6. Cassie
Emmett guides me down the hallway to his office. I”m shocked at how quickly our friendship has developed. I still won”t go past that line with him, but that doesn”t mean I don”t want to.
It helps that he is nothing like any other actor I’ve ever met. Sure, he’s proud of his successes, but he doesn’t weave his awards and movies into every conversation. That happened most of the time on dates with other actors. It was like they were always trying to one-up me.
Instead, Emmett has dreams like I do. It shouldn’t be surprising, but it’s hard to not be jealous of someone who has what I want. Who doesn’t have to work for what I want. I would say that some people are born lucky in life, but there’s always something you don’t know.
Emmett feels like he can’t chase his dream. He feels stuck, and he’s having to live up to his family’s expectations, even though he doesn’t even seem to like them that much.
I get it though. I rarely talk to my mom now that I’ve moved here. It’s not that we don’t like each other, she just doesn’t support me, and it’s hard to love someone when they aren’t rooting for you.
“Here.” Emmett hands me a stack of papers held together by a paperclip. “You can read this. It’s one of my favorite short stories.”
I stand in the doorway and look around to find a place to sit. This is my first time seeing this room. When I was here yesterday, I only came down the hallway to use the bathroom.
Bookshelves line the left wall, and they are overflowing. There are books on every shelf, in front of the books on the shelves, and in piles on the floor. There is a desk against the far wall. While his bookshelf is messy, his desk is pristine. A laptop sits in the middle with a notebook and single pen to its right. That’s it. To my right is a couch. I walk over and have a seat.
Emmett’s still standing by the door.
“I’m going to make us some tea. It’s going to take you a moment to read through that,” he says.
“Okay, that sounds great.”
I grab a blanket off the back of the couch, drape it over my legs, and begin reading.
A few minutes later, Emmett brings me a mug of tea and sets it on the end table next to me. Smells of cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg fill the room. Chai, my favorite. It’s the same tea he made me last night.
I take a sip and watch Emmett walk over to the bookshelf. He stares for a moment at the shelves, looking around like he can’t find what he’s searching for. I take the small time I have to appreciate the view. His hair appears effortless, falling perfectly around his face. He’s dressed casually tonight, just a simple shirt and jeans, yet it accentuates all the right places and it’s hard to tear my eyes away.
When he finds what he was looking for, he turns back around and sits next to me on the couch. His gaze meets mine and his lips turn up in a soft smile.
“Let me know when you’re done. I’m curious to hear your thoughts.”
I let him know I will, but I’m not sure I’ll know how to put my thoughts into words.
I take the next 30 minutes to read through his short story. The narrative tells the story of a man who was forced to move every year. He’d make friends and then say goodbye to them. Some years he tried to maintain a long-distance friendship, but it was never reciprocated. Over time, he stopped trying. Until one day, someone took a chance on him. The story ends with the man saying yes to hang out with someone new. It was about friendship, both lost and found, and it was beautiful.
I look up from the pages when I’m done to find Emmett staring at me. He has his elbow on the back of the couch, propping up his head on his hand.
“I hope your silence means you liked it,” he says. I can see he’s trying to be confident but is fearful to hear my thoughts.
“I did.” I add a pause for dramatic flair. Emmett knows it. He’s fidgeting with the tea packet while waiting for me to respond. “I thought it was a beautiful story, and I can see you in it. I get why you act, but I could picture you writing full time if you wanted to. This story was heart-wrenching but in the best way. I felt for the characters, and I liked that although there was a loss of friendship, the main character found themselves by the end. I even liked the small cliffhanger, where you think they made a new friend, but you’re not sure. It was wonderful, Emmett. Thank you for sharing it with me. I know it’s difficult.”
His eyes are glossy. I place a hand on his right thigh and give a light squeeze.
“I don’t mean to get emotional.” He laughs and wipes a tear from his eye. “I don’t share this with many people but for some reason, I wanted to share it with you. I felt like I needed to share it with you. And you just got it without me having to explain anything.”
He brings his left hand to clasp mine and gives it a squeeze. I want to tell him I get him, that I understand him because it’s what I’m going through as well. But, I want him to have this moment.
Have you ever met someone that you just know will be in your life forever? You just click instantly and blend so well together. I thought what I felt for Emmett at the diner was just lust and attraction, but now I wonder if we knew each other in a past life.
We sit there for a moment, maybe too long, but we enjoy the silence together. It’s a moment of silence for our dreams that feel unachievable and far away.
My phone buzzing breaks the moment. Emmett removes his hand from mine and stands up. He rakes a hand through his hair, looking at the floor with a small smile on his face. A slight tint of pink appears on his cheeks.
I reach into the pocket of my skirt and take my phone out. The notification was a text from my acting class teacher, reminding me about the reading we have tomorrow. Shit.
“Everything okay?” Emmett asks.
I look up to meet his gaze and nod. “I’m in this acting class and I forgot I have to rehearse something before tomorrow. It’s been a little hectic with the new job and…” I pause and give a slight nod to show that Emmett is a recent addition to my normal mix of activities.
I stand up from the couch and hand him his story.
“Anything I can help with? I’ve been told I’m a great rehearsal partner.”
I wouldn’t doubt that. I’ve seen him on set. He exudes confidence with every line he delivers. He not only films perfectly almost every time, but he also helps everyone around him. If someone is struggling with a line, he’s right there to help them rehearse it until they feel like they’ve got it. Or, if they’re filming and there’s a lull, he improvs. It’s impressive, but I can’t rehearse with him.
Trust me, I want to. It’s not every day you have an A-list actor offer to run lines with you, but I don’t want his judgment. I like to think I’m a decent actor, maybe not the best, since I can’t even land a job, but I know I’m good. I mostly like dramas, anything that I can bring extra sass and flare to. That’s what I normally showcase. This time, my teacher thought it’d be fun to go out of our comfort zones. She could have stuck me with horror, or action… Instead, she stuck me with romance.
Out of all genres, she chose romance. The one script that ends in a happily ever after. I stopped believing in happily ever afters a long time ago. You can only be so hopeful when your mom stops believing in you and any love interest slowly fades. So, acting with Emmett? It sounds like a dream and I’d very much like to explore that side of our relationship, what it’d be like to pretend to be other people, but I can’t.
Because of that, I shake my head. “I appreciate the offer, I do, but I’m okay. Thank you, though.” I smile. “I should go home, otherwise I’ll be even more stressed about this tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow though, right? I’m not sure when you work at the studio.”
He walks out of the room, and I follow him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yes. I think Marcy’s going to have me come in most days during the week. Why? Can’t go a day without seeing me?” I look over my shoulder as I walk to the front door to gather my things. I know I’m flirting, but I can’t help it. Emmett just has a way of bringing it out of me.
“I’d survive.” I catch him wink before I turn back around to slip on my shoes. “But I’m happy to see you tomorrow, too.”
“I know.” I smile smugly.
“Text me when you get home?”
“I’ll do whatever helps you sleep at night, Emmett.” I say the first answer that comes to my mind, which apparently has sexual undertones. Emmett opens his mouth, but immediately closes it.
I expect him to make a joke or comment on what I just said, but he doesn’t. Why does he have to be so frustratingly nice? Why can’t he be like every other person in this industry that I’ve tried to befriend? Instead, I just want to be around him more. I’m glad I have acting class tomorrow and a shift at the diner the day after because I’m getting attached to Emmett more than I want to.
“I’ll text you,” I finally say, mentally pretending I never made a sexual joke in the first place.
“I had fun tonight, Cass,” he says. He’s standing to the right of the door, waiting for me to leave. He has one hand in his pocket, but he brings the other to his face. He drags his pointer finger down one side, his thumb down the other, meeting them at the bottom of his chin. He does that a few times, as if moments from tonight are replaying in his head and he wants to savor them.
I take one step. Two steps. Three steps. I walk until I’m inches from Emmett. I lean forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. He takes the hint and mimics me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
“Thank you for sharing your writing with me,” I say into his chest.
He takes a deep breath. It’s the kind of breath that makes me wonder if he’s been holding it in ever since handing me those pages with his most treasured words. The relief he must feel to not only hear my thanks for sharing something so close to him, but also to not be mixed with judgment or mockery for the one hobby he loves with his whole heart.
“I’d share anything with you. You only have to ask,” he says. I feel the truth in those words.
It’s at this moment I know we are both feeling similarly about whatever is going on between us. He knows I don’t date. I know he has a past of people using him. It’s kind of funny that we appeared in each other’s lives and two days later seem to be inseparable. It feels like I’m in high school and I just found out a girl in my class also loves Harry Styles and reading romance novels and we become best friends instantly.
Except I’m 24 and I’ve fallen into a quick friendship with a 29-year-old actor that half of America loves. Most people would hear this story and wonder if we’ve slept together yet, especially if they hear I’m a nobody from the Midwest. They would look at us and think it’s just a moment in time and I’ll be forgotten by next week. Except I don’t think that will happen. At least, I hope it doesn’t, because I’m getting awfully used to Emmett in my life.
After I get home, I text Emmett that I’ve made it, to which he responds with a smiley face emoji.
I grab the stack of papers with random scenes for tomorrow’s class and spend the next hour sitting in bed, reading through lines. I don’t have to rehearse them a ton. Tomorrow is just a group reading. It’s practice, anyway. I just like to be a bit more prepared than I would for a typical weekly class.
I’ve attended these acting classes since I moved to LA. On my first morning here, I walked to a coffee shop at the corner closest to our apartment and they had a flier on the bulletin board. It was one of those papers with a “take one!” written on the top and the most vague description of a local acting group. The bottom of the paper was cut into strips, just a phone number on each one. I might have been a little too trusting because of my Midwest upbringing. I took one, called the number, showed up at a random office building up the road, and the rest is history. It ended up being legit, although Lucy scolded me, telling me not to trust so openly over here and yada yada yada.
My phone is buzzing somewhere. I look under and above my sheets, under papers, and even under my legs, trying to find it. Finally, I locate it next to my pillow. Of course, the one place that’s most obvious and I look there last.
“Whatcha’ smiling at?” Lucy appears at my doorway.
I look to meet her gaze with raised eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I place my phone on the wireless phone charger on the nightstand.
“Hm, yeah, okay,” Lucy walks past the threshold into my room.
My phone buzzes again. Lucy takes two giant strides and practically throws herself toward my nightstand. “CASSIE!” She gasps. Both of her hands hit the nightstand to stop her from falling forward. I clutch the phone to my chest.
“You’re texting Emmett, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Maybe.” I wince.
“I thought you two weren’t supposed to be all friendly and such?” Now that Lucy has caught her breath, she walks to the edge of my bed and has a seat.
I sit up a bit and take a peek at my phone. The message wasn’t even from Emmett; it was from Annie. I set my phone in my lap and look up at Lucy.
I give her an “are you kidding me?” look because she is the only person who knows I spent the night at Emmett’s apartment. Of course we’re being friendly. The fact that we’re texting has nothing to do with the fact that we spent the last 48 hours in each other’s company. I count the time at the studio, even if I barely saw him there. We were in the same building. It counts.
“You know what I mean. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled for you to add another friend to your roster besides me.” Lucy brings a hand to her heart and dips her head. “I’m just here to remind you that you,” she points in my direction, “wanted me to remind you to not catch feelings.”
“Luce, I’ve known him for two days.” I don’t like him like that, right? I mean, it has only been two days. 48 hours. It’s the attraction between us, that’s all. I’m a straight woman and I’d be foolish to not find him attractive. In fact, I bet there’s a fan club for plenty of people who find Emmett attractive and haven’t even had a conversation with him. Based on that logic, I think I’m handling all of this just fine. Plus, I won’t see him outside of work for the rest of the week. Separation will be good, not that I need it, but to help calm whatever tension is rising whenever we’re around each other.
Lucy furrows her eyebrows. “Okay, fine. I’m just doing my job as your best friend to remind you of these things. Now, tell me more about your job. I didn’t hear enough yesterday.” She pulls her legs under her and throws one of my many blankets over them.
We spend the next hour talking about January Studios. She asks me questions about what my tasks are, to which I respond with it depends. It depends on what Marcy is doing, who is filming that day, scene location, if some other department is having an issue, or if some actor needs something on set. We talk about the movie posters in the hallway, which is one of my favorite areas in the studio. We rabbit hole down a few of the movies filmed there, so I tell her I’ll take a photo of the signed posters when I go back in tomorrow. She asks me about Emmett’s friends too, but I don’t have a lot to tell her on that front.
“They all work at the studio. Lane and Max work in casting, Tyler works in catering. The three of them were friends first, and then Tyler befriended Emmett a year ago when he was filming his last movie. Maybe you can come the next time I hang out with them all?” I ask, not even thinking about the words as they come out of my mouth. I don’t know if there will be a next time. Lucy doesn’t question my wording, thankfully.
“Yeah, that’d be fun. As long as I’m not at the studio or the diner, I can probably make it.”
“How are your paintings coming along?” I ask. Lucy has a huge showcase this fall. It’s only June, but she has to finish three connected paintings by October. The winner of the showcase gets a year-long permanent feature in the art gallery Lucy has been trying to get into as long as I’ve known her.
She sighs and leans to the left, catching her head with her hand and resting her elbow on the bed. “It’s fine. I know I’ll think of something. Every time I think I have something, it never turns out the way I want to once I paint. The first one is always great, sometimes even the second, but once I paint the third…” She groans and rolls over onto her back. She presses both palms to her forehead. “They don’t connect. I keep trying, but every time I fail.” She turns her head to look at me, placing both of her hands on her stomach. “I think it’s the pressure, but you know what it’s like, to be so close to having something you want for it to still feel so far away.” She turns her head back to the ceiling.
I know what it feels like, except I had what I wanted before someone took it from me.
I landed a role. The most perfect role. It was a supporting role in a limited series, a small-town drama. I would have played the best friend to the main female character. I had a script, plenty of lines to pour myself into, the possibility for the limited series to turn into an ongoing series depending on viewer support.
I had the role, verbally, for a whole day. When I walked into the studio to sign the contract, I found out they cut my character. They found it a conflict of interest because they somehow found out I slept with a writer of the show. Once. I tried to tell them I didn’t know he was a writer for the show before I auditioned, but they didn’t believe me. Why would they? I was a nobody. I had no resume, no references, nothing to brag about. So, I took whatever dignity I had and left. That’s why I don’t date anyone in this industry. It’s too easy to get burned.
“You’ll figure it out, Luce. You always do.” I try to reassure her. She gives me a small smile.
We only talk for a little longer before I kick her out of my room so I can go to sleep. It’s getting a bit late and I’m drained from the past few days. My legs are sore from all the walking. I never understood why it could take a day or two for physical activity to set in, but I’m feeling it now and I’m very thankful to be laying in bed.
After setting my papers for class tomorrow on my nightstand, I place my phone back on the charger. Then I pull the chain on the lamp and snuggle back into bed, pull the sheets to my chest, and sink into them with a vast sigh. I may be friends with Emmett, but that doesn’t mean I want to be anything more. I just hope he’s on the same page.