5. Anna
ANNA
The entire diner is watching Luke and Delia. Directly or indirectly.
Two girls at the counter keep looking back and forth at him, then at me.
A guy near the window is filming them with his phone, like he caught wildlife on camera.
Even Doug is standing straighter behind the register, smoothing his apron every few minutes like Luke Wolfe might somehow notice.
I refill coffee and act like none of it is bothering me.
I hate when celebrities come in. People, staff, and customers act weird.
Do weird shit. One woman practically undressed while saying hi to Dillon Mayfield a few months ago.
I don't think she knew she was doing it, but her blouse was suddenly open.
Chloe corners me at the service station.
"What the fuck?"
And there it is. She looks back toward the booth.
Luke's laughing at something Delia said, stretched back against the seat like he belongs everywhere he walks.
"You know him?"
"I told you this. We went to college together."
"Everybody says they know people and they don't know shit, but you know him. He called your name. What did he say to you?"
"He said hi."
"He called you over and said hi."
"Yeah, because he hasn't seen me in eight years and now I'm carrying pancakes for a living."
Chloe watches him another second.
"He makes me have naughty thoughts."
"Goodbye, Chloe."
"Introduce me."
"No."
I drift back to my section.
I don't look at Luke's table again.
At least I try not to.
I still feel him in the room.
Luke and Delia leave.
Done.
I'm at the register.
Delia is in front of me.
"Hi, Anna?"
Luke isn't around.
"Yeah."
"Can you come by my office tomorrow morning?" She hands me a card.
Delia Parks. Parks Management Group.
"Why?"
"Luke spoke very highly of you," she says.
"He did?"
"He did. Tomorrow?" She tilts her head slightly. "Ten o'clock. We'll talk."
"Okay."
"Looking forward to it." She walks out.
I stand there, holding her card.
Chloe runs back over. "What did she want?"
She grabs the card from my hand. "Do you have a funny monologue?"
"She didn't ask me to prepare anything."
"It's understood. Have something ready."
"I think we're just going to talk."
"Fucking Luke Wolfe did that for you. I told you he kept looking at you."
"Have you seen the girls he dates? They're basically strippers. I'm not his type."
"Oh, so you do follow him on social."
"It comes up on my feed uninvited."
"I think that girl played a stripper. I don't think she was an actual stripper."
I finish my shift.
At home, I hear fighting in the apartment next door. The actress Jade. I don't think that's her real name.
I put the card on the kitchen counter and make tea and try not to think about it.
I lay on the couch.
Why would Luke Wolfe help me? He wouldn't. He's arrogant and selfish.
I go online anyway.
Delia Parks has represented three Academy Award nominees. A half dozen clients on TV shows. A couple of comedians in Vegas.
My acting folders are already half packed. I pull one out. Old monologues, audition cuts, scene work from the last three years. There's a Chekhov monologue I always thought was the best work I'd ever done.
I read through it.
Then I find my audition clothes in the box I already packed them into.
I pull out the black dress I wore to an HBO callback two years ago. No, that's bad luck.
I pull out a cute blouse and jeans. It's very on type.
I'm the girl next door. Like Jennifer Garner, Anna Kendrick, Jennifer Aniston. What would they wear?
Hold it up.
Put it back.
Pull it out again.
I stay up until midnight going through material I packed away three days ago like it was already history.
It's probably nothing.
But I go to sleep with the binder in my bed.
And Jade screaming at her boyfriend.
The Parks Management office is on the fourth floor of a building in West Hollywood.
The building has no parking. I park three blocks away, which is a mile in LA.
I dab sweat off me in the elevator.
The receptionist offers me water, sparkling or still, and I say still because sparkling feels like too much of a commitment.
Delia's assistant walks me to the conference room.
I stop in the doorway.
Luke is there.
Delia at the head of the table. A man and woman have their laptops open. Like they started talking about me before I even walked in. Used coffee cups — they've been here for a while.
"Anna." Delia stands. "Thank you for coming. Sit down."
Luke smiles.
I sit down.
"Would you like a donut?" No one has touched the pile of donuts.
"How are you?"
"I'm good."
"Parking around here can be a bitch."
"It is. What is this?"
"I want to be upfront with you," Delia says. "What we're proposing isn't a traditional management conversation."
"I'm sensing that."
"Luke has an offer for you."
"Luke does?"
"I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend."
"Excuse me?"
"We want you to pretend to date Luke."
"I don't understand. Why?"
"Luke needs to clean up his image."
No one says a word.
"And you want me to be his fake girlfriend. So people will think he's a good person."
"Exactly."
"Why would I do that?"
"It would be good for you."
"How?"
She slides a folder across the table.
I open it.
It takes me about forty-five seconds to understand what I'm reading.
"This is a contract," I say.
"Yes."
"For a fake relationship."
"A strategic partnership. For six months. Public appearances, coordinated social media, move in with him, my own separate room, a narrative that positions Luke as?—"
"I read it. You want me to pretend to be his girlfriend."
"We want to offer you a significant opportunity?—"
"For fifty thousand dollars."
"Plus expenses."
I finish reading it. Luke is watching me.
Not distracted.
Actually watching.
Like he's trying to figure out whether I'm about to laugh in his face or save him.
"I want seventy-five thousand."
They all look at each other.
"Okay," Delia smiles.
Too fast.
Which means they need this more than they're pretending to.
"Good, you understand it. Your obligation. In public you're his girlfriend."
"Do I need a lawyer to look at it?"
"That's up to you but you seem like a smart girl, I don't think we need to bring lawyers into this."
"Well, those two over there are lawyers." I glance at the two at the end of the table.
"What do you want to do?" Delia says.
"Plus I want you to represent me. And get me an agent."
Her eyes lock on me. "I'll do what I can."
"I need better than that. There are people getting two auditions a day."
"You'll get auditions. At least one per week."
"And no sex."
"Of course no sex," she says.
"It doesn't say that in the agreement. Kissing, mouth closed only."
"We'll put it in."
“Did you really say no sex?” Luke says.
"And no drugs. The NDA five years, not ten. I want a nice car — a hundred thousand dollars or up for the duration of the agreement."
"You have to move in with him."
"I read it. My own bedroom. My door has a lock."
"Really? What am I, some animal?" Luke says.
Something on page three is bothering me. I read it twice.
I flip to page five.
"This morality clause runs in one direction. He's protected if I do something that damages the narrative. I'm not protected if he does. That's not a partnership; that's an indemnity waiver with a storyline attached."
Delia's expression barely changes.
But Luke notices it.
First time all day somebody surprised her.
"The compensation structure also has three payments contingent on press coverage benchmarks that you define and measure internally.
" I set the folder down. "I'd want those benchmarks defined by a third party, the payment schedule restructured to monthly regardless of coverage, the exclusivity clause limited to personal appearances only, and a mutual morality clause or none at all. "
"Are you a lawyer?" Delia asks.
Luke's staring at me now.
"I am."
"You are?" he says.
"Yes. Double major and I went to law school."
"No shit?" he says.
Delia smiles. "Good for you."
I grab a donut. They watch me eat it like I’m committing a crime.
"I need to think about it."
"Anna—" Delia starts.
"I said I'll think about it."
"Tomorrow 9 am. We need to know by then or we move on.”
I look at Luke. "You're in a lot of trouble, huh?"
For the first time since I walked in, he smiles.
"We can't all be perfect, Anna." He shrugs.
"Paper it. We'll see."
I walk to the elevator with the folder under my arm.
Delia follows me out. My elevator arrives.
"Hey." Her voice drops. "If you don't take this deal, you'll wake up every day wondering what if?"
The doors close.
I hold the railing the whole way down.
Because saying no to this means the dream is dead.
And that's the terrifying part.