“Lie.”
“It’s just…I don’t know.”
She sat up and faced me. “It’s Mr. Hollywood, isn’t it?”
I pulled my feet up to the seat, hugging my knees to my chest, and sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Uh, yeah. It really is.”
After Max had left the hotel room, I told her the whole story so she knew nothing had happened. Well, nothing much, anyway. Just enough to make it a recurring topic of conversation, mostly with Krystal saying I should have gone for it all that night.
“Listen,” she said, “if you’re going to make your life here, you’re going to have to get used to this sort of thing. Especially since you’re going to be working around actors, directors, producers… I mean, think about it. You’re pretty, single, and guys like you. This isn’t Ohio, and it certainly isn’t our little Podunk town.”
She had a point. I was in uncharted waters and possibly in over my head. But if I was going to make it here, I’d have to learn to deal with it. That didn’t mean I had to sleep with every guy who hit on me; it simply meant I’d have to become skillful at choosing the right ones to say yes to, and not leading on the ones I knew I’d say no to.
I shouldn’t have led Max on like I did, and I felt a little guilty about that.
But the bigger immediate issue—in fact, the biggest issue—was what impact the other night would have on my work.
“Shit. What am I going to do if he turns down Jacqueline for the role and Kevin finds out why? I’ll be screwed.”
Krystal got up from the couch and grabbed her empty glass. She walked into the kitchen while answering. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do about that now. Except maybe call him up and sleep with him now.”
“Come on, I’m serious.”
“I know,” she said, her voice carrying in from the kitchen. “Sorry. I wish I knew what to tell you. Do you want some wine?”
“Ugh. No, I’ve had plenty this weekend.”
Krystal obviously wasn’t going to be of much help, but I was hoping she’d have some insight for me. Even something small and seemingly insignificant that might spark a solution in my mind. But all hope was dashed when she came back into the room.
“Oh! The show’s back on.” She grabbed the remote and un-muted the television. “Sorry, I have to see what happens here.”
I arrived at work Monday morning determined to get back in the mindset I was in before the Vegas trip, which meant focusing on work and only work, and that’s what I did all week. Work during the day, Netflix at night.
We didn’t hear from Max or his people all week. I talked to Jacqueline several times, and she was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with. She was convinced she wasn’t going to get the part. Once again, I had to play therapist and keep her on an even keel.
Friday brought some comic relief in the form of an aspiring actor and complete jackass I had to meet with. Part of my job was doing preliminary reviews of unsolicited letters and resumes sent to us by people looking for an agent.
Sam Ryan arrived fifteen minutes late for the meeting, a bad first impression for an actor seeking representation. He wore black jeans, a white t-shirt, black leather jacket, and way too much aftershave.
We went to the conference room and started off with some small talk about the great weather and the horrible traffic, typical LA conversation pieces.
Within ten minutes, I knew I was dealing with a guy who thought too much of himself. He kept telling me how much casting directors didn’t know what they were doing, how there’s so much untapped talent out there and he was the “cream of the untapped crop,” and how the industry was overly concerned with money to the detriment of art.
He was going nowhere with that attitude, and it wasn’t my job to change him. He wouldn’t have a chance in a meeting with Kevin.
His big mistake was telling me he’d been in two episodes of Friends, with speaking parts in both. He claimed he was supposed to have been a recurring character—an ex-boyfriend of Monica’s. All of that would have been easy to check but I didn’t have to. I was a huge fan of the show and I’d probably seen every episode three times. I would have remembered this guy. So I added “liar” to the list of negatives.
“So why aren’t you repped now?” I asked.
“Well, my agent recently passed away, so that’s why I’m looking.”
I felt bad for asking the question with such a sarcastic tone. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What was his name? Or her name?” I started shuffling through his still shots to find his resume.
“Estelle Leonard.”
I stopped. That was the name of the agent who represented Joey’s character on Friends. What the hell was with this guy? He was either abnormally stupid, or he thought I was. It was at this point that I decided he was no longer entertaining and I didn’t have the patience to listen to any more of his bullshit.
I ended the meeting by standing and telling him, “Thanks for coming by. We’ll be in touch.” It was a nice way of saying Don’t call us, we’ll call you.
“You got plans tonight?” he asked.
I was stunned, considering how coldly I had treated him. “Excuse me?”
“I was just wondering if, you know, maybe we could ‘hook up’,” he said, using air-quotes.
“I really don’t think so.”
He lowered his voice, not for the benefit of privacy, but in an apparent attempt to sound sexy. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“So?”
“So, again, it’s a no.”
He stepped toward me, looking right at my chest. “You’re really hot. Just tell me what it’ll take.”
Exasperated, I told him the truth. “You want to know what it will take? A serious lapse of judgment on my part.” I stepped toward the conference room door, opened it, and stepped aside. I motioned out the door with my hand. “Good luck, Mr. Ryan.”
He straightened up and started moving toward the door. I gave him a little more room.
“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it,” he said.
I let him get out of the room, almost all the way across the lobby, and when he reached for the main doors I said, “And you don’t have to wear so much cheap aftershave!”
He kept going without looking back.
Kevin’s office door opened and he poked his head out. “Everything okay?”