Page 52 of The Score

Me: Kiddie game?

Him: Don’t worry about it. Tell you tmrw.

Him: What changedyour mind?

What changed my mind… Insanity maybe? An unhealthy obsession with sex? His awesome dick?

Me: Decided it was time to live the Life of Dean.

Him: Took you long enough. So. 9 o’clock work for you?

I hesitate.

Me: Yes.

God, what am I doing? Maybe Ihavegone insane.

There’s a long delay before his next message appears. A borderline-hysterical laugh pops out of my mouth after I read it.

Him: I’ll bring the rope.

13

ALLIE

Imet my agent, Ira Goldstein, through a friend of my dad’s. He’s been representing me since I was twelve years old, and the very first gig he booked for me was a cereal commercial. I had only one line, which I still remember to this day:

“How could something THIS TASTY be SO GOOD for you? YUM!”

I’m pretty sure my dad still has a DVD copy of the commercial somewhere in our brownstone. I hope it’s locked up in his gun safe, because lordy, I never want that mortifying tape ever leaking.

Ira splits his time between the agency’s Manhattan and Los Angeles offices, so most of our interactions take place over the phone. Today he’s calling from LA.

“How’s my girl doing this morning?” he asks in the booming, jovial voice I’ve grown to love.

“This afternoon,” I correct. Rehearsal just finished, and I balance my phone on my shoulder as Ibutton up my coat on the way out of the auditorium. “It’s two o’clock on the East Coast.”

“Ah, right. Fucking time zones. They’re liable to make me senile. I never know where I am or what time it is.”

I laugh.

“You get a chance to read the Fox pilot I couriered over?” Ira is a no-nonsense, business-minded person, which I appreciate. He’s also a shark, but agents are supposed to be sharks, and I still adore him even when he’s trying to sell me on projects that I know he’s only chosen for the money.

“I skimmed it. It looked like it had potential.”

“Well, give it another read and don’t skim this time. I spoke to one of the producers last night. They’re really keen on having you come in to read for the part.”

“Remind me which part? Bonnie? Or was it Sarah?”

“Hold on. Let me check.” Papers shuffle over the extension. He’s back a few seconds later. “Bonnie.”

I swallow my disappointment. Damn it. I was hoping it would be Sarah. The pilot is for a thirty-minute comedy about three girls who hated one another in high school but are forced to room together in college. It follows them as they navigate their freshman year, learning about love and life and friendship while getting into many a pickle. It was described to Ira and me as an ensemble cast, but a well-known television actress has already committed to the role of Zoey, so clearly they plan for her to be the star.

The other two roles are up for grabs, but I would’ve preferred reading for Sarah, the prudewho needs to learn how to let her hair down. I could’ve had some fun with that.

Bonnie, on the other hand, is the airhead of the trio. She’s got some funny lines, but she’s dumber than a bag of rocks. Her flaky personality and one-digit IQ are enough to set women’s lib back a thousand years.

But maybe I’m worrying for nothing. Maybe the writers have a meaty arc planned for Bonnie. It doesn’t make sense to have three female leads but only develop two of them, right?

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