Page 37 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
“Rita. Lovely to hear your voice.”
“Oh, fuck off. I’m made of phlegm. What’s this I hear about you takin’ a train to my hometown? You afraid of flyin’ all of a sudden?”
“I’m with a friend who doesn’t like to fly. What’s up? I’m afraid I’ll lose my signal.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m gettin’ to it hotshot. I got a call from Debra Silver. Said she’s on a train with you, and she saw you do a couple of Romeo monologues? I was like, shut your face that’s not even funny. But then Eric got a Google alert for you, and it turns out someone recorded some of it and posted it online. Eric—you send him that link yet? Eric?Eric?!”
Eric gets on the line. “Sending now.”
“Okay. So, Debra Silver called you?”
“Right. So, Debra Silver’s casting a drama that shoots in LA starting June fourteenth. Everyone wants in on this one. Very prestigious but very hush-hush. I tried to put you up for it when she was in our offices last month, but she didn’t even want you to record an audition for her.Nowshe wants you to read for her when she’s back in town in a couple of weeks. If it goes well, you go straight in to meet with the director. Pretty exciting, am I right?”
This is the opposite of a guest spot onPretty Little Liars.
“Am I an amazing agent or what?” I can’t tell if she’s making a joke or not, but I would not put it past her to take credit for this.
“Yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You wanna know about the project, or you wanna wait until I send you the pages?”
“Yeah, don’t tell me.” One thing I love about Rita is she knows I get nervous about a part that I really want, so we decided years ago it’s better if I don’t know all the details until I absolutely have to. “That’s really cool. Should I talk to her if I see her on the train again or…?”
“No. Don’t talk to her. Just leave her with the good impression you gave her yesterday. And definitely don’t bother trying to flirt with her. Her wife is hot and even younger than you are, I think.”
“Got it.”
“Okay, I got another call. Gotta bounce, love ya, bye.”
She hangs up before I can say goodbye, which is fine, because I never know what to say when she throws that Hollywoodlove ya, byeshit at me.
I’ve got that feeling in my stomach. Like something big is happening. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but all I can really think about is how none of this would have happened—whatever is happening—if it weren’t for Birdie. If she hadn’t decided to go to New York now too. If she hadn’t insisted on taking the train. If she hadn’t gotten me to bust out my Romeo in the dining car out of the blue.
I can’t change my clothes and get to the dining car to join her fast enough. But first, I strip the bed of last night’s sheets and shove them into my duffel bag, so Nancy doesn’t have to deal with them. I can’t wait to tell Birdie about the call.
When I get to the dining car, it’s only about a quarter full, but I don’t see Birdie right away…until I spot her at a table with some guy whose back is to me. He’s dressed in black and wearing a scarf. And Birdie is sitting across from him, beaming at him, hanging on his every word. And he keeps reaching out to touch her fucking hand that’s resting on the table as he talks.
I don’t sodding think so, mate.
I stand next to the table, taking up as much space as possible.
Guy doesn’t even realize anyone else is on the train, I bet.
“So, I turned to Sir Salman Rushdie, rolled up my sleeves, and I said, ‘Each and every Harry Potter book is exactly as long as it needs to be—would you like to take this outside and settle this once and for all?’.”
“You didn’t!” Birdie exclaims. As if he’d just told her he’s won the Nobel Prize for literature.
“I’m afraid I did.”
“What did he say?!”
“Oh, hello,” Scarf Fellow mutters when he looks up at me.
“’Sup.”
Birdie taps my arm, and I go over to take the seat next to her, resting my arm on the back of her chair—because it’s comfortable to do so. “Eddie, you’ll never guess who this is!”
The guy who’s about to leave us alone so I can talk to you…
