“I’ll take the cheese.”
“What about the croutons? They’re not gluten free.”
“That’s okay.” I hand her the menu, confused by that whole interaction. I’ve never been asked so many questions about what I’m ordering. When it comes to food, I’m pretty simple. Burgers and fries. Tacos. Quesadillas. A steak now and then. Give me any of those, and I’m happy. Unfortunately, none of those things were on the menu.
I just ordered a kale salad. I don’t even know what the hell kale is, or anything else on the menu.
The waitress turns to Brock, her head tilted, giving him that flirty smile. “And for you?”
“Grilled salmon,” he says, not even looking at her, his eyes on his phone.
She picks up the menus and leaves.
“I think she was flirting with you,” I say, shoving my napkin-wrapped silverware aside and resting my arms on the table.
“They all do,” he says, swiping through his phone.
“All women flirt with you?” I say, fighting another eye roll. “Got quite an ego on you, Uncle Brock.”
His eyes lift from his phone. “I have power in this town. People know me, especially people looking to break into thebusiness. The hostess. The waitress. I’ve seen both of them at auditions. They’re flirting with me because they think it’ll get them a part in something, or at the very least a connection.”
“That’s really shallow. And sexist.”
“This business is all about who you know. People — both men and women — are willing to do whatever it takes to make it.”
“Even if it means selling their soul?”
“If a soul truly had a value, believe me, they would sell it. This whole city is full of people trying to hit it big but very few will.”
“So how’dyou get into acting?” I ask just as the waitress returns.
“Sparkling water,” she says, setting the glass in front of Brock. She turns to me. “Did you want one too? You never said.”
“I’ll just have a Coke.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Sorry. We don’t sell soda here. Would you like sparkling water? Fresh squeezed juice?”
“You don’t have soda? How is that possible?”
“She’ll have a sparkling water,” Brock says.
The waitress smiles at him before walking off.
“What the hell is up with this town?” I ask. “Does everyone here live on salads and water?”
“The camera adds ten pounds,” he says, checking his phone again.
“So nobody eats?”
“Your cousins do. They eat nonstop. The maid has to buy groceries every day just to keep up. You’ll see when you meet them. If you ever can’t find them, just go to the kitchen.”
“Growing boys, huh?”
“That, and they’re in sports. They spend a lot of time at the gym and at practice.”
“What sports?”
“Braden plays football and Trystan plays soccer.”
