“No, none of that I-don't-deserve-it bullshit. I need you confident. I need you to walk in the room, flash that winning smile, and make everyone else believe you deserve it. Can you do that?”
“Of course,” I say. Easy. No problem. Totally.
“Trust me. I don't care what the suits thought, you were my first choice. You killed it in your
audition, and you're totally Marie Jane.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?” I ask.
“What do you think of her?” Laurie asks.
“She's desperate for an escape. And she doesn't care about the long term. She cares about the 15 minutes she could spend inebriated by something. Or someone.”
“You're good.”
I laugh. “Enough of this pretentious bullshit,” I say. “Let's read some lines.”
She nods, hell yeah, and pulls out a paper copy of the script. Laurie loves it. Laughs at all the jokes. She even makes excuses for laughing at jokes she wrote. I swear. I forgot how funny this was.
There's a lot of other stuff to schedule. Wardrobe fitting. Rehearsal. Less than two weeks until shooting starts.
Laurie pencils everything into a little black notebook. She's hopelessly low-tech. We hug goodbye—she's a hugger—and she sends me off with an auspicious warning. “There's a lot riding on you,” Laurie says. “You are going to be the heart and soul of this show. It lives and dies by your performance. Get all your life shit out of the way now. I need you at your peak for this.”
No pressure.
I return to my car and check my phone. All clear on the Western front. Nothing from Ryan. Nothing from Luke. Maybe they're both done with me. Maybe they realize I'm a pathetic failure doomed to spin out of control under pressure. Laurie didn't mention my weight. It must not bother her. Or maybe she's too tactful to bring it up. Maybe she prefers to relegate that task to one of her peons.
Deep breath. I can do this show. I am an actor, a good actor, and I understand this character. I can play her well enough.
Maybe I need to talk to Ryan. Maybe I need to feel his arms around me, his steady voice reassuring me he will always protect me.
But I don't call Ryan.
I call Luke.
Chapter 13
“I didn't expect to hear from you today.” Luke's voice flows through my speakers.
What am I doing? “I'm sorry,” I say. “I should go. I don't know why I called.”
“Maybe you like the sound of my voice,” he says. I filter through sarcastic response after sarcastic response, but I can't bring myself to deflect the truth. I like almost everything about him.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Do I sound that shaky already?
“I don't want to interrupt.”
“It's my pleasure.”
“Can we meet somewhere and talk? Or will Ryan notice?”
“He doesn't pay attention to me.”
“How about the bookstore on Maxella?”
“That's awfully close to the office.”
“But Ryan wouldn't be caught dead in a bookstore,” I say.