“Crap.” With my legs flung over the side of the couch, I frown. “I just got an alert that my phone has a virus from adult sites I visited.”
“So Pornhub gave your phone an STD?” Takira pauses in chopping onions for the soup she’s making. “You had unprotected surfing and now your phone has herpes?”
“Shut it. Does incognito mode mean nothing?”
“Long as it’s been since you had that Vitamin D, no wonder you’re banging your phone every day. You were bound to get infected.”
“Could you stop being gross about my sex life?”
“What sex life?” Takira starts chopping again. “Social services will be by soon to pay your vagina a wellness visit.”
I hurl a pillow across the room at her, missing on purpose.
“I’m here to check on Neevah’s pussy,” Takira says in her professional voice. “The neighbors are concerned. There’s been no sign of activity for months. We’re making sure the cat still purrs.”
“I hate you,” I grit out, but the struggle not to laugh is real.
“You won’t hate me when you taste this lunch, guhl,” she says, easily slipping into her Trinidadian accent. “Ees me grandma’s famous corn soup.”
“It does smell good.” I walk over to stand by her at the counter. A short walk since our apartment has the square footage of a Porta Potty.
“And vegan.” She proffers her knife. “Put them little hands to use. You on peppers.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I slide my phone into the pocket of my lounge pants. “On it.”
It’s my day off. My last show as the lead was last night and when I return to the theater tomorrow, Elise will be the star again. I don’t begrudge her that. She’s a great singer. Outstanding actress. It just felt good to stand in the spotlight for a week. It’s okay. My time will come. I just gotta keep grinding and pay my dues.
I’m slicing red peppers when the phone in my pocket buzzes. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but it could be a callback for something. Ya never know.
“Hello.” I trap the phone between my ear and shoulder and keep cutting.
“Neevah?” a vaguely familiar, shiver-inducing voice says on the other line. “It’s Canon Holt.”
I drop the knife.
Dammit.
This man should not call me when I’m holding a knife. I could lose a finger.
“Uh, hey?” My curiosity and general state of shock lilt the words.
“I hope it’s okay that I called. Monk gave me your number.”
“Uh-huh.” I send a slightly panicked look to Takira and mouth Canon Holt. Her eyes saucer and she catches a squeal with one hand. “I mean, sure. It’s fine that you called. That he gave you this number. Wright. Monk, I mean. Yes.”
Am I Kanye’s Twitter account right now? I’m barely coherent. Good Lord.
I should sit down. I walk back to the couch and lower to the cushions carefully, waiting to understand what this is about. I mean, we did have a moment on the sidewalk, right? Is he still in town? Is he asking me out? What will I wear? I have to wash my hair and shave my legs. I need a Brazilian!
Oh. My. God.
I can’t go on a date with Canon Holt with a furry pussy. What if we . . . my brain explodes at the thought of sex with that huge man. He would break me.
It would be fantastic.
“There’s a small part in my next movie I’d like you to audition for.”
I believe the Thalamus is the part of your brain responsible for erotic stimuli. It fizzles when I realize Canon is not indeed looking to mate, but then all the other rational parts of my brain combust because he wants me to audition.
Calm your tits. Be normal. Act like this happens all the time to thespians like you.
“Oh really?” I drawl, sounding like fucking Bette Davis. “Sorry. Wow. That’s great. What’s the movie?”
“It hasn’t been announced.”
That’s what he told Janie at dinner. So top secret. I’m intrigued.
Who am I kidding? I’m panting.
“My casting agent, Mallory Perkins, is in town. Can I put her in touch with your agent? They can discuss all the details.”
“Sure. Yeah. That sounds great.”
It’s quiet on the phone for a few electric seconds.
“So . . . can you give me your agent’s info to pass on to Mallory?”
“Yes! Of course. Is this your cell?”
That sounds so intrusive. I shouldn’t have this famous director’s number, especially not when I was just thinking he would break me if we were to ever copulate. He should file a restraining order. Immediately. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“Yeah. This is my cell,” he says. “You can share the contact here and I’ll send it to Mallory. That work?”
“That works, sure.”
“Sounds good. Bye.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He’s gone almost as quickly as he called. I flop onto the couch and stare at the ceiling, waiting for my particles to settle back to normal.
Takira rushes from the kitchen to hover over me. “What’d he say?”
“He wants me to audition for a part.”
“Ayyyyyeeee!” Takira jumps onto the other end of the couch and pumps her legs. “This is amazing.”
It is amazing and not something I ever could have seen coming. At least once a day every day since I met Canon, I’ve thought about him. His intense, infrequent stare. That magnetic pull. His indifferent brand of charisma. The surprising words of encouragement he shared before he left. I have deliberately not talked about him, but my thoughts? I have less discipline where they’re concerned. I thought more about the undeniable attraction I felt, not an opportunity. I didn’t dare imagine this.
I shoot a text to my agent telling her to expect a call from Mallory Perkins, Canon Holt’s casting agent. Of course, she calls right away with a dozen questions I have no answers for. I nearly forget I need to text her info to him.
Me: Hey! Great talking to you. Here’s my agent’s contact.
Canon: Thanks.
That’s it? Thanks? Guess we’re not at emojis yet. I get it.
“Ewwww!” I screech and sit up straight. “I just sent a text to Canon Holt from my porny phone.”
Takira cackles and kicks me lightly. “You probably gave his phone crabs.”
“Heifer,” I laugh and lie back, wearing a wide smile. It’s surreal. I’d filed that night away as that one time I met Canon Holt and he called me exceptional. Even though I’ve thought about it often over the last week, I accepted that I’d probably never see him again. It was something cool that happened with someone I admire and respect, but that was the end.
What if it was just the beginning?
