Page 13 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

Desdemona will go more traditional with it now. Get one A-lister to sign on, then use that as leverage to lowball someone who will work for less to keep in budget.

The pairing might work, or might be lackluster. It will end up based on lots of factors—availability, relationships, agent clout, and money.

That’s Desdemona territory. For me, it’s about the intangibles. Posture. Expressions. Charisma. The way they look together, or at least how I imagine it. I can see one person in a commercial and another on a talk show, and still, that whiff of how they’ll perform in certain roles comes to me like a movie in my mind. It’s a feeling, smoke and magic, but I can see it.

There are pairings I wish I’d made, ones that have worked over and over again.

Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler. Always fresh. Always funny.

Julia Roberts and George Clooney.

Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling.

So many perfect duos.

I want to make one that iconic.

But apparently it won’t be Jason Venetian and Gayle Sumners.

I hear a voice calling my name. At first, I pay no attention, thinking maybe it’s my brain trying to make sense of the cacophony of Adele, Taylor Swift, and Dua Lipa coming from buskers trying to outdo each other.

But then I realize itismy name. I turn around.

Zachery rushes toward me, holding two coffee cups. I haven’t seen him yet today. He met with an actress Desdemona is courting.

He looks amazing in a silvery gray suit (Brunello Cucinelli, $5,000), and my breath catches. His dark hair curls with the humidity and the exertion, making his couture look even more effortless.

But no doubt brokering a deal this morning with Perine Jetée involved an invitation to multiple upcoming events, and no telling what additionalbenefits.

He’s a natural-born charmer, and as he arrives with an outstretched coffee made just the way I like it, I wonder if he keeps a database on his phone. Name, birthday, coffee preference, sexual proclivities ...

Nope, don’t think about it.

To be honest, I love his attention. It scratches that itch to be seen, to be pampered, to be, well,chased after, without any of the drawbacks of a relationship. Namely, heartbreak. But also, what the fortune teller brought up. The withering of faith. Each relationship failure is another petal off the rose.

“Thank you,” I say, accepting the cup and immediately taking a sip. I desperately needed a caffeine boost. And here Zachery is, fixing it.

I don’t have to ask how he knew where I was. He’s caught up with me en route to my car before. He knows that when I’m in a hurry, I go straight from the office to the parking lot.

And on bad days, I take Hollywood Boulevard.

We really are an old married couple.

If one half of the couple is rich and semifamous and way into courting every female actor who will have him.

He falls into step beside me. “It was a great pairing,” he says, not even out of breath from the rush. He takes his workouts as seriously as his women. He’s done five miles before most people shut off their alarms for the first time.

“Can’t win them all,” I say, dodging a mime pretending to pull on a rope.

“So, does this mean you’re heading out of town?”

I shake my head. “Desdemona doesn’t leave until Thursday. I’m packing, though.”

“Do you have a route?”

“Just a rough idea.”

Up ahead, three of the Transformers block the sidewalk in their bulky costumes. We pause while a mother takes a photo of her brood with the grouping.

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