When we approached, he set aside his newspaper, and his niece said, “Uncle Avery, this is the actor I was telling you about. His name is Will Kandinsky. He flew up from the movie set this afternoon, just to meet you.”
I stuck my hand out and said, “It’s such an honor, sir. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
Bowen stood up and stared at me, totally ignoring my outstretched hand. When it became clear he had no intention of shaking it, I stuck it in my pocket. He was easily six-three with broad shoulders, and his size was intimidating. When he moved his reading glasses to the top of his head, I noticed a large, faded scar on the back of his hand. That rang a bell for some reason, and I tried to remember if he’d mentioned it in one of the few interviews he’d done when the book was first released.
Finally, he turned to Candace and asked, “Who’d you say he was playing in the film?”
“He’s playing Alex,” she said.
Avery Bowen startled me when he bellowed, “Oh, come on! It was bad enough when they cast that talentless pretty boy Trent Chambers in the role. At least he looked the part. But this asshole doesn’t look a thing like Alex! He’s too old, for one thing. Plus, who the hell’s even heard of Bill Kasinski? Not me. Have you heard of him, Candace?” It felt exactly like getting punched in the gut.
“Well, no. But—”
He cut her off. “At least that Chambers kid was handsome, famous, and closer to the right age. What the fuck was the studio thinking?” He turned on his niece and said, “Actually, what the hell was I thinking? I never should have agreed to make this picture, but you talked me into it!”
Her expression became stony. “Yes, I did. And do you remember why?” He just scowled at her, so she answered her own question. “It’s because you pissed away all your money, and you needed the income!”
“Well, now they’re about to ruin the only thing I ever did that mattered, so thanks a fucking lot!”
Everyone in the bar stared after him as he stormed out, and Candace turned to me and said, “I’m so sorry. Even though he can be a real pain in the ass, I really didn’t expect him to react like that.”
“It’s not your fault.” Suddenly, something clicked into place for me with his scar and a single line from the book, and I whispered, “He’s Liam.” She looked startled, and I said, “The story’s autobiographical, isn’t it? No wonder this was so upsetting for him.”
Candace was clearly rattled, and she just stared at me for a few moments. Finally, she took a step backwards and said, “I need to go after him because I’m his ride. Again, I’m really sorry.”
“Okay, but please do me one favor. Just tell him I know what Alex meant to him, and I promise to do him justice.”
She nodded, and then she turned and fled.
After she was gone, I took a seat on the sofa and exhaled slowly. A few moments later, a worried-looking cocktail waitress approached me and asked, “Can I get you something?”
“Yes please. I’d like whatever has the most vodka in it.”
“So like, a vodka and cranberry?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
I stared into the lit fireplace until she returned, then drastically over-tipped her when I paid for my drink, as if that might somehow lessen the awkwardness Bowen had left in his wake.
After a few minutes, I sent a text to Lorenzo asking him to join me. When he arrived, he asked, “Didn’t Bowen show up?”
“He did, but he only stayed long enough to tell me how wrong I am for the part. Apparently I’m too old, not good-looking enough, and not nearly famous enough to play Alex.”
He dropped onto the couch beside me and murmured, “Oh shit. Are you okay?”
“Well, that definitely wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I’ll be fine.” I raised my drink to toast him, then downed what was left of it.
“I feel awful. This was supposed to be a positive thing, but it totally backfired.”
“It was still a kind, wonderful gesture on your part,” I told him. “You had no way of knowing what would happen.”
“This isn’t okay,” Lorenzo said, as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his flannel overshirt. “I’m going to call Bowen’s niece and demand an apology from him.”
I put my hand on his to stop him from placing the call. “Don’t do that. It’s disheartening that he thinks I’m terrible as Alex, but he’s entitled to his opinion.”
“But he’s not entitled to hurt you!”
“The fact that it hurts is my fault,” I told him. “My self-confidence is way too dependent on what other people think of me. Why do I have to be like that?”