16. Luke
LUKE
Iwalk in and go straight to the couch.
Anna and Nina look at me.
"How did it go?" Anna says.
"Oh, do you really want to know?”
"I asked.”
“Like you said. I’m a big faker.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“She basically said I was a terrible actor, Nina.”
“I’m staying out of it,” Nina says.
“So what happened?” Anna says.
"The director pulled me aside before we started and said she didn't want me for this. One of the producers had to talk her into it."
Anna looks at Nina.
"That bad?"
"And she has never been so wrong in her life." I sit up. "I crushed it."
"You asshole!"
We laugh.
"I crushed that shit. She literally had tears in her eyes when she called cut. Some of the crew too. People were coming over to console me because they thought I was upset."
"Oh my God."
"I used my substitution, and it worked. I was so locked in. I went deep."
"How deep?"
"So deep."
"I can't wait to see it."
"Steven already called. One of the producers told him."
"We should celebrate."
"I can't. The Steelers are playing tonight. I'm watching with some guys."
"I like football. Can I come?"
"No you don't."
"The Steelers are playing the Broncos tonight."
"Okay. You know football."
"I'll invite Chloe and Alex."
Anna hugs me.
I catch Nina watching us from the kitchen. She raises an eyebrow.
The bar is in Culver City. A Steelers bar I've been coming to for years.
My guys are already in the back corner when we arrive. Marcus, Tony, Brad and two others. I had to warn them Anna was coming, and I promised she knew football.
They clock Anna — fast, thorough, trying not to make it obvious.
She doesn't notice. She's already looking at the screens.
We decide to throw the diet out for the night. Order beers and enough appetizers to cover the table.
Chloe and Alex show up. Neither of them knows football. I don't ask.
At kickoff it becomes apparent that Anna is not a Steelers fan.
"Are you rooting for the Broncos?" Brad asks.
"Yeah, that's my team," Anna says.
The whole table looks at me.
"Why the Broncos?"
"I'm from Montana."
"So. Montana doesn't have a team," I say.
"Montana has the Broncos."
"You didn't tell me that."
"You didn't ask."
"Had I known you were rooting for the Broncos I would have left your ass home."
"Well, too late. I'm here."
Marcus leans over. "What the fuck, man."
"She pretended she was a Steelers fan."
Anna screams when the Broncos cause a fumble on the opening drive.
Everyone at the table looks at everyone else.
Anna yells when the Steelers get a first down. "Why is Payton not doubling Metcalf?"
"Do you have money on this?" Tony asks.
She's too involved to notice.
My guys love her immediately.
She argues every Steelers call, and she's right about half of them which is more than anyone at this table will admit out loud.
"You're wrong," I tell her when she calls defensive holding before the flag comes down.
"Watch," she says.
Flag comes down.
Defensive holding.
She doesn't say I told you so.
She doesn't have to.
Chloe and Alex get absorbed into the group the way good people do — easily, without anyone deciding to let them in.
Alex has opinions about the Broncos offensive line — who's undersized, who's carrying too much weight, why none of them are under three-fifty — that nobody expected.
Chloe has no opinions about football and is having the best time at the table.
Anna’s mid-argument with Marcus about the secondary. Her hands are moving. Her face is completely alive. Laughing at something he said while simultaneously telling him he's wrong.
Not the version that walks into Hollywood parties with her chin up bracing for impact. Not the version performing confidence for rooms that are deciding whether she belongs.
The Steelers score. The table erupts.
She leans back into me without breaking her argument with Marcus.
Brad and I go to the bathroom. Standing at the urinal he says. "Dude, I see it man, that chick is awesome."
"Yeah, she is."
I come back from the bathroom. She's fixated on the game.
When she sees me she throws her arms around me.
We have Chloe take pictures of Anna on my lap. She kisses me for the camera.
The Broncos beat the Steelers.
I'm working out.
Anna is supposed to be paying attention, but she's looking at her phone.
"Look at this."
She shows me her phone. She's getting the ultimate social media compliments. Comments about how much work she's had done. Lipo. Ozempic.
"They're saying I had a butt lift."
"It's a compliment."
"This is disgusting. I didn't have my face or my ass done."
"You lost twenty-two pounds. And you're getting ripped. Look at you. You need to stop losing weight now, by the way."
"Some of the people are saying you look great too. It says Luke is definitely wearing off on her."
"That's about you."
"This guy wants to go out with you. When Luke is done with her, she can call me. She's hot. Don't read this. You shouldn't read this, that's what Elle is for. Come on, you're up."
She puts down her phone.
Gets under the squat bar. She exhales.
I spot her.
She finishes a hard set.
"Focus on the auditions. You have another one today, right?"
"Yeah, help me with it?"
"Of course."
Steven calls. I answer.
"You got the meeting. You, Rebecca, Max Jacoby. End of the week."
"You're serious?"
"Netflix helped." A pause. "Whatever you did on that set got buzz, Luke."
"Send me the script."
"Doing it now. Luke, this is it."
"Send it.”
I read it that afternoon on the terrace with Zeke asleep across my feet.
Then I read it again.
It's the best thing I've been sent in ten years. Maybe ever. The kind of writing that makes you feel like the role was built specifically for you while simultaneously making you feel completely unworthy of it.
I find Anna on the terrace.
"Read this," I say.
She takes the script without asking what it is.
Two hours later she comes back.
"Luke, this is extraordinary."
"The scene in the third act where he?—"
"Right, for an action film it’s really good.”
She sits across from me.
"You have to get this," she says.
"That's the plan.”
"No." She leans forward. "You have to get this because you can do this. Not because it would be good for your career. Because this is the role you were built for."
I read the script twice a day. Every day.
The character is layered in ways I haven't had to navigate before — a man performing one identity while carrying another, using deception as survival while slowly losing track of which version of himself is real.
Anna reads the key scenes with me.
We do it every day.
We work the scene where my character tells the woman he's protecting that he's been lying about who he is. No charm. No deflection. Just the bare truth of a man who ran out of ways to hide.
Anna reads Rebecca's lines and asks, "What is your objective in this scene? Why are you doing that? Why do you love her?"
Four times through.
On the fourth something happens I wasn't prepared for.
I look at Anna across the table — past the script and the rehearsal and everything we've been carefully not saying — and the scene opens like a door.
Every word lands.
When it ends she's looking at me with an expression, I can't name.
We're both very still.
I move toward her. "This is where I'm supposed to kiss you."
"Not me," Anna says. "Rebecca."
She turns away.
"That's enough," she says.
Steven calls Thursday.
"Friday. Four o'clock. Max Jacoby's office."
"Rebecca will be there?"
"Rebecca will be there."
"Okay."
"Luke." His voice careful. "This is it. This is the one."
I hang up and find Anna in the kitchen.
She reads my face before I say anything.
"When?" she says.
"Friday."
She nods.
Something moves across her face that she smooths over quickly.
"You're ready," she says.
"Because of you."
"Because of you," she says. "I just held the sides."
She goes back to what she was doing.
I stand in the kitchen watching her for a moment.
Friday. Rebecca Anderson. Max Jacoby.
The role I've wanted my whole career.
And the first thing I thought when Steven called wasn't about the role.
It was that I wanted to tell Anna.