Chapter Five
ROXY STARED, DUMBFOUNDED, at the eighteen-year-old film student.
“You called me back here to reread for the role of Lassie? As in, the dog.”
“You were great in the first audition.” He consulted his clipboard, thick-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. “So good, we thought you might be right for the title character.”
“ Might be?” She must still be asleep and dreaming this whole scenario.
Or she’d fallen into a bizzaro-world vortex on her walk from the train.
A world where prepubescent children had more professional success than herself.
If he didn’t look so earnest, she might have clotheslined him by now.
“Ashton. Can I call you Ashton?” She pasted on her best smile when he nodded.
“This is where I’m getting stuck. Lassie has no lines. He’s a fucking dog.”
“He speaks with his eyes.”
“Okay.” Roxy laughed a little hysterically, yucky embarrassment finally breaching her inner wall.
This was definitely the bottom. She really resented these kids for making her feel stupid, so she tried to deflect, even though her cheeks felt like they were on fire.
“Let me ask you a question. What is written on that clipboard? Anything? Or is it just the note your mother sent in your lunchbox this morning?”
He flushed red, not that you could see much of his face, obscured as it was by a struggling beard. “We’re practically the same age. And anyway, Lassie is timeless.”
She crammed her fist against her mouth. “Oh my God. I can’t even tell if you’re making fun of me anymore. I’ve lost my grip on irony.”
“Me, too,” he whispered. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve never even seen Lassie .”
“You need to be deprogrammed.” She snatched her purse off the stage and turned in a circle, splitting a glance between two other student filmmakers dressed like beat poets. “You all do. Go home to your parents and start from scratch. Before you suffocate yourself in summer scarves.”
Ashton tapped her on the shoulder. “Does this mean you don’t want to be Lassie?”
“Yes, dipshit. Yes .”
His brow wrinkled. “Yes, like you do? Or yes, like you don’t?”
“Oh, God . Where is the closest bar?” Her question directed at no one echoed through the performance area as she stomped toward the exit.
This morning, a typical Wednesday, had started out marginally decent.
She’d woken up on her futon in Chelsea, greeted by the smell of bacon.
Bacon . She’d practically floated on the aroma toward the kitchen, where she’d found an apron-wearing Honey making cheese grits.
Without even asking, the smiling Southerner had heaped a pile of food onto a plate and slid it across the counter in her direction.
Roxy had walked to this audition with a belly full of food and a positive outlook, something she hadn’t done in months.
They’d called her back to play a Border collie.
It seemed humiliation was now part of her everyday agenda.
In the two years since she’d dropped out of Rutgers University’s acting program to pursue an actual career instead of performing for a half-empty theater in Jersey, she’d never been brought as low as she had this morning.
That was saying something, since she’d once read for a feminine itch cream commercial.
Worse, tonight was her first and hopefully last foray into stripping.
She’d been stopped by Abby on her way out the door this morning.
Her new roommate had haltingly informed her she would be cashing the two-hundred-dollar check tomorrow.
Roxy only had half that amount in the bank.
No more singing telegram work had come her way since Louis’s appointment on Monday, and now she was left with few options.
Strip or lose the apartment dreams were made of.
Lose bacon. Lose cheese grits. Lose a kind of security she’d never really experienced.
So in a matter of eight hours, she would get naked in a room full of strangers.
Her boss at Singaholix had assured her this particular bachelor party would be low key.
The groom didn’t want strippers or a big deal made, but the best man and organizer had convinced him to allow a ten-minute show. Namely, her . Dressed as a cheerleader.
She was doing her best to keep a good mental attitude about it, even though part of her was scared.
Being scared didn’t happen to her often, nor did it sit well, churning around in her stomach like a cake mixer.
No, this would be a good experience, one she might be able to utilize for future roles.
Hadn’t Marisa Tomei played a stripper? Jennifer Aniston, too?
She could do this. Ten minutes of taking her clothes off couldn’t be worse than dressing like a dog and expressing doggie thoughts with her eyes.
Those men would all just be faceless audience members to her. Nothing more.
A brief scenario in which her parents found out flashed in her head.
It wouldn’t be the typical parental reaction.
Horror, denial. No, they would probably be delighted.
How the mighty have fallen . Her ambition to become an actress, become anything, had always been viewed as a negative by her parents.
When they bothered to weigh in. They hadn’t said so in as many words, but she’d always thought her inability to be content .
.. offended them somehow. As a result, she almost got the feeling they hoped she didn’t make it.
Hoped she came crawling home, begging for her old room back and a job hookup at the local mall.
As Roxy flopped back against the outside of the building, the weight of those dark thoughts had her wishing she still smoked. In her purse, her phone signaled an incoming text message. She didn’t recognize the number, but based on the message, she knew who it was.
Is it Saturday yet? I’m starting to talk to your selfie.
Unbelievable. He’d made her smile. After a Lassie callback. Quickly, she saved the number under his name, Louis McNally the Second, and responded.
Is she saying anything back?
She’s telling me she wants to move the date to tonight. And that Louis looks lonely.
Oh, it was so tempting after the way her shitstorm cloud had rained on her parade this morning.
She’d thought about him a lot since Monday.
A lot. Weirdly, although they’d only met twice, she found herself kind of .
.. missing him. Shaking her head at her dopey thoughts, she set off in the direction of Chelsea. This Collie needed to regroup.
I have plans.
So do I. But they involve us being in the same room.
You thinking about me naked again, Louis?
It’s becoming a habit. Come meet me for lunch.
No. Do you always pack your own?
Almost always. Today I brought cold pizza. Jealous?
Careful. Remember the last time you accused me of being jealous?
Why do you think I said it?
Where are you taking me Saturday?
Don’t be nosy. How did your audition go?
If anyone you know needs a singing telegram, send them my way.
Sorry, beautiful. Their loss.
A warm flutter in her throat had her pressing a hand to the spot, pausing on the sidewalk.
Oh boy, there was so much trouble headed her way.
Too bad she wanted to cannonball right into the center of it.
She needed to keep her head above water with Louis, though.
Jesus, he hadn’t even remembered the first name of his one-night stand.
For all she knew, she was one of several girls getting sexy/sweet texts at that very moment.
She’d been there before. Dated college guys, other actors.
They all started out promising her an eternity of sunshine and roses.
As soon as they got what they wanted, it was like flipping a switch, turning them from charming to disinterested.
Smitten to ... gettin’ ... away. As fast as possible.
In her experience, guys were always looking for what was next.
Her mother hadn’t exactly been brimming with helpful advice when it came to boys.
Once, after a few too many Budweisers, she’d told Roxy that girls like them “settled.” They didn’t wait for some knight to come sweep them off their feet and gallop them out of the Tri-State area.
At the time, Roxy hadn’t known what to make of that, but now, with some perspective, she wondered if her mother simply wanted her to fit into a pattern.
If she managed to do some good with her life or find a decent guy, maybe it would remind her mother she’d only gotten married because she’d had the misfortune of being knocked up with her first and last child.
A child who had the nerve to want more. To be more.
They never wanted me.
Roxy shook off the dark thoughts and glanced back down at her phone.
At Louis’s message. Without any real guidance from her parents, she’d learned the hard way throughout high school and college that all men want only one thing.
Sex. As long as she reminded herself as often as possible that Louis would be no different, she could enjoy him while . .. whatever this was ... lasted.
You there?
See you Saturday xo
LOUIS TUGGED AT the collar of his dress shirt, wishing he were anywhere but at his future brother-in-law, Fletcher’s, bachelor party.
This had to be every dude’s version of hell.
Not that he didn’t like a decent bachelor party as much as the next guy.
Beer, bullshit ... the occasional boobs.
But he wasn’t exactly thrilled about watching Fletcher get shit-faced for the final time before surrendering his “freedom.” Especially when the “old ball and chain” Fletcher’s friends kept referring to happened to be his sister.
Their relationship might be the kind that would eventually land him in a straightjacket, but he still felt a strong sense of sibling loyalty.