Patrick stopped fussing with the dishes and turned to look at his guest. He narrowed his eyes to really scrutinize her. “That doesn’t sound like Neal.”
“Sure it does.”
“Neal hates me. The only reason he hasn’t fired me as a client is because I’m essentially retired.”
“That’s not true.” She paused to pick a tactic. “Neal does think you should come back to work, so he can make money. I think you should come back to work because your fans miss you.”
“Oh, they do, do they?”
“They do! I do. Now is the time. There are so many options available. So much content in search of talent. You could go back to what you were doing. Or enough time has gone by, we could even rebrand you. Go in a completely different direction.”
“Like New Coke. Wonderful.”
Cassie responded slowly. “That’s . . . perhaps not the best example.”
Patrick folded and refolded a dish towel a dozen different ways. “What is this about?”
“I’m a huge fan. I think you were underserved by your last show. People want to see what else you can do. A lot of people do, but I’m in a rare position, see, that I can actually do something to facilitate that.” Cassie removed the sunglasses from her head and set them on the counter before running her fingers through her hair.
“No. What is this really about?” Patrick crossed his arms and leaned against the sink.
He could see Cassie run back over her sales pitch in her head. She’d probably rehearsed it again and again in the car during the two-hour drive from Los Angeles. Patrick had thrown her a curveball and now she was adrift. “Okay. I’m just going to lay all my cards on the table, because I can see you’re that kind of guy.”
“Well, look at that. You really do know a lot about me.” A crash from the bedroom startled them both. “That’s it! We’re giving away the dog!” he called out.
Cassie looked at him, heartbreak in her eyes.
“We don’t have a dog.”
She wasn’t sure what to believe. “Neal said that if I could get you back to work he would promote me to junior agent.”
“And you’d take over my day-to-day? That’s his way of pawning me off because I’m a pain in the ass.” Something caught Patrick’s eye and he looked over Cassie’s shoulder and out by the pool. He thought it might be the kids, but it was just the pool guy dragging his skimmer across the water. “Those are my words.”
“Nope, they were pretty much his words, too.” Cassie smiled. “Except the day-to-day part. He’d keep you on. You’re too big a client to hand off to a junior agent.”
“Well, then you must truly be a fan.”
“Or I must really want that promotion.” Cassie smiled again, wider this time, but Patrick didn’t return it. That did not mean he was unamused, though. He was warming to this young woman.
“There’s nothing we can’t discuss,” she continued. “What do you want? Do you want to do movies?”
“Oh, sure. A rotten part in a so-so film.”
“Well, okay, so not movies.”
“That’s from A Chorus Line. Cassie’s monologue. Don’t you even know who you’re named after?”
“Actually, I’m named after my great—”
Patrick didn’t let her finish; he hopped up on the counter to sit. “Cassie was complaining about a rotten part in a so-so film. She was a go-go dancer in a movie of the week. But the part got cut, so . . .”
“I never saw A Chorus Line.”
“Clearly.” Patrick felt an unfortunate breeze and pulled his caftan over his knees to cover himself. “What is the training to be a junior agent these days?”
“I have an MBA from Wharton.”
“Well, sure.” There was no snappy comeback to an MBA from Wharton.
“So you’re not saying no to movies.”
“I’m not saying yes to movies. I’m not saying yes to anything.”
“TV.”
“No.”
“Limited series.”
“No.”
“Netflix.”
“No.”
“Theater?”
“A play? Good lord no.”
“No to theater, then. Does that include all live performance?”
“What else is there, the Capades?”
“Well, no. But, say, Dancing with the Stars.”
“Ew. I’m not wearing a ridiculous costume.”