She was wandering aimlessly in Union Station, admiring the shops and all the things she had no money to buy, wondering how to pass the day, when a man approached.
He was tall and good-looking for an older man, with a nicely round head sporting a buzz cut like Jason Statham’s, and a clean-shaven face. His most notable feature was a pair of piercing blue eyes. He carried a bag from Heydari Design, which Nadine knew sold women’s clothing and accessories.
“Can I ask you something?” he said to her.
He had a foreign accent, Nadine thought. But it was subtle. Something distinct—sophisticated was the word that came to mind—something like a count would use. He was dressed sharply in a tailored navy suit, blue oxford underneath, no tie. His shoes were polished black loafers.
Nadine gazed at the man, unable to speak before finding her voice. “Yes,” was all she said. Why is he talking to me? What could he want? Did Mom put out a missing persons report? Does he recognize me? Am I in trouble? Will he call the police? Will they take me to jail? Worse, will they take me back home?
“I just bought something for my daughter. She’s about your age. But after I left the store, I was hit with doubt. I could use a second opinion. She likes the color blue, if that helps any.”
From inside the Heydari bag, he removed a twilight blue linen-blend scarf, fringed at the ends for a touch of sophistication. It was lovely, something Nadine would have bought for herself if she had money to spend on such purchases. Books and food were all she could afford to buy. Plus she needed money for her motel room. Where else was she going to sleep? There was a lot more to running away from home than she had contemplated.
“I think she’ll love it.” Nadine meant it, too. To her surprise, her chest suddenly felt heavy. Here was a dad doing something lovely and thoughtful for his daughter. Her father gave her birthday presents, but always mailed them. It was never anything she wanted because he didn’t take the time to get to know her tastes, her color palette.
Her father was nothing like this one, she decided.
“Thank you. I feel a bit more confident now.”
That accent, where was it from? European? “You’re welcome,” Nadine said.
The man nodded his thanks, turned to leave, but stopped. He seemed to be appraising her in a way that made her feel vulnerable. “This is going to sound odd,” he said as he took out his wallet.
Does he think I need a handout? Nadine was mortified to think she looked so bedraggled (another SAT word) that he suspected she was homeless and in need.
To her great relief, he took out a business card instead of cash. “I run an entertainment agency, and I’m always on the lookout for new talent. If you don’t mind my saying, you have a great look. Almost like a Jennifer Lawrence type.”
Nadine had to suppress a laugh. JLaw? Her? Come on. Nadine didn’t think herself exceptional in any way. She was average at everything—height, weight, academics, sports. Name it, and she fit smack dab in the middle, undistinguished and undistinguishable from her peers. Her hair color was brown, eyes brown, and that’s what it would say on the missing person posters if her mother bothered to file a report. Weight 118, height 5’3”. Average. Perfectly average.
She blushed.
“I’m not saying you look like her exactly,” the man explained. “But there’s something about you that’s very compelling. I’m not kidding. I find talent for TV, movies, reality shows. It’s a booming business these days with so many places for content.”
Nadine shrugged. She didn’t know what to say. She looked down at the card. STEPHEN J. MACAN. MACAN ENTERTAINMENT. No address, no phone number, no website or e-mail. It felt secretive, which made the business seem more exclusive. He had to find you; you couldn’t find him.
“Have you ever had headshots done?”
Before Nadine could answer, the man’s cell phone rang. A smile came to his face as he answered the call. “Hi honey. I’m still at the mall shopping for Megan.” He pulled the phone away and mouthed the words my wife for Nadine’s benefit. He held up his finger, an indication he wanted her to stay.
For some reason, she did.
“I’ll be home soon. Want me to pick up something for dinner? I could grill up salmon, if you’d like.”
A pause while his wife said something in response.
“Great. Oh, and I got the opinion of a girl about Megan’s age, so I think I did well with my gift. We shall see.” He gave a little laugh.
Some inside joke about how difficult Megan could be to shop for, Nadine supposed. The joke was made with love, not malice. It was so obvious Megan’s dad adored her.
Nadine’s heart turned. Why can’t I have the same sort of relationship with my father?
“I’ll be home soon. Love you. Bye.” The man’s attention went back to Nadine. “So are you interested in becoming famous?” His smile was warm, genuine.
Nadine wondered if his daughter Megan had the right look. The man, this Stephen Macan, seemed so certain Nadine did.