“Yes, but the great news is you can just blame me,” I told him. “That’s what I’m here for. Your call-time shield.”
The following Tuesday Hugo’s Porsche was parked neatly in a spot, and Hugo was sitting on the hood. Jeans, black polo, one foot planted on the tire, the other dangling toward the ground.
“Are you just doing a round-robin of the whole class?” I asked.
“Hello,” he said. He looked genuinely happy to see me, but also that’s how his face was. Always animated—you could read how fast his mind worked by how emotive his face got. “What are you getting at?”
“That actresses in this class seem to be your type.”
He looked to the door and then back to me. “Maybe I’m just the type of the actresses in this class.”
“That line is a rip-off.” I locked my car behind me.
“Jack Nicholson,” he said. “I know.”
Annoyingly, I felt my stomach pinch. He knew Nancy Meyers.
“I’m starting to feel like we’re parents in the carpool lane,” I said.
“First off, I really wish you wouldn’t cast me in a paternal role here. Secondly, I’m not here to pick up anyone today. In fact, I need to jet before class lets out. Cassandra really fucking hates me now.”
“You’re kidding,” I deadpanned.
“You’re funny.”
“So why are you here?”
Hugo unhooked his foot from the tire and stood. “To see you, obviously.”
I snorted. Hugo’s eyes went wide.
“No way.”
Hugo nodded. “Way.”
He was attractive. Tall, dark, handsome. Well-dressed, clearly successful. But he was also arrogant, that much was as obvious as the cologne that wafted over to me in waves. And arrogance tended to devolve into unkindness quickly. I wasn’t interested.
Plus, there was no paper. No name, no amount of time.
“I’m flattered, maybe, but I’m not your type,” I said.
“Why’s that?”
“Just trust me on this one.”
“Oh, I do, but I’m curious.”
Dionte came outside. He was alone. “Scene study is running over, but Tracy said I could leave.” He looked at Hugo. “Hey, man.”
“Hey.”
“I didn’t want to make them wait. Julie hates it when I’m late.” Dionte pivoted toward Sullivan.
Hugo came over to open the door for me. I stepped inside, and he closed it using the window.
“I think you’re fun. And sexy,” he said, leaning down. I felt myself blush but ignored it. “Can you just give me your phone number?” He dangled his cell phone back and forth through the window.
I glanced at Dionte in the passenger seat, busying himself with a script, pretending not to hear what he clearly could.
