4. Luke
LUKE
Steven's office is small for the amount of money he brings into this agency. He doesn't care about appearances.
He's behind his desk when I walk in. Delia's already there, sitting with her legs crossed and her phone face-down on the armrest, which means she's been here a while, and they've already talked about me.
I drop onto the couch.
"Give it to me," I say.
"Max Jacoby passed," Steven says.
"He passed before I even got a meeting?"
"He didn't just pass on a meeting. He passed on you." Steven sets the folder down. "His exact words, through his producing partner, were that he doesn't work with actors he can't trust on set."
"Because of Craig?"
"Because of Craig. Because of the three late arrivals before Craig. Because of the Toronto thing last year and the thing at the Vanity Fair party." He pauses. "You've been building this file for a while, Luke. Craig just put his name on it."
"You hit a director, other directors start thinking you're going to punch them in the face," Delia says.
"I didn't punch him in the face."
"The studio won't push Jacoby?"
"You don't push Max Jacoby. They see you as a liability right now."
"Come on, there's nothing I can do? There's got to be something. Can I beg?"
"You have to clean up your reputation."
"Okay, I can do that. How do I do that?"
"Well, for one, don't hit anyone. No more speeding tickets, no drugs. No more trouble."
"Fine. How long will that take?"
"Well, it took two years for you to build this bad boy reputation without trying," Steven says.
"Oh, he was trying. Hard," Delia says.
"I don't have two years. You guys are serious? If I get in there, this role is mine. This is next level. Any pull with Rebecca Anderson?"
"I've been working the phones trying to call in favors for three days. He won't do it. They're seeing everybody. Just not you."
Delia uncrosses her legs. "There's still a path," she says.
"You want me to apologize? Rehab? What?"
"Luke." Her voice stays flat. "I spoke with PR and they think you need to show that you changed. A whole image makeover."
"Okay. Social blitz," Steven says. "Let's do it."
"Social by itself, will look like you're trying to repair your image."
"I am."
She glances at her notes. "You need to show that you really changed. You need a girlfriend."
"What's that going to do?" I say.
"Not the girls you normally go for. A good girl. One you love, and she's so good that her being with you tells the world he must be good now too. Because this girl would never, never, ever go out with a bad boy."
"Think Dakota Johnson type."
"She goes out with musicians."
"Yes, but she doesn't look like it. She's all sweet and innocent. Never in trouble."
She hands me a binder. Page after page of actresses. Pretty in the safest possible way. Middle America. Girl next door. Women designed to make people trust me again.
"We're going to cast your girlfriend," Steven says.
"I have to sleep with one of these girls?"
"No, you don't sleep with her. Please don't do that. That's a whole other set of problems," Steven says.
"We vetted these. No prison records, no drugs, clean social media presence. Good stock," Delia says.
I flip through a few pages. "What are the stars on some of these?"
"Some have standout qualities."
"Like what?"
"Knitting. Plays canasta."
Delia smiles.
"How long?"
"Long enough to shift the narrative. This is more than Sentinel. This is your career."
"I want The Sentinel. It is my career."
He shrugs like I know, but here we are.
"And aside from my good looks, why would an actress do this?"
"Fifty grand cash. Tax free. She gets to say she dated Luke Wolfe." Delia stands. "I have some calls to make. Let me know when you have five to choose from. I will pick the final one, not you."
Delia walks out.
I keep flipping through my binder full of girlfriends.
The diner is on Melrose.
It's after the lunch crowd. A couple of writers hiding behind laptops. Agents pretending not to take meetings in booths. A family splitting pancakes too late in the day for pancakes.
A few people recognize me when I walk in. A guy near the counter nods. Two girls pretend not to stare while one of them sneaks a picture.
Delia has my top five choices spread across the table. Her entire team already went through their social media, IMDb pages, and interviews. Looking for scandals. Ex-boyfriends. Political opinions. Anything that could blow back on me.
A waitress drops off our salads. Delia lays out the strategy like she's planning a military operation. She'll manage the schedule. Control who sees me. No drinking. No drugs. We'll hint I'm in therapy. Meditating. Trying to become a better man.
I sit there listening to my entire personality get rebuilt by committee.
Part of me hates it.
The other part wants Sentinel.
Across the room, I see her.
"Hey, I know that girl."
"Which one?"
I nod toward the waitress working the far section. "Her name is Anna Simons. We went to college together."
Delia glances over.
I stand up.
"Hey, Anna?"
She turns. The entire room looks.
For a second, she just stares at me.
I wave her over.
She walks over slowly.
"Holy shit. Anna Simons."
"Hi Luke."
She says it calmly, but I can see the surprise underneath it. We stand there looking at each other.
"You work here?"
"Yeah. That's why I'm wearing the apron."
I laugh.
"Delia, this is Anna Simons. We went to college together. Anna, this is my manager, Delia Parks. Anna's a great actress — we did our final performance together at NYU. Taming of the Shrew."
"You did Taming of the Shrew?"
"Can you believe it?"
"It's The Taming of the Shrew. But yeah, hard to believe."
Delia smiles.
Anna gives Delia a quick, polite smile. "Nice to meet you. I have to get back to work."
Anna goes back to her tables.
Delia watches her longer than necessary.
"What?"
"Tell me about her."
"Anna?"
"She looks middle America. Hell, she is middle America."
"She's from Montana, I think, or Kansas."
"You two never...?"
"No. She doesn't like me. As you can tell. We used to butt heads."
"About what?"
"She's a little uptight."
"No drugs?"
"Anna? I'd be shocked if she ever took a gummy."
Delia looks her up on her phone. Anna Simons. Two real credits. A few short films. Theater in LA, which basically means talented enough to survive and broke enough to keep waitressing. Interests: musical theater. Likes dogs. Favorite book is Jonathan Livingston Seagull.
"Is she any good?"
"Yeah, she's a good actress, or was, but a pain in the ass."
"She could be our girl."
I look over at Anna again.
"At NYU, everybody thought she'd make it. Not me. Her."
Delia's phone pings. She reads the text.
"She's our girl."
"No."
"She's a unicorn."
"Why?"
"Perfect credit score. Probably the only one in this town." She sets her phone down. "Probably close to her mom."
"I think her father died while she was in college. They kept giving me scenes with this girl."
I laugh under my breath. That somehow sounds crazier than the fake girlfriend part.
"She won't do it."
"What do you mean?"
"She's uptight."
"No shit, she's Meg Ryan in any movie."
"She won't. She has integrity."
"She's an actress waiting tables."
We both look over at her.
"We make her an offer she can't refuse."
"Are you sure about this?"
"Oh, yeah." Delia is already smiling. "I see the whole story.
You ran into your college crush working in a diner on Melrose.
You felt the old spark immediately. She said no, and you had to change, for her, for love, for Anna Simons from one of the flyover states.
" She presses a hand to her chest. "I'm crying just thinking about it. "
She wipes her eyes with a napkin.