Page 90 of The Casting Couch

Reception loomed ahead, a tiny oasis of fake calm in a building full of sex, sweat, and smoke machines.A place where paperwork got stamped and lube was ordered in bulk.

And there she was.

Floris.

Wearing a peach-colored blouse that clung too tightly to her midsection, dark sunglasses on her head, and a purse the size of a microwave swinging from her arm like a weapon of maternal destruction.She still wore that brassy blonde hair, a color no one outside of south Georgia had worn unironically since 1998.

Next to her stood a man I didn’t recognize.Mid-thirties, and slick as an oil spill.Bleach-blond goatee, wraparound sunglasses resting on his forehead, a confederate flag belt buckle that screamed this man has definitely said “I don’t trust the government” while microwaving gas station shrimp.

“Nicholas!”she cried, arms flung wide like we were in a Hallmark Christmas movie.“Baby, look at you!”

I stopped a safe distance away and held out my hand.“Hi, Mom.”

Her open-arms faltered mid-air, then flopped to her sides like broken wings.Her expression twisted into a smile so brittle it could’ve cracked glass.She recovered quick though, with a dramatic exhale like she was the one who’d been wronged.

“This is Thom,” she said, motioning to the man beside her.“That’s Thom with an H.My boyfriend.”

Thom nodded.Or maybe twitched.It was hard to tell.His eyes flicked up and down my body in a way that made my skin crawl, but he didn’t say a word.Just stood there looking smug and sweaty.

I blinked.“You’re… sightseeing?”

“That’s right!”Floris said brightly.“We’re takin’ in the Big Apple!Thought we’d drop by and say hi.You know, see where my baby works.You’ve got a job here, right?Maybe you could show us around?”

She said it with that thick Southern drawl that made every sentence sound like a challenge dipped in syrup.

I glanced toward the hallway, where moans and slaps echoed faintly through the thin walls.

“Yeah, no.No tour,” I blurted.“But… I can take you to lunch.Somewhere nearby.My treat.”

Her eyes sparkled.“Oh, that’d be just lovely.”

It wasn’t lovely.It felt like being dragged backward through time.

“Petyr,” I murmured as I passed the desk.He leaned forward instinctively.“Tell Bradley I’ll check in with him later, alright?”

Petyr nodded, eyes bouncing between me and the southern soap opera happening just behind me.

Then I turned, ushered Floris and Thom toward the door, my hand resting lightly on my mom’s back like I could guide her out without touching her too much.Like physical contact would make the past rush in too fast.

My stomach twisted.

Something was wrong.

Something about her showing up here, out of nowhere, with a man I’d never seen before and that fake smile plastered to her face.Floris didn’t just visit.She wasn’t the drop-in for brunch kind of parent.Hell, she wasn’t even the remember your birthday kind of parent.Last time we spoke, she begged for money.Her only reason for ever reaching out to me.

And now she wanted lunch?

I glanced back at Thom as we stepped out into the July sun.His shirt was half-unbuttoned, and his tan looked chemically enhanced, like he marinated in a tanning bed and Axe body spray.

I didn’t know what this was yet, but I knew one thing for sure:

This wasn’t a casual mother-son reunion.

* * *

They rejected six restaurants in a row.

A cozy Korean noodle spot?“Too spicy.”

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