Page 8 of Mine

“Are you?”

“So it’s my fault? Just because I don’t assume I’m getting laid? Just because I try to treat you like a lady? Or did you want me to fuck you on our first date like a classless whore?”

That word. I gripped the table, trying not to slap him.

“I can make my own decisions about whether or not to fuck you on the first date. Or the second. Or the third. Right now, I’m not sure you even have the proper equipment down there.”

“Fine! See if I ever try to take you to dinner again!” Blaise said, throwing his napkin on the table. The wine sommelier had come over with the next bottle of wine Blaise had ordered for us. Hearing our conversation, he started to turn away. I grabbed his coattails and he turned right back.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I was about to leave, but I’m sure Blaise would love to have the bottle to himself. Maybe you two could chat about the vintages, just the two of you.”

“Fuck you,” Blaise hissed. “You’re a shitty wanna-be actress with a wanna-be agent who can’t wait to whore herself out.”

“Keep buying expensive wines,” I said. “Maybe all the antioxidants will make your dick grow longer. Or maybe you’ll just drink your tears away.”

“Ah… ahem,” the sommelier said.

“Bye. I hope the two of you have a long and happy life together,” I said.

“You’re just as fake as the rest of Hollywood,” Blaise sputtered. His face was beet-red, and his hands clutched the tablecloth. I leaned over and plucked a dinner roll from the bread basket and tucked it into my purse. Breakfast for tomorrow.

“We’re all fake,” I said. “Me, I’m the only one who doesn’t pretend to be real.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Sara

I was most of the way through the bottle of Jack Daniels when my phone rang. I squinted hard at the screen. It was my agent, Roger.

I didn’t really want to talk to him right then, but maybe it was for the best. That audition had been the last thing I had going for me in the past month. If he couldn’t find me any parts, maybe it was time to move onto another agent. As dumb as he was, maybe Blaise was right about that. I took a deep breath and answered the phone.

“Hey, Roger, what’s up?” I asked.

“Sara, my darling!” he said, with an overenthused joyfulness that I could tell was fake. His voice was whiskey-grizzled, and I wondered if he was drunk right now. “How did that audition go?”

“I didn’t get it,” I said. “I mean, the audition went well. I guess it just wasn’t my part. The dialogue was clunky, anyway. Listen, Roger—”

“Never mind that,” he said. “I have another part for you. Guaranteed.”

“Guaranteed?” I tried not to let the skepticism show in my voice. And I tried not to let the tiny flicker of hope in my heart grow. If there was one thing in this city that was poison, it was hopes and dreams.

“The studio contacted me directly,” he said. “Asked if I had a girl meeting a certain criteria. And you would fit the part perfectly!”

“What was the criteria?”

“They wanted the best Method actor I had,” he said. “You have to sink into this role completely. It’s an improv-type thing, they said, and you have to be willing to commit to the part for a full day. I thought to myself: who does Method acting like a champ? Sara! It has to be her!”

“Only a day?” I asked suspiciously.

“Tomorrow. That’s why they contacted me. Wanted someone who would be able to jump right into the role.”

You mean they wanted someone desperate, I thought. They must be filling in for someone who dropped out. Well, I was desperate.

“I can do tomorrow,” I said. “What time?”

“Eight in the morning. You’ll meet the client at the Starbucks right near Paramount. You know the one on Van Ness Avenue?”

“Is it a Paramount movie part?”

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