Page 76 of The Score

I’m happy that rehearsal is over, though. I’m too close to throttling Mallory, who doesn’t even say goodbye as she leaves the stage.

“We’ll do better tomorrow,” I assure Steven. I feel awful that we let him down today, because I know how serious he is about directing.

The first time we met, I teased him that he should be in front of the camera and not behind it. Seriously, the guy is gorgeous. Dark skin, flawless features, mesmerizing eyes. He reminds me of Idris Elba minus the sexy British accent. But Steven isn’t interested in being an actor. He once told me that his goal is to win a Best Director Oscar by the time he’s forty.

“You’re not the one who needs to get better,” Steven replies. “You’re doing a terrific job.”

I tuck the compliment in my proverbial back pocket and exit the stage through the wings, digging into my bag as I walk. I find my phone, and my heart flips when I see a missed call from Ira. I’dcalled him last night for an update about the Carson play that I’m dying to audition for. I’m not certain it’s even happening or if it was just a rumor buzzing around Broadway, so I asked Ira to look into it.

I check the time. It’s nine-thirty, so that means six-thirty on the west coast. I know he’s still in LA because he texted earlier that he was “doing lunch” with the producer of the Fox pilot. I don’t know if I’m happy or disappointed that the producers let me send in a screen test. Luckily, I probably won’t hear back from them anytime soon, since they aren’t officially casting until February.

“Hey, Ira,” I say when he picks up. “It’s Allie. I wanted to check if you had any news about the Brett Carson play.”

“Actually, I do.”

Then why didn’t you call me back yesterday?

“The production process has definitely started. I know one of the producers, so I reached out to her.” He pauses. “It’s not good news.”

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. “Oh. What did she say?”

“It’s an all-male cast. Bold move, huh?”

Very bold. Not to mention devastating. I suddenly find myself desperately wishing for a penis.

“Unfortunately, that means there isn’t a role in it for you—” No kidding. I’m penis-less! “But I told Nancy you’re interested in working with Brett again. She promised to pass that along, so who knows? Maybe he’ll give you a ring when he has something else brewing.”

That cheers me up. A little. I’m still mega-bummed by the news.

I send Dean a message on my way out of the building.

Me: Such a crappy day! Might vent to you later. How was the game?

He doesn’t message back. Granted, it’s only been three seconds, but he’s usually pretty quick to reply.

Five minutes into my walk to Bristol House, and there’s still no answer. His game would be over by now. Hannah said it started at six. It’s nearly ten.

Five more minutes pass. I’m almost at the dorm. Why isn’t he answering?

It’s been ten minutes, crazy pants. Relax.

Instead of relaxing, I grow even more distressed because something troubling has just dawned on me.

I didn’t contact Dean because I wanted sex.

I wanted to vent about my day.

Oh shit. Hannah is absolutely right—the word “casual” doesn’t exist in my vocabulary. I had a crappy rehearsal, and my first instinct was to reach out to the guy I’m sleeping with and tell him all about it. Have him listen to me and comfort me and tell me it’s all going to be okay.

Repeat after yourself, Allison Jane. He. Is. Not. Your. Boyfriend.

“He is not my boyfriend,” I say firmly.

“What?” A tall guy in a parka slows his gait and glances over at me.

I jerk in surprise. “Oh, I wasn’t talking to you.”

His gaze rests on my ear, and I realize he’s searching for a Bluetooth. When he doesn’t find one, he gives me a strange look and keeps walking.

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