Page 19 of Bittersweet

“Holy crap, you’re Cassandra Mauer.”

A pretty blonde with long bangs that sport a bright pink and pearl headband atop them gapes at me from beside the door.

“I am.” I smile, trying to be humble. It’s still strange to me to be recognized after all these years. “Do you work here? It’s always so gorgeous in here.”

The blonde flicks her eyes to her wrist, where a bracelet lays, and shakes her head. “I don’t … but I’ve always loved it. I actually … well, I used to teach at the high school and I recently thought about moving back and getting a job here. I was a drama geek once upon a time, never got to actually get involved with the theater program at the high school, you know … oh jeez, I’m rambling.”

Her nervous energy, clearly not for me but for the interview she’s about to head into, is surprisingly calm. I’ve dealt in bullshit and narcissists for a long time. It’s nice to meet someone who wears their feelings exactly as they’re processing them.

“Gabrielle Murphy, nice to meet you.” She sticks her hand out, and I shake it.

“Cassandra Mauer.” I smirk. “And please, don’t stop on my account. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who used to know this place, too. What position are you interviewing for?”

“Oh, it’s just a part-time thing. Set design maybe, or an assistant to some of the directors. I’m temporarily back in town, so thought I’d get something to fill the time until then.”

“Honestly? That sounds like the perfect thing to be doing.”

And part of me envies her for being able to just move here and fall right into these jobs or interviews. Doing nothing feels like the right plan for me for the next little while, not that I’ve done much in a year, but working here? Or doing something in this theater? It lights a bulb in my head that is growing brighter by the second.

“Wow, you’re—”

“Cassandra, hi.” I cut off the guy who just approached, not needing to be fawned over more.

“This is so weird, having an actual famous person in our building.” The guy smiles, and I judge he’s about in his twenties.

He’s wearing a black sweater nearly down to his knees, with neon yellow tights and Doc Martens. His hair is a shade of blond and falls to his shoulders. In essence, he’s uniquely incredible.

“Well, I’m originally from here, sort of. I’m back in town for a while and would love to catch a show. And you are?”

“Wilson, sorry,shit.” He waves with a blush on his cheeks. “And there isn’t a show today, we have one coming up this weekend.Spring Awakening, even though it’s September. We’d love to have you come see it.”

“Great, I’ll be sure to buy a ticket before I leave.” Because it’s one of my favorite plays.

“Hey, would you ever want to … I don’t know, sit in on one of our rehearsals? Maybe give some coaching? You said you’re in town for a while. Jeez, is this totally out of line for me?”

Beside me, Gabrielle chuckles.

I shake my head. “Absolutely not, not out of line. I would love to come do anything. Let me leave you my number.”

“You never know if you don’t try. My favorite motto.” Wilson tuts at both of us, and I like him immediately.

It’s impulsive, possibly dumb, and not at all what I went on my walk for. But as I write it down, purchase a ticket for the show later in the week, and wish Gabrielle good luck before Wilson takes her back for the interview, I realize this could be good. Not just for me and coming out of my shell in Hope Crest, but I could use my skills to help someone else find what they love to do.

As I step back out into the fall sunshine, my phone vibrates. Looking at the screen, I see I have a voice mail. Actually, I have about a thousand notifications, none of which I’ve checked since arriving in town. But this one is from one of the only people I make a priority, so I press it to my ear.

“Cassandra, It’s Yaren. You need to call me back. You know you need to call me back because you’ve been avoiding me. Listen, I know you said you needed a break, but people are wondering what’s going on. The last film you have in the arsenal is set to release in two months, and we’ve got nothing. Nada. Do you want me to put out a statement? Talk to some magazines as an inside source on background? Come on, Cass, you’ve got to call me back. All right. I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Call me.”

My agent’s message sends little warning signals to the muscle in my chest. Yaren is a good guy. I’ve been with him since he reached out to rep me after my second film. He’s always looked out for me, fought for me, and worked alongside me rather than talking down to me like I’d seen a lot of agents do.

He was receptive when I told him last year that I was burnt out, that I couldn’t continue to work this way and have as normal a life as I wanted down the road. He told me to take some space and time, to travel. So I went to Miraval for three months, meditating, getting massages, and drinking herbal teas every evening. While it had calmed me, I still didn’t have any desire to step foot on another movie set.

So I went to Italy and stayed in a friend’s villa on Lake Como. I ate myself happy, but at the end of the day, I still didn’t want to go back. I flitted around the globe for another six months, spending time with friends who I realized I didn’t know deeply enough and getting lost in places I always thought I’d wanted to visit.

But something was missing. Someone, probably, but then I’d have to admit that I’d focused on all the wrong things up until now.

Then, I got the call. My dad was dead. And to Hope Crest, I came.

It felt like some kind of divine intervention because even though I lost a loved one, being here at this juncture in my life feels … right. In my bones, I know I’m supposed to stay here for a while.

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