“Of course not. No. Barry’s friend brought us over in his boat.”
Amy busies herself looking through a pile of papers on a small table near the stage. When she finds her notebook she holds it up triumphantly, but Timothy is too cranky even to acknowledge it. “I thought you two were staying in Newport,” says Amy.
“We were. But Gertie ate something from the charcuterie board and got one of her migraines, and her medicine was at the house, so the friend offered to bring us home.” He sighs and adds, “I don’t know if it was the salami or the blue cheese. She should have known to stay away from both of them.”
“Triggers,” agrees Amy. “Is she okay?”
“She’s sleeping in. I’ve told Jane to call off rehearsal for the day.”
“Why didn’t you sleep in?”
“I was too angry to sleep.”
“What were you angry at? The charcuterie?”
“No. Not the charcuterie. When I got home at midnight, the house was lit up like Gatsby’s. Andyour daughterwas throwing one hell of a party.”
Amy gasps. “No!” she says. “Sam?”
“Yes,” says Timothy. His voice crackles. “That daughter, yes.”
“Aparty?”
“One hell of a party,” Timothy repeats.
“Oh, geez. I’m sorry, Timmy! Where is she now?”
“Probably sleeping.”
“I’ll go talk to her. I’ll go talk to her right away.” She glances at her watch. “I’ll push back the curtain person if I have to.”
“I don’t know what good talking to hernowwill do,” grumbles Timothy, but Amy is already out the door.
Once Amy has gone Timothy’s phone buzzes again with Alexa’s number.
He scratches his chin. If Alexa hasn’t left a voice mail the first time, and if she is calling again so soon, she must have a good reason. He takes a deep, deep breath. He really doesn’t want to think about L.A. right now. He hopes this isn’t a bad wildfire report. He hopes his koi are okay.
His voice ekes out its best possible greeting. “Alexa!”
“Timothy, hey!” (For the first two months she worked for him Alexa refused to call him anything but Mr. Fleming. Timothy took this as proof that she’d been raised up right, with good, solid New England manners. Finally, after enough prodding, she relented from the formality.) Alexa sounds breathless—has she already completed a CrossFit class or a run on the beach even at such an early hour? How he envies Alexa the energy of her youth! He tries to set back his sagging shoulders, lift his sagging chin. “Listen, I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning,” she says. “But there’s something I thought you should know.”
Timothy raises the hand not holding the phone and gently massages his temples. Another deep breath, filling up the lung cavity, releasing. “Go ahead...?”
“Okay. So. Last night I was out with a bunch of the assistants. Casual, you know, just a couple of drinks and we were all going to have an early night—”
“An early night. Sounds great,” says Timothy, trying not to come across as bitter.
“Yeah. It actually was. So anyway, this guy was there, I forget his name, I think I’d met him once before because he was talking to me like we knew each other. Jeff something? He works for Simon Richdale, who works for Mabel Shanahan—”
“Sure.” Mabel Shanahan Casting: one of the best.
“And he was telling me that they just cast this new Hulu show, because they’re going to start shooting right away, like next week, they’re in a real hurry for this one, you know how Hulu gets when they want something.”
“Yup.” Timothy does know how Hulu gets when they want something.
“And he starts naming the cast, right? And one name in particular sounded familiar.”
“Okay,” says Timothy. The cobwebs in his head are making it hard to follow this conversation, but he’s trying. Mabel Shanahan, Hulu, casting, familiar name. He takes another sip of the coffee. Finally can feel his brain cells yawning open.
