“A star wasnotborn, but a five-year-old was bit by the acting bug. What about you, techie-turned-actor?”
“My first acting gig was in college. A friend wrote a script for a class and decided to try his hand at filming, directing. He saw his movie as the nextNapoleon Dynamite. I played the lead—a goofy college kid trying to cheat his way through MIT. It was horrible. I was horrible.”
“Were you? A goofy college kid trying to cheat his way through MIT?”
“Not exactly.”
“Ah, so you had to really act.”
“Yes, but I knew more about turning ones and zeros into pretty pictures on a screen than how to act. The whole thing was a cliché. A conglomeration ofNapoleon Dynamite, Shakespeare,Ferris Bueller, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the Muppets, and I thinkSmokey and the Bandit.”
“Oh, now I have to see this movie.” She tossed her head back, laughing. “Surely you have a copy.”
“I burned it.” Jesse slapped his hand to his chest. “Please... change the subject. This is giving me a panic attack.”
“What’s the name of it?”
He laughed. “Nothing doing.”
“So it’s online somewhere?”
“Probably.”
She turned to him. “Tell me, Mr. Gates, can you find things... online... like, say, a video, and remove it?”
“If I could, I know for certain that movie would be vaporized.”
“Then you can’t.”
He pointed up. “See the stars? So many, and the light shining for billions of miles.”
“Yeah?”
“You can’t capture the light of the stars, and sadly, you can’t completely remove a video shared on the Internet.” He peered at her. “Especially if you’re famous.”
“Famous? Who said anything about being famous? I’m asking for a friend.”
“There are laws, you know, to prevent such things.”
“She knows.”
“But they didn’t help?”
“Not entirely.”
“She could sue the offending party.”
Chloe shivered. “She doesn’t want the publicity.”
“How long has your, um, friend, been in this situation?”
She shrugged. “A few years. Her situation sort of resolved itself, but every once in a while... Oh, there’s the car.” She gripped his hands. “Thanks again for tonight, Jesse.”
“More than my pleasure.” He walked her down to where the car’s driver waited by the passenger door. “Chloe, your shoes.” Jesse opened his truck, reaching in for the pink stilettos.
“Right.” Her hand brushed his as she hooked her fingers through the straps. Their eyes met. “Night.”
“Night.” Hands in his pockets, he watched her slip into the backseat. When she rolled down the window, he stepped to the edge of the drive.
