Page 143 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

She laughs. “Then take more acting classes. This is important. We need good pictures!”

And she hangs up.

I shake my head and check the other two phones. One of them is a reminder to meet Allison at the Edgemont Theater. The other is a text from Jester, also reminding me to go.

Nobody trusts me anymore.

I’ve had my head in the clouds since we all moved to New York and opened our own casting office, this time for live performing arts. We have everything on our roster from opera singers to dancers to, well, clowns. It’s wild how often a production needs a good clown.

I arrive at the theater as Allison Firenze pulls up in a limo.

The driver opens the door, and I slip through the crowd and nod at the security guard, who lets me through the satin rope.

Allison steps out to a wild pop of flashes, smiling and waving in a red gown with elbow-length gloves. That’s why she wanted yellow. Red roses would get lost against the dress. She’s good. She thinks of the photo op.

I step in and pass her the roses, kissing her cheek. I whisper, “Apparently, I’m supposed to look like I’m madly in love with you. It might be true.”

When I step back, her smile is girlish and happy. Snap, snap, snap.Nailed it, Kelsey. Where’s my Tony Award?

I take her arm, and we walk slowly up the carpeted stairs to the front of the theater. Then we turn, smiling. After a few seconds, I step away and out of the frame so she can get solo shots. Behind her is a sign featuring her face along with the name of the production that will open tonight,Blinding Red.

I wait exactly the right amount of time, then step forward to open the door for her. I take her arm again as we pass inside.

It’s quiet and dark in the lobby. She lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Zachery. I did not want to do that alone.”

Allison’s boyfriend of eight years broke up with her two weeks ago, leaving her without an escort to her own opening night. I lift her gloved hand to kiss it. “It was an honor.”

We pass the closed-up box office for a hallway that leads to the dressing rooms. The noise levels rise as we approach, the cast and crew already deep in preparations for the night.

Once we’re out of sight of any wayward reporters who might be peering in, I give her a bow. “Have an amazing first night.”

She kisses my cheek. “Thank you.”

We part ways, and I head for a side door.

Doing these deeds for Kelsey feels very different from how they went down for Desdemona. I realize now how much of my self-worth was tied up in those paparazzi moments on red carpets with actresses. It was me proving I was still worthy of the Hollywood game, not a has-been, not a joke. The attention of those women proved it.

Desdemona knew me too well, and she used my need to be seen to ensure those actresses considered her projects first.

I don’t need that crutch anymore. And our agency doesn’t need to act that way to get projects to cast or find talent eager to work with us.

I’m stopped by a young man I met a couple of months ago. “Zachery?”

“Ahmed, hello!” I shake his hand. “How were rehearsals?”

“So great. I can’t thank you enough for getting me cast. It’s been a dream come true.” He brushes his hair nervously to one side of his forehead.

“You’re very talented. Let’s see how long this run goes, and we’ll talk again. Break a leg!”

I head for the door. I’ve just burst out of the dim corridor and into the bright light of afternoon when Kelsey calls.

“Jester passed me something interesting. Meet me at the pie shop on Fifty-Fourth. I’ll get there before you can walk it.”

“We can’t talk about it by phone?” I change directions to head for the shop.

“I want to see your face when I say it.”

“Are you going to propose marriage?”

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