Which, of course, someone was.
CHAPTER 32
* * *
ASHLEY
“Grauman’s Chinese Theatre has been a fixture in Hollywood for almost one hundred years,” I said into the mic of my open-air tour bus as we drove by the iconic landmark. I stood on the upper deck, under a cloudless blue sky that invigorated me with its infiniteness. I was in full game show host mode, extolling the wonders of La-La Land for the four hours it took to wind across panoramic Mulholland Drive, drop down into the glitz of the Sunset Strip, then roll in to where dreams were born and broken there in the heart of Hollywood.
“And right behind Grauman’s is the Dolby Theatre, where the Academy Awards are held!” Twenty sets of eyes grew wide as we pulled over at Hollywood and Highland so our “fans” （that’s what we called our customers） could imagine red carpets and tuxedos and fancy updos to show off necks adorned with jewels.
“You have one hour to explore. There’s a food court up top, and plenty of shopping: everything from souvenir shops to Louis Vuitton! Have fun, and I’ll see you back here at . . .” I glanced at my watch. “Let’s say two o’clock.” I gave them an extra fifteen minutes, because today was the first day of the rest of my life and I was feeling generous.
These afternoon tours were normally exhausting. Being in the sun all day was punishing enough without self-loathing thoughts like, Real actors are working. I should be auditioning. I’m wasting my life. But today I was buoyant. The sun felt as bright as my future, and self-defeating thoughts were replaced by hopeful ones: I’m going to get a casting. I’m going to have a boyfriend. My life is finally going to make sense.
As my “fans” filed out onto sidewalks trampled by generations of famous feet, I checked my phone. I was hoping Louisa had called with good news so that I could finally kiss this silly job goodbye. But instead of a message from Louisa, there was one from Nathan. Which, while not the missed call I had hoped to see, was a nice consolation prize.
“If you want to walk around, I can stay,” I told Jerry, our driver. One of us always stayed with the bus. Where there were tourists, there were thieves, and we didn’t want one of them casing our double-decker during our stop.
“You sure?” Jerry asked, and I nodded. Normally I got out and stretched my legs during our breaks. I had seen these sights a hundred times, but I still liked to breathe in the history, let my hopeful feet glide over the star-studded Walk of Fame. There were literally thousands of sparkly pink stars embedded in the sidewalk, bearing the names of some of my favorite actors—Reese Witherspoon, Drew Barrymore, Angela Bassett, and of course my dog’s namesake, Marlon Brando. I didn’t dare fantasize that I’d ever have my own star, but I did allow myself to dream I might someday work with some of the actors who did.
“Thanks,” Jerry said as he got up out of his chair. “Want me to bring you something to eat?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Besides the Hollywood tour, I also did one we called the “Stargazer,” where we drove around gaping at all the fancy homes owned （or once owned） by celebrities—Jennifer Lopez, Tom Cruise, Woody Harrelson, Marilyn Monroe. Some were gaudy （Will Smith’s）， some were architecturally significant （Courteney Cox’s）， and some were just plain weird. （Tom Brady’s was a castle with a moat; Neil Patrick Harris’s had a hidden “magic man cave.”） I was basically a walking encyclopedia of who’s where in Hollywood. I also knew a lot of interesting trivia—which house cost the most, who owned it first, how big the pool was, if it had a gym, a pond, a helipad, a bowling alley. I used to joke that I did the Hollywood tour to remind me I was a nobody, and the Stargazer tour to remind me I was broke. I looked forward to the day when this job was a distant memory and that joke was actually funny.
I waited until Jerry got off the bus, then settled into a seat and dialed Nathan’s number. He answered on the first ring.
“Hey,” he said. I thought he sounded a little down, but then again I was in tour guide hyperdrive—anyone would have seemed subdued by comparison.
“Sorry I didn’t pick up earlier,” I said. “I’m giving a tour.”
“Oh. Do you need to call me back?” OK, something was definitely wrong. And of course I knew it was about “us.” I braced myself for him to tell me he was over it and to please delete his number from my phone.
“No, we’re on a lunch break,” I said, bringing my energy down to meet his. Meeting people where they are is something we practiced in acting class. Going high energy when your scene partner’s energy is low can often shut them down, and Nathan was already borderline catatonic; I didn’t want to drive him under a rock.