Chapter 3 #3
“Back to work.” I pull my phone from my coat, glancing at the screen. My Uber driver is less than a block away.
“To the office?”
“No,” I mutter, fingers flying across the screen as I reply to an urgent email. “New Start.”
“Can I come?”
I glance up. “Sorry?”
“Can I come?” Josh rocks on his heels, shrugging. “I’d like to see what you do.”
I narrow my eyes, taking in his form. I try not to notice how good his shoulders look in his coat, even as I note the earnest expression on his face.
“Okay,” I finally agree, tucking my phone back into my pocket. “But on one condition.”
He grins. “Hit me.”
“You donate something to my next silent auction.”
He rolls his eyes. “Such a hardship. What do you want? A dinner with our next lead?”
I shrug, stepping to the curb to flag down the car. “You can decide the details, but the walk-on role was very popular last time.”
“Look, I’ll only offer a prize like that if you can guarantee that Lottie Pincaster won’t ever win.”
The car pulls to a stop as I chuckle. Josh beats me to the curb, holding the door open. I slide in, greeting the driver.
As the car pulls away, I twist to face Josh. “I told you Lottie wanted to be an actress.”
He shudders. “She didn’t even have a line.
All she had to do was sit in the back of the diner and eat a donut.
Do you know that one scene cost me more to film than the rest combined?
The woman demanded vegan, gluten-free, paleo frou-frou donuts be flown in from somewhere in Europe.
She caused such a commotion Jim nearly walked. ”
Jim Hussen—a veteran actor and media darling. The man has more experience in his little finger than half of Hollywood combined. Sam and Josh have regaled me with stories of his demands, including the need for total immersion in his character.
“You and Sam have both told me Jim’s an ass. I doubt it’s the first time he’s threatened to walk.”
“You’d be correct. Jim is—”
“Wait!” the driver interrupts us. “I know you!” He waggles a finger in the rearview mirror. “You’re Josh Greenfeld.” His thick Boston accent is unmistakable.
“Guilty.” Josh offers a smile. To anyone else, it looks genuine. To me, it sits brittle and jaded on his face.
I frown.
“You wrote—”
“Yep.”
“And won—”
“That was me.” Josh leans forward. “You want me to sign something or…?”
“I want to audition for your next movie!” The driver declares stopping at a set of lights. He twists in his seat. “You want to hear a monologue now?”
“That’s okay, how about I give you the number of our casting—”
“Mislike me not for my complexion! The shadow’d livery of the burnish’d sun, to whom I am a neighbor and near bred. Bring me the fairest creature northward born! Where Phoebus’—“
“Is that Othello?” I whisper, watching as the driver weaves in and out of traffic, one hand gesturing in time to his words, which are delivered in a thick Boston drawl. If he’s attempting a British or Astipan accent, it isn’t apparent.
“Merchant of Venice.”
“Ah. At least he’s original.”
The car pulls to a stop out the front of the New Start Community Center just as he winds up.
“So.” The driver twists in his seat, face eager. “Thoughts?”
“Don’t try Shakespeare. Go for something modern.
Your appearance and accent lend more to action trope—try auditioning for some gangster roles, crime mob, action heroes.
If you like comedy and have the timing, try that too.
Start at the bottom, take any role you can get, work on your pitch and diction.
Give my casting director a call in six months.
” Josh pulls a card from his wallet. “Good luck.”
“Thank you!” The driver cradles the card like he would a newborn. “You have no idea how much this means to me!”
“We all start somewhere.” Josh claps the guy on the shoulder before opening the door and hauling himself out. He turns back, offering me a hand.
“Bye, Josh Greenfeld!”
Josh lifts a hand in farewell. We watch as the driver takes off, once again gesturing rudely at the oncoming traffic as he merges.
“That was really nice of you,” I say, watching Josh out of the corner of my eye.
He shrugs. “Doesn’t cost anything to be a decent human being. If the guy is serious, he’ll take on the advice, look for opportunities, work hard to get what he wants. Who knows, he could be the next Mark Wahlberg.”
I grin. “Do you really believe that?”
He smiles back, this one genuine. “I can hope. He seemed like a decent guy.” He looks over his shoulder at the center. “We going in?”
I lead the way. The wind picks up, battering us as we walk the short way to the entrance. “What do you know about the center?”
“Only what Sam tells me. So, nothing.”
I grin, picking up my pace. “The kids here are wonderful. The staff too. The center caters to a variety of needs but mostly low-socio economic families who need some help. They run programs for the little kids, afterschool care, single parents—particularly teens—and a bunch of other supports. It’s become a hub for the neighborhood.
” I push open the heavy door, leading him inside.
Immediately, staff call out greetings while kids swarm the reception area.
“Ahlemna,” I hear Josh curse softly in Manari behind me as we wade into the chaos.
“Just stick close,” I called over my shoulder, dodging a stray ball. “I’ll keep you safe.”
We head down one of the hallways. “On the left side of the building are the playgrounds, gymnasium, and pool. On the right are the daycares and classrooms.”
I stop at a nondescript door labeled 302. The painted numbers are peeling.
“This is my class.” I push the door open and call out, “Hello, class! Sorry I’m late.”
Twelve sets of eyes snap to me before skirting over to Josh. I watch as their expressions shift, all of them narrowing in interest like predators catching sight of prey.
Behind me, I hear Josh’s footsteps falter, then stop completely as the door swings shut with a resounding click, sealing him inside.
“Don’t worry,” I say, dropping my bag on the teacher’s desk. “They’ll be gentle.”
The students in the room are all teen parents looking to finish their high school diploma. In this class, we run financial planning, it’s practical and helps with their math credits.
“Who’s this?” Amelia, my most outspoken student, jerks a thumb at Josh.
Her electric-blue and black hair is pulled back in a high ponytail.
She’s wearing a cropped hoodie that leaves her midriff bare, paired with ripped jeans and white sneakers.
Her makeup barely conceals the black eye—a fresh “gift” from her boyfriend, no doubt.
Despite all my efforts, she’s not ready to leave him yet.
“This, Amelia, is our special guest for today.” My mind scrambles for a new lesson plan. “Josh Greenfeld is a—”
“Holy shit!” Jessika yelps, dropping her phone. All heads whip around to stare at the normally quiet teen. “You’re the guy. You wrote that movie!”
The students’ attention snaps back to Josh in unison.
He tucks his hands into his pockets, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Which one?”
“This guy’s from Hollywood?” Amelia perks up, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes him. “He doesn’t look famous.”
“Bitch,” Jessika barked back. “He wrote They Called Him Dog. It won a fucking Oscar. We watched it last semester.”
Chatter breaks out. Some of the teens rise halfway out of their seats, craning to get a better look at Josh. He glances at me, raising an eyebrow.
I cross my arms and lean against my desk. “I force all my classes to watch it.”
A grin slowly spreads across his face, lighting up his eyes. “Supporting your brother?”
I wink, matching his grin with one of my own. Turning back to the buzzing class, I clap my hands for attention. “Ladies and gents, settle. Josh will answer all your questions. Who’s first?”
Hands shoot up.
I nod at Dwayne. A scrawny kid with a big heart, Dwayne somehow managed to find a girlfriend, get her pregnant, and then end up raising the baby on his own when she left just two weeks after giving birth.
He’s one of my favorite students—a hard worker who’s determined to give his son a better future.
Dwayne drops his hand, leaning forward eagerly. “Do you take interns?”
My heart clenches.
“Sure. You got your diploma?” Josh moves to the desk and leans beside me, his thigh brushing against mine as his hands rest on the table behind us. I jolt slightly when his pinkie grazes my palm.
Dwayne’s face falls, a red flush creeping up his cheeks as he looks away. “No, sir.”
“You close?”
He nods, lifting his head with a determined expression. “Three classes left.”
“Good. Get Ms. Archer to call me when you graduate.”
“It’s Molly here,” I whisper, watching as Dwayne’s entire face lights up. Then I turn to Josh, lowering my voice. “And please don’t give them false hope.”
“Unlike some people in your life,” Josh whispers back, “I keep my promises.”
I blink, surprised by his dig at Brad. He ignores me, nodding at Leesha in the back.
“You wrote They Called Him Dog?” Her tone is dubious.
Josh nods.
“But you aren’t poor.”
“No.”
“You raised poor?”
There are a few amused giggles. This is the quietest the class has ever been—and the most engaged. Every single phone sits untouched on their desk, all watching Josh in rapt attention.
“No. I wrote that one in partnership with James—or, as everyone knows the character, Dog.”
“So you took his story?”
Josh shakes his head. “Everyone has a story that only they can tell. I’m a writer. I can help people give breath to their stories—and I can use my production company’s platform to be heard.”
Amelia frowned. “I don’t have a story.”
“’Course you do.” Josh leans forward. “Where you from?”
“Rubiye.”
“Why’re you here?”
“Parents moved to Chars.”
“No, I mean here.” Josh waves a hand around the classroom.
“Got knocked up. No one wants to hire a teen baby momma.”
“Nowhere respectable anyway,” Nia calls, flicking her hair back.
“But why are you here,” Josh corrects again. “Yeah, you have a baby. But you could choose to be elsewhere. Why’re you here, in this class? Right now? What’s driving you to be here?”
Amelia’s chin juts out, her jaw clenching. “Wanna get my diploma.”
Josh settles back against the desk. “Why?”
She hesitates. “Wanna go to college. Give my baby a better life.”
Josh nods. “What degree?”
“Bioengineering.”
Josh whistles, ignoring the scoff from someone in the class. “Damn, you have a story. Make sure you’re writing it down cause one day, that kid of yours is going to want to know all about it.”
I clear my throat. “Next question?”
Hands shoot up.
Josh answers every random question the kids throw at him for the next forty minutes.
He describes his life, his path to success, and even agrees to let the kids interview for internships or jobs on his next shoot.
We wrap up with a discussion about the pitfalls of Hollywood and the challenges he’s faced.
They quickly learn that not everything is as it seems.
As he speaks, my abdomen begins to cramp. First, the pain is dull and achy, but it builds, slowly morphing into the sharp stabbing pains that accompany my period.
Just my luck.
“Alright,” I call, finally bringing the session to a close. “Your homework tonight is to work out what you need to succeed in life. I’m not talking money—even if this is a finance class. I want you to think about what skills and supports you need to get to where you want to be. Five hundred words.”
They groan in unison.
“We’ll talk about it next week,” I finish, ignoring their complaints as I try to act normally even as the pain intensifies.
The class shuffles out, a few stragglers stopping to talk to Josh on their way. I pack up my desk quickly, popping a few pain pills and doing a walk around the classroom to make sure no one has left anything behind.
Dwayne is the last to leave, closing the door softly behind him. The quiet snick of the latch feels like a signal to my body, and I immediately sag against the desk, clutching at my abdomen.
“Josh?” I call without looking up.
“Yeah?” He turns toward me, his movements slowing as he takes in my hunched posture.
I exhale sharply, pressing a hand against my abdomen. “Don’t panic. I’m fine. Just… PMS.”
The dull ache in my lower back now makes sense as it radiates outward in waves of discomfort. My endometriosis has a knack for turning my cycle into a well-timed nightmare.
Josh frowns, stepping closer. “This looks like more than just PMS.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him, though my voice comes out strained. I grab my water bottle from the desk, twisting the cap open with a wince. “It’s just early. Probably all the stress.”
His brow furrows deeper. “You’re pale. Seriously, Molly, are you sure this is normal?”
“Unfortunately,” I say with a dry laugh, taking a long sip of water. “This is my body’s idea of a fun time.”
Josh rubs a hand over his face, his concern evident. “Do you need anything? Painkillers? A heating pad? A new uterus?”
I snort despite myself, the laugh cutting through the tension in my abdomen. “I’ve taken some painkillers and I’ll pop a hot pack on it when I get home. But unless you’ve got a spare uterus in your coat pocket, I think I’m stuck with this one.”
He watches me for a moment, then crosses his arms. “You shouldn’t have to just… deal with this.”
I shrug, forcing myself to straighten up despite the cramping. “I’ve got a doctor. She’s great. It’s just something I live with.”
Josh doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he reaches for my bag, holding it out to me. “Let’s get you out of here.”
I take the bag from him, offering a small smile. “I just need to get through the next hour or so. After that, I’ll be fine.”
“Let me guess,” he says as we step out of the classroom together. “You’re about to tell me you have work to do.”
I pull out my phone, glancing at my reminders. “I have a few free hours, actually. You?”
“I’m supposed to be writing a script,” he admits, placing a hand lightly on my back as we head for the exit.
The warmth of his touch spreads through me, somehow soothing the ache in my lower back.
“I could take you home,” he suggests.
I shake my head. “No, I’d don’t want to go home and get all cozy only to have to come back for my late class. It’s easier to just stay busy.”
“They how about a coffee? Or tea?”
“You just want a snack,” I tease, laughing softly.
“Guilty,” he says with a grin. We pause in the reception area. “So, coffee?”
I hesitate, the ache in my stomach making me second-guess. But there’s no reason to say no.
This is Josh. You know him, trust him, like him. He’s a good friend.
And just a friend, no matter how good he looks in a suit.
“Sure,” I say lightly, brushing off my hesitation. “Let’s do it.”