I toy with the menu. “We’ll see how you behave.”
He laughs easily. “You know I’m always good.”
I laugh along with him, trying to think of something clever, and that’s when I glance toward the door. Entering the bar I spy Cat, who looks like she’s searching for someone in particular.
“You told Cat we were going to be here?” I ask, disappointed despite myself that we won’t be alone for this mini-reunion.
“Mentioned it, yeah.” He glances in her direction. “Oh, holy shit, man. That’s Evan Beckman with her! She brought Evan Beckman.” Quickly Jake runs a hand over his hair, smoothing it out.
“Oh, God,” I groan quietly because Cat is glancing all around Mia Mia like she’s looking for me. Her hand shoots upward when she sees me, and she gives a dramatically cheerful wave. I give a subdued one in response.
Don’t get me wrong: I am totally into meeting Evan Beckman. And I am totally into the possibility that he’s interested in me for a part. What I’m not totally into is having his path and Jake’s collide at this precise moment in my personal history.
They weave their way through the late night crowd, finally reaching our table. We stand, and introductions are made, with Jake salivating way too much over Evan for any of us to feel comfortable.
“Evan and I were coming out for a drink,” Cat explains. “Jake told me you’d be here later, so I thought I could bring him by. So you two could meet.”
“Hi, Rebecca,” Evan says, grinning at me in that trademark boyish way of his. The one People magazine and Entertainment Weekly capture so regularly. He has wide-set, earnest brown eyes that seem to be forever smiling, always a hint of amusement around the edges, as if he’s working hard to suppress a good chuckle.
We settle back at the table, and then Jake, in a flurry of overdone excitement, excuses himself. I know exactly where he’s going: to the bathroom to snort a few lines. Like all people with addiction problems, Jake tends to think that if he gets high, then the moment will be even more spectacular. I guess the idea of cocaine and Evan Beckman at the same experiential moment is magnificent enough to warrant his quick retreat.
“Evan is casting his next film,” Cat begins, and I can tell she’s thankful for Jake’s vanishing act. For a moment, I even wonder if she paid Jake to leave.
Evan continues, leaning closer across the table so I can hear him over the din of noise. “Rebecca, there’s a part I’ve been thinking could be just right for you.”
Evan is known for picking people who’ve been a little down on their game and reviving them. Tonight at the gathering Cat told me, “He wants to Tarantino you.” When I gave her a semi-confused look, she explained impatiently, “He wants to resurrect your career, girlfriend.”
“What kind of part is it?” I ask, and then rather pointedly toss my hair over my shoulder. Evan needs to see the damage close-up to realize exactly what he’d be dealing with. Still, even as I confront him with the truth, my heart begins to beat with expectation. I feel wanted.
Evan gives me a gentle smile. “I don’t mind the way you look, Rebecca,” he tells me honestly.
“Why not?”
He leans back and takes a thoughtful sip of his wine. “I guess you could say you have the right…appearance. For this part.”
“I see,” I answer evenly. Nagging doubt begins to penetrate my thoughts. Evan studies me carefully, taking off his baseball cap to reveal a large bald spot I wasn’t quite expecting. You never see him without a hat of some kind, and now I know why. “So,” I say, “this character is scarred.”
“Yes, Rebecca,” he answers. “The character I have in mind for you is a lot like you.”
I laugh. “An unemployed actress?” Too many margaritas and too much crowd-exposure tonight have left me feeling blank and fuzzy.
“Rebecca,” Cat interjects, cautioning me with her eyes not to do anything stupid.
Evan is clearly unaffected by my sarcasm. “I could use anybody, Rebecca,” he reminds me. “Makeup can create anything, you know that.”
“But you’re interested in…” I pause, thinking of how to frame it. “Well, making my actual scars a sort of presence on the screen. That’s what you’re after?”
“The authenticity of it, yes,” he says, clearly pleased that I get his vision for the character. “Her scars are a kind of character unto themselves. They’re part of the canvas.”
“So, the lighting, the camera work, it would all be to overstate them, definitely not understate them?”
His gaze never leaves my face. “Would that make you uncomfortable?”
I imagine my smile spread across a gigantic Cineplex screen, every flaw in my appearance magnified many times over. “It scares me,” I answer honestly.