Page 92 of The Casting Couch

She repeated herself.“Do you need anything else?”

“Again, sorry?”

Deb rolled her eyes so hard I think they saw the kitchen behind her.“Do.You.Need.Anything.Else.”

Thom looked at Mom, baffled.“Can’t understand a damn word she says.”

I wanted the booth to collapse in on me like a sinkhole.

Deb, to her credit, didn’t flinch.She filled our glasses and walked away with the grace of someone who’s seen worse.And judging by the regulars here, she probably had.

“So,” Mom said, spearing a hunk of baked potato drowned in cheese sauce.“This studio you work at.It’s like… for movies, right?”

I coughed.“Sure.Movies.”

“Any famous people work there?”

I shot her a look.“None that you’d recognize unless you’ve been on the internet after midnight.”

She laughed, like I’d said something adorable, and patted my hand across the table.Her nails were chipped pink, and the gesture made my skin prickle.

Thom chimed in again, uninvited.“So, what exactly do you do there?Like, you act or… is it more behind the scenes?”

You first, Thom.Do you buy your crypto off Craigslist or just whisper at your boat until it transfers Ethereum?

“I’m on camera,” I said, forcing the words out.“I’m… an actor.”

His eyes widened like he’d uncovered a national treasure.“Hot damn.I knew you looked like someone who works out.”

Mom let out a nervous titter and picked up a biscuit she definitely didn’t need.

I glanced at the clock on my phone.We’d been here twenty minutes.It felt like a month.

“I should get back soon,” I said, standing.“We’ve got a tight production schedule.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Mom said quickly.“We just got here!We’re on vacation!Thom’s never been to New York before, and we wanna see the sights.”

Thom nodded sagely.“We wanna go see that big lady statue.The one with the torch.”

“The Statue of Liberty?”I deadpanned.

“Yeah.That gal.”

My jaw tightened.

They looked at me with matching expressions of hopeful idiocy, like this entire trip was a spontaneous Eat Pray Scam moment.Like nothing had happened.Like she hadn’t thrown me out into the street with a trash bag full of clothes and a Bible.

And now she wanted to sightsee?

“Please, Nicholas,” Mom said, her voice dropping into that syrupy register she used to use when asking for favors that came with guilt sprinkles.“We came all this way.”

I took a slow breath through my nose.

Smile, Nico.Be polite.Be fake.Survive lunch and send them on their merry Staten Island Ferry ride.

“Fine,” I said, standing.“Let’s go see Lady Liberty.”

If only she were real and accepting asylum applicants.

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