Page 70 of Envy

“I remember. What took you so long to call?” he asks. There’s no humor in his voice.

“I’ve been working this week,” I respond, surprised by his tone. “If I called at a bad time—”

“If it was a bad time, I wouldn’t have answered. I’m not taking on new clients, Mr. Davis.”

“Okay …” I’m confused and turn his card over in my hand and wonder what the hell is going on.

“But, you are something special,” he says slowly.

My hackles rise at those words. I’ve heard them plenty of times, and I know where this is going, “Look, if this is some sort of sex thing, you can forget about it. And maybe try to find something redeeming to do with your life. You’ve got that beautiful wife and a baby to think about; there’s more to life than getting laid.”

He bursts out laughing, and I hang up. A second later, I get a text from his number, “And you’ve got some morals, too. My name is Dean Orleans. Google me. Look at my client list and then call on me back. But, only if you’re ready to work harder than you ever have in your life. Because that’s what it’s going to take for what I have in mind.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask, excitement lighting up every nerve.

“I want to make you a star.”

Year 2

Apollo

“Hi, I’m Reena. Are you American?”

Sitting in the seat next to mine is a very happy—if her smile has anything to go by—very pretty young woman. But I didn’t even see her sit down. A second ago, there was no one next to my seat, and suddenly, like magic, she appeared.

Her grin doesn’t falter or show signs of strain as she stares at me. I stare back in wide-eyed surprise. She smiles in what appears to be genuine pleasure. It’s contagious.

So, I smile back.

“Wow, you’re so pretty. Where are you from?” she asks in a perfectly ambiguously foreign accent.

“I’m from Nevada.”

“Ah, yes, Nevada is in the western United States. It’s where Las Vegas is. Las Vegas is one of the most popular gambling destinations in the world. Although the famous Las Vegas Strip isn’t actually located in Las Vegas. It’s located in the neighboring town of Paradise.”

I blink at her in surprise.

“Wow, I didn’t think anyone actually knew that but we who live there,” I say in awe.

“Well, I’m a connoisseur of all things American,” she says proudly. “I am going to move there one day and when the opportunity arises, I want to be ready. London is my stepping stone, but America is my destination.” She flares her fingers out in excitement. “I was meant to live there. I can’t be who I was meant to be in Rome. I know that in America, my star power will be welcomed and rewarded. Isn’t that what we all want? To be seen for who we are? To live the life we were meant to live?”

She talks fast. But every word is perfectly enunciated. I wonder if that’s a skill you have to practice really hard at.

Otherwise, she’s perfect. And she loves facts. Like me.

I extend my hand. “I’m Apollo. It’s so nice—”

“Ooh, cool name. I saw you sitting here, and I thought to myself, she’s American.” She grabs my hand and shakes vigorously. “This is wonderful!”

“What is?” I ask, massaging the hand she nearly crushed.

“That I’ve finally found an American who smiled back at me.”

“Huh?”

“Well, I went to the Sorbonne for my first degree, and there are hardly any Americans there. And the ones who were there didn’t seem to be interested in being friends with me. I mean, I know I talk a lot, but I’m really very nice. It was such a disappointment. And as much as I love Paris, I think their accents are too mouthy. You know what I mean?”

After a few seconds, she gives me an expectant nod, and I realize she’s paused for my answer.

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