“So you’re saying none of what I’ve told you would have bothered you?” I ask her carefully.
“Honestly?” she asks. I nod her on. “I wouldn’t have helped her in the first place. It kind of sounds like a weird situation.”
“I just didn’t want to go in next!” I protest. “I wasn’t ready and if I’d gone in then I would have been flustered and not gotten it.”
“And did you get it?” she parries.
The question pulls me up short.
“No,” I confess. “No, I didn’t get it.”
“Yeah, look, I love you, Mi, but do you think maybe you’ve just let yourself get distracted by this random person? Is there a chance that this actress was a just a bit of a flake and that she sent a friend to pick up her stuff last night because her life is messy?”
I consider Souki’s question before responding. “But the woman last night was actually pretending to be her! She told me this whole involved story about a boyfriend in the hospital—”
“Yeah, people are fucking weird out here, Mi,” she interrupts. “Don’t get involved. Please, tell me you’ll drop this. Please.” She looks at me plaintively and suddenly I know she’s right. I’m obsessing over the elusiveness of a complete stranger rather than the elusiveness of the man who was supposed to love me more than anyone else. And she’s right about another thing. If George and I were still together I wouldn’t have even noticed Emily at that audition the other day. I would have been focused; I wouldn’t have been so desperate to find some kind of distraction.
“Okay,” I decide. “You’re right. I will drop it.” I exhale noisily and smile as Souki leans in to give me a warm, sun-cream-scented hug.
As we wind our way back down into the city, I mention Nick, careful not to go back over how we met two days ago.
“Is he American?” she asks.
I purse my lips to keep from grinning like an idiot and nod.
Souki raises her sunglasses theatrically, eyes aflame with interest. “Do I know him? Is he an actor?”
I know he hasn’t really expressed any interest, he’s just been friendly, but I let myself run with the idea of getting slightly more friendly if the possibility’s there. A little holiday romance might keep me out of trouble.
“No. He’s definitely not an actor.” I laugh. “I don’t know what he does but he’s got an office in North Hollywood,” I say lightly. “So, normal job, I guess.”
Souki fully removes her sunglasses now and high-fives me. “Yes babes! Yes! Is he ridiculously hot?”
I nod, somewhat pained. “Uh-huh,” I confirm. “Which is not ideal.”
“Why is that not ideal?” Her forehead creases in disbelief.
“Because—oh God, this is embarrassing—because I promised myself I wouldn’t go for another guy hotter than me.” I know what’s coming before the words are out of my mouth.
“Not true. And babes, that’s the dream anyway! The absolute dream. But listen, and trust me on this, George was nice-looking, sure, but you can do so much better, Mi. And I don’t mean, like, a ‘nicer’ guy; I mean a ‘hotter’ guy. Like, okay, do you remember Jamie Vintner when we were on The First Crusade?”
“Yes, why?” Of course, I remember Jamie Vintner, the insanely good-looking but mortifyingly boring series lead. He was supposed to have been in an on–off relationship with a well-known British model. I noticed in the airport duty-free that he’s now the face of Burberry.
“Yeah, well, he kept asking about you on set. I didn’t say anything at the time because he was a weirdo and you were serious with George. But Jamie kept going around asking us all how long you and George had been together and stuff. He cornered Alice in her trailer for like forty-five minutes. If I’d known what a shit George was back then, I’d have arranged a bloody candlelit dinner for you and Jamie at unit base.”