Chapter 1 #2
“That is not true!” I defend myself, but Shivani and Zach look at each other without saying a word.
“Okay, fine! Maybe it’s true.” I think about the last time I was intimate with someone…
all I can remember is the awful one-night stand I had with another actor from Swindlers.
“I’m just not interested in dating right now.
You end up with guys like Andy. Sixty-four-year-olds who cancel Vegas trips just as you’re getting serious. ”
“She’s not wrong.” Zach takes a sip of his margarita.
“Fine,” Shivani says. “But just so you know, Ben’s objectively attractive, and funny, and he runs this all-natural supplement and protein powder company.”
“Like a pyramid scheme?” I blink.
“ No, he owns it.”
“Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Zach scrunches his face.
“He’s an entrepreneur!” Shivani says.
“I’m curious how you described me to him,” I say with a laugh.
“You’re like Michelle Pfeiffer in Grease 2, ” Zach interjects, and I appreciate the inside baseball reference. “You’re a Cool Rider, ya know? Mellow, sarcastic, but fun.”
“Michelle Pfeiffer wasn’t a Cool Rider, she was looking for a Cool Rider,” I correct him.
“What the fuck are you both talking about?” Shivani shakes her head.
“ Grease 2, ” Zach repeats.
“You two are literally the only people who have seen that movie…We just want to see you happy, June.”
“Well, a relationship isn’t going to make me happy. You know what’ll make me happy? A job.”
Shivani laughs and then holds up her glass. “Touché.”
After a night of three too many half-off cocktails, I wake up the next morning in a slight panic and with a mild headache when I realize I have no job, no upcoming paycheck, and no plans. While this fear isn’t uncommon for someone in my line of work, I’ve come to learn it only gets worse with age.
Because of the inconsistency of roles I book, it’s hard to keep a full-time job with flexibility. Every few months I’m back where I started: either at the end of a project or on the receiving end of another rejection, wondering if this is the right career for me. And I’m tired.
It’s far too early in the morning to be self-inflicting this kind of pain, but I grab my phone and open my mobile banking account.
All the muscles in my face tense as I stare at the numbers.
I have much less than I thought in my combined checking and savings accounts.
I don’t even count the lump sum I received from Swindlers, since that will be going straight to our friend the tax collector.
My mind does some quick math and subtracts my share of next month’s rent. It’s safe to say that unless I book my next job today, I’m most likely going to have to ask Shivani and Zach for an IOU.
Groggy-eyed, I make my way to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes and bone structure are inherited from my mother’s Filipino side.
Despite her vacancy in my life, I can admit she’s a beautiful woman.
My nose and head of thick curly hair are a gift from my father, whatever he may look like.
My curls look more out of control than usual, so I grab the closest silk scrunchie and tie it up in a bun, wincing at the few grays over my dark hair.
Our apartment sits on the edge of Eagle Rock and South Arroyo. We don’t live anywhere close to the ocean, and I prefer it this way. There’s something upsettingly commercial about the Westside, and this is a part of LA that feels like its own tiny town and not a performative social club.
My last place had no washer and dryer, no AC, and the shower tiles had a permanent black stain that I was told by my landlord multiple times was definitely not mold.
While this three-bedroom apartment is the complete opposite of my old studio, I was looking forward to having a place of my own again.
It looks like that won’t be in the cards for a while.
With the natural sunlight feeling a bit too much for my eyes, I draw the curtains and make myself a pot of coffee.
My saving grace this morning is that both Zach and Shivani are at work, so I have the place to myself.
As the pot makes a soothing sound of brewing the grounds, I pull out my phone, and am deflated.
It’s been one week since we spoke, and there are no updates from Theo.
It’s then that I notice an email from an unknown sender appear.
Subject: 74 Perry Street
I jerk up and move the phone closer to my face. There’s no way. This must be spam, or better yet…a mistake.
Cracking the tops of my knuckles, a bad habit since high school, I click on the unread message. When I see that it’s in fact not spam, I move to the couch and pull it up on my laptop.
Hello Ms. Wood,
My name is Mara Davis. I am reaching out on behalf of Bower & Robbins Accounting.
We have a matter of legal documents that require your immediate attention as they pertain to your residency at 74 Perry Street, New York.
We kindly ask that you email us back with your availability for an in-person meeting with one of our representatives before September24.
Best,
Mara Davis
CPA, Bower & Robbins
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself.
My eyes scan the email, two, three, then four times over, and I’m thoroughly confused.
The only people on this email are myself and this Mara woman, which is even more puzzling.
Pulling up a new tab, I google “Bower & Robbins Accounting.” All right, so they’re legitimate, but the name doesn’t ring a bell.
What legal documents would require my attention?
Specifically, legal documents for a place I lived in five years ago?
My hands run through my hair, pulling out my bun. The beeping in the background lets me know my coffee is ready, but I draft a response before gettingup.
Hi Mara,
It’s very nice to e-meet you. I am no longer based in New York. Would it be possible to sort out these details through a phone call or video chat? I’m available at any time.
Thanks,
June
Squeezing my eyes shut, I hit the send button and immediately close my laptop as if it was on fire.
It’s not often that I drink black coffee, but this morning I’m dismissing the milk.
I down the thin, watery liquid in an impressive amount of time and immediately pour myself another cup.
Not even five minutes later, my phone vibrates across the kitchen counter.
“Ugh, come on…” I aggressively strum the side of my mug. “It’s just an email, June.”
June,
I appreciate your quick response. We cannot disclose specific details at this time, but please consider that there are potential monetary benefits involved and it is in your best interest to meet in person.
I understand that this is a tight turnaround, but it is unfortunately nonnegotiable.
I have shared our address below. Please let us know if you have any further questions.
Mara
“Are you kidding me?!” I throw my head back in disbelief. Yeah, I have a few questions. The main one being what the actual fuck is goingon?
I quickly grab my laptop and search flights from Los Angeles to New York and wince at the prices for the rest of the week. Opening a new tab, I audibly groan at the list of available hotels.
If I ignore this, I’m positive I won’t be able to concentrate on much else today—or ever again, for that matter.
Plus, it’s not like I have any other commitments right now.
But more than anything, I need to know what this is about.
Even if I’m terrified for reasons I have never allowed myself to fully process. I can’t ignore this.
My stomach begins to feel queasy and my heart beats at an alarming rate, which is not a direct effect of the caffeine on an empty stomach. This trip is going to cost me practically my entire savings, leaving me just enough to make it through next month.
“Shit,” I say under my breath, mentally preparing myself to lose the last $1,000 in my bank account. This better be worthit.
I reach for my phone and call Theo. As it rings, I scan Mara’s email over and over again like I’m memorizing lines. Not a single detail or punctuation mark missed. Legal documents that require my immediate attention? Best interest to meet in person? I can’t make sense of any ofit.
“June, hi!” she answers.
“Hey, it’s not too early, is it?”
“No, you’re good, I just finished a yoga class.” In addition to being one of The Hollywood Reporter ’s and Variety ’s Top Film and TV Executives Under 40, Theo is a mom of two and the type of mother who attends all her kids’ soccer games and gymnastics competitions. I don’t know how she doesit.
“Hypothetically,” I start. “If I were to be in New York next week…would I be able to book an audition?”
A fun fact about being an actor is that, like most freelance jobs, it allows you to write things off for taxes. An audition, if you’re lucky enough to land one, is one of those things. The only way I can justify spending my savings to go to New York is if I technically don’t spend them at all.
“Why are you asking me like this isn’t the only thing I’ve been trying to book you for years?”
“Theo, seriously!” I stifle a laugh.
“Yes,” Theo says. “Just tell me the days.”
“Thank God.” I let out a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”
“I am sure,” she says slowly.
“Okay, I’ll text you once everything is booked.”
“I’m assuming you’re going to tell me what’s going on at some point?”
“Hopefully nothing,” I say.
“You know what, I’m not even going to ask,” Theo says. “Let me make some calls. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay, thank you!”
After a heavy pause, I click reply.
Hi Mara,
Tuesday, September 24, works best forme.
June
Well, I guess I am going to New York.