“And I respect that.” He gives a firm nod. “I totally respect that.” He looks to Cat, then back at me. “We just thought it might be a great role for you.”
“We?” Cat’s been behind this introduction? What happened to my great sense of comedic understatement? To him being a fan of the reruns?
“Cat and I have been talking about it, yes.”
“He’s been watching the show,” Cat interjects, and from the anxious look on her face, I can tell she knows the game may be up.
Evan grins. “I love your work, Rebecca.” His smile is genuine, reaching his eyes. “You are so terrific with comedy. Brilliant.”
“So is this a comedic role, then?”
His expression becomes guarded. “Not really.”
“Oh, I get it,” I say with a slight laugh. “The only thing that really qualifies me for this part is my facial disfigurement.”
Evan stares back at me, his face growing ashen, and I actually feel bad for him. He’s only trying to do a good deed here for me. Charity, celebrity style.
He watches me. “I wouldn’t be offering the role if I didn’t think you were one terrific actress,” he tells me seriously. “You could bring an amazing depth of feeling to the part.”
“Evan, thank you,” I say sincerely, reaching to take his hand. “You’re awesome to think of me. I am so incredibly honored, but I just don’t think I can make myself that vulnerable at this stage of the game.”
I remember Jake off in the bathroom and in that single moment my destiny feels encapsulated. I can never get away from myself. My scars, my past: I own them now. There will never be a day when a part for a normal person, a normal character with a boringly normal life floats my way. There will only be my ruined face.
Cat leans toward me. “Rebecca, you should at least let Evan tell you about the movie,” she almost begs.
But Evan doesn’t say another word. He just smiles at me. A sympathetic, gentle look that tells me he understands how I can let this opportunity slide past me.
“Thanks,” I say, giving them both a little wave as I turn to go. “But I better go find Jake.”
I grab Jake by the arm as he exits the bathroom; those familiar gray eyes now distinctly red around the edges. One look at him tells me my suspicions were correct.
Guiding him by the elbow, I redirect him from his path toward Evan’s table. “Let’s go over here.” I indicate a pair of bar stools on the far side of the place.
“What about Evan Beckman?” he asks, incredulous. “We’re having drinks with Evan Beckman.”
“Not anymore we’re not.”
A quizzical frown comes over his face. “Why not?”
“We just had a fight.”
“Oh.” He gives a shrug and that, as they say, becomes the end of that. Sometimes it can actually be convenient when your ex is Coke Boy. “Really?”
“No, Jake, not really.”
“Oh.” He gives his head a stunned little shake, trying to compute why Evan has vanished during his trek to the bathroom.
We slide up onto the bar stools, and he plops his large briefcase duffel between us. He’s clearly trying to cultivate a kind of director or writer look, though I guess that’s where he keeps his stash. We order drinks and I wonder why I really came out with him tonight. What it is I’m always searching for when I come back to him.
“You miss me?” He chuckles.
“No, Jake. Not really.” I keep my voice even, but beneath the table, my hands begin to tremble.
“How’s the new boyfriend?”
“What makes you think he’s new?”
“Because last I asked around, you weren’t seeing anybody,” he says. “That’s what I heard a few months back, and then kapow, you mention a boyfriend.”
“Well, he’s fine, actually,” I lie. “He’s wonderful. He loves me. He treats me well. It’s a nice departure from being with you.”
“I hear you,” he mutters, acting suitably subdued. “I hear you, Rebecca.”
“Why am I here, Jake?” I pose the question that’s in my own mind. “Why are we doing this? Can we just cut to the chase? We’re not really here to relive the bad times. Are we?”
Beside him, he retrieves a script from inside his satchel. He slides it across the table toward me reverently. “Will you look at this?”
“A screenplay.” I stare down at the binding, confused.
“Yeah, something I wrote. I was hoping you’d take it to your boss.”
“You were hoping I’d take it to Ed,” I repeat in disbelief. A Guy Like That, Jake’s script is called. Well, at least it’s not Beautiful, But Me.
“Yeah, Becca, that’s what I’m hoping. Will you do that for me?”
“That’s why you’ve spent the whole summer pursuing me? For a screenplay?”
He rakes his fingers through his shaggy bangs, obscured from me behind the dark lenses. “You make it sound so mercenary.” He laughs.
“You do have an agent,” I remind him irritably.
“He doesn’t do stuff like this.” He gestures at the script, tapping it with his fingers. “He’s only handling my acting gigs.”
“Of which there are so many.”