off last month.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s time for me to spread my wings and make my own way. But we can really use this money. If you don’t want to do it, then let me! I’ll use every dime he gives me for rent. It’ll benefit us both.”
“What about Barry?”
“Fake is the key word here. It’s a ‘fake’ relationship. It’s acting! I can do that. I’m a fantastic actress.”
I blew out a long breath. “You should’ve told me your parents quit giving you money.”
“I didn’t want pity. Don’t worry. It’s all good.”
A woman called out my name from the doorway. “Rebecca White.”
“Okay, they just called my name,” I said. “Wish me luck. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Good luck!”
“AND WHEREVER DOTH HE roam, I bid him good morrow and a swift night.”
And a swift night? What did that even mean? Where the hell did they come up with these lines? Maybe if I amped up the accent a little—
“Thank you, Miss White.” A disembodied voice dismissed my efforts as the lights flickered back on. “Next!”
I slipped on my sunglasses and thanked them as I headed back out onto the streets, scanning for a coffee shop as stanzas of bastardized Shakespeare ran through my head. When I’d read they were looking for an Old English theater nut, I’d assumed that meant the role I’d be auditioning for was a fan. Not that the entire film was a period piece set in 1640 Sussex.
Oh well, another one bites the dust.
I ducked into a café, purchased my usual mocha-chino, and was back at my apartment ten minutes later. Amanda was out with Barry, and by some miracle, I hadn’t run into Hamburg on my way in here. Nope—it was just me and Deevus. Like usual.
With a wide yawn, I dropped my purse on the ground and dialed up my mom for our bi-weekly pep talk about my life. As usual, she was busy—oh so very busy—what with her yoga class, her spinning class, her Flemish class (yes, Flemish), and the usual work to be done in the garden. But she still had a few minutes to squeeze in a talk with me.
I rolled my eyes and grinned as she recited one of her usual lectures. If I were to miss just one of these calls, she’d call the National Guard.
“So what about you, sweetie?” she asked when she managed to take a breath. “What did you do today?”
The face of a handsome billionaire flashed through my mind in a cloud of pepper spray, but I quickly deemed that one of those “too much explanation required” topics and moved on.
“Oh, you know—work. Blew another casting.” I took a scalding sip of mocha. “The usual.”
I felt the judgment in her sigh from two states away.
“Let me guess, you grabbed a mocha-chino, headed straight home, and now you’re milling about in those ugly penguin slippers you love so much.”
I glanced from my coffee to my slippers before peering suspiciously around the living room. Sometimes I got the terrible feeling that my mom had the apartment bugged. Casting wary glances at the blinking light on the smoke detector, I wandered out to our tiny balcony overlooking the street.
“You know, I happen to like my mocha—”
“Bex, you’ve got to get out there,” she interrupted. “You spend all your time at work with old people.”
I snorted. “Well, one day when you’re one of them, you’ll appreciate people like me.”
“Very funny.” She chuckled, then sobered all in one move. She was the only person I’d ever met who could do that. “I just want you to be happy. Live your life! Take the plunge!”
I covered my other ear in frustration to mute a commotion further up the street. “Yeah, Mom, except things like that don’t happen in real...”