Behind me the entrance door bangs open and we both turn to look. Another brunette actress arriving to audition for Rose. She bends to sign in.
“Oh!” the receptionist blurts and my attention whips back to her, her face lit up with excitement for the first time. “Look at the signing-in file. She’ll be the name just before yours, right?”
I’m guessing she’s never actually looked at that signing-in file. I don’t hold out much hope but I head over quickly and grab it. I find my own name buried halfway up the page already. Above it only illegible scribbles. Pretty much any of the signatures could say Emily, or Em, or E. The receptionist joins me, craning in to see.
Her excitement melts. “Oh. Okay.”
“You must have a master list of auditionees, though, right?” I ask. “Everyone who’s auditioning today. Can’t you just look at that? There can’t be that many Emilys on the list, can there?”
The receptionist balks slightly. “So I don’t actually have anything to do with the casting. I just work for the studio space. I just…Well my duties are more focused on the suite facilities themselves than anything else. I’m sure the casting directors have some kind of list. Maybe ask through your agent, though. I mean they’re pretty busy right now. Sorry I can’t help more.” She gives me a rallying shrug. “But you can definitely leave your note and if an Emily does turn up I’ll pass it on.”
Outside I dither for a moment by Emily’s car. It’s 1:54 and still no sign of her. Her parking time is up again. And so is mine.
I make a decision, top up her meter, and amend the note under her windscreen wiper.
Hi Emily,
Sorry, couldn’t find you anywhere and had to dash. Hope your casting went well. Left keys & wallet with the receptionist.
Couldn’t leave your stuff with receptionist and I’ve got a meeting across town now—so I’ve still got them. Left my number at reception. Call me as soon as you get this and I’ll get them to you asap.
Best, Mia x
It’s just as I wedge the tightly folded note back under her windscreen wiper that I feel a hand grab my shoulder.
8
Passerby
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 10
My heart leaps into my throat and I spin, coming face-to-face with the hand’s owner.
It’s not Emily, with her gleaming chestnut hair loosely tied back in its low bun. It’s not even the receptionist with more unhelpful suggestions. It’s a man. A tall and conspicuously handsome man wearing a suit. His brown hair is rumpled, his intelligent eyes crinkled with mild amusement at my shock. He’s looking at me like I know him. His smile denotes a level of intimacy between us that I am absolutely certain we do not share. I don’t know why but I suddenly find his confrontational attractiveness just as infuriating as Emily’s absence. Because I really don’t have time for all this right now.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice warm. There’s genuine concern in his tone and I realize I’ve been lurking around the parked cars long enough to draw attention.
I give him a look I hope conveys that this is really none of his business. “Yes, yes. All good. Thank you.” I notice I’m leaning hard into my accent like a particularly indignant Maggie Smith, but this only seems to amuse him more.
“Car trouble?” he asks, and I realize a conversation is happening whether I want one or not. He’s not going anywhere. I take a breath and dive in.
“No. No car trouble. I was at an audition and the girl before me needed someone to feed the meter for her car so she gave me her wallet and keys and now she’s gone.”
“Ah! I see…so, then—gone girl?” he says with a mock seriousness that, if I wasn’t so annoyed and late, might have elicited a laugh.