As weird as the guy was, and he was absolutely the kind of person who’d eat spaghetti for breakfast to make a point, I could tell he liked me. His questions were like those weird riddles a troll asks you before letting you cross a bridge. And for once, I felt ready. I'd spent enough time away from the Hollywood bubble to realize most of it was held together with Botox and delusion. I deserved this role. I could bring something real to it.
The audition went well, I was sure of it, and our conversation afterwards was easy until Anna walked through the background, holding a mug in her hand. She froze mid-step, her eyes widening as she realized she was in the shot. Gerald’s eagle eye zeroed in on her instantly.
“Who’s that?” he barked, waving his spatula like a weapon. “Is she part of your method?”
Anna’s face went bright red. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted, holding the mug up like a shield. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know you were still on a call.”
“Relax, sweetheart,” Gerald said, squinting at her through the screen. “You’re his muse, aren’t you?”
“No, no,” she stammered, backing out of the frame. “I’m just… I was getting coffee.” She disappeared so fast that she almost left a puff of smoke behind.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying not to laugh, but unsure how I should describe Anna to the director. “She’s my… She’s?—”
“Not important,” he interrupted, pointing the spatula at me. “Whatisimportant is that you’ve got the look of a man who’s been inspired. That’s what I need for this role: love, pain, misery. And also redemption. You can do that, right?” Before I could respond, he slapped his spatula on his desk and said, “You’ll hear from me soon. Don’t make me regret this.”
The screen went black, and I leaned back in my chair, exhaling deeply. As bizarre as it had been, I had a good feeling.
Anna peeked her head back into the room, her cheeks still flushed. “I’msosorry.”
“It’s fine,” I said, biting back a grin. “Honestly, I think you just sealed the deal for me. He liked you.”
“So, am I your muse?”
I tilted my head, smiling as I looked up at her. “You’re more than that.” I reached for her hand, my fingers brushing hers as I gently pulled her closer. She leaned down, her gaze steady but her breath hitching just enough for me to notice. When our lips met, it wasn’t the first time, but it still felt new. Every kiss with her was like that. Each one left me feeling like the ground had shifted beneath me, like I was standing on something more solid and yet more thrilling than ever before.
Her lips were warm and soft, a perfect match to the electricity buzzing between us. When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, and her smile was just shy enough to make my heart ache.
“Well,” she murmured, her voice low but playful. “Guess I really am inspiring.”
I laughed, resting my hand on the arm of the chair, unable to look away from her. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
She stepped back, her fingertips brushing lightly against mine. I sank into the chair, the tension from the call beginning to ease. Gerald liked me. I could feel in my bones that I had the role.
And for the first time, I believed I could balance it all. My career. My love for acting. What I had with Anna.
I didn’t have to choose between the life I’d built and the one I wanted.
Maybe I could have both.
33
ANNA
I had signedup for this catering gig months ago, back when it seemed like an easy way to make some extra cash.
But that night, standing in a room full of New Orleans’ elite, I was seriously questioning all my life choices.
Why did catering companies insist on dressing their staff in the most humiliating outfits imaginable? That’s right, I was decked out like a jingling Mardi Gras jester.
Cringing at my reflection in the polished silver serving tray, I adjusted the ridiculous hat perched on my head, its bells tinkling with every movement. The purple, green, and gold onesie, with its puffy sleeves and shorts, topped with a black bow tie, was a peak of indignity. At least the eye mask offered me anonymity.
Marie Antoinette, in her matching jester costume, swished past me with a tray of crab cakes. “Everybody who’s anybody in New Orleans is here tonight,” she whispered dramatically.
“You’re right. I just saw the mayor.” I bent slightly, jingling every inch of the way, as a woman in a dazzling fuchsia dress reached for a muffuletta from my tray.
“Ahem,” a woman in a black sequined dress said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Your tray’s as empty as my glass.”
I jerked my head back. “Oh, right, sorry about that. Thanks for the heads-up.”
