Over Her Dead Body(13)

“Oh?” my hostess said. So I just kept talking.

“I’m an actress,” I explained. “Trying to be an actress. Not that I haven’t worked—of course I have. People always ask ‘What have I seen you in?’ and I never know what to say. Because there hasn’t been that much.” Ugh. I sounded like a stammering idiot. Where’s Emma when I need her?

“An actress, how wonderful! I was a casting director for twenty-five years,” Louisa said, and my heart took flight like a rocket. Casting directors were like magical creatures to me, all-powerful Demogorgons whose superpower was to turn run-of-the-mill wannabes into sparkling chosen ones.

“That’s incredible!” I said. I had met plenty of casting directors, of course, but always from the wrong side of the conference table.

“I’m retired but I still have my ear to the ground,” she said, and I knew that my life was about to change. It was a hopeful feeling, like that moment when you know the sun is about to peek out from behind a cloud. Being a foolish optimist is a job requirement for an actress. Which, of course, was precisely what Louisa was counting on.





CHAPTER 10




* * *



LOUISA


The casting came to me in an instant—as soon as she said the word “actress.” I had of course fantasized about the moment many a time: that look on their faces, the blame game and infighting that would follow. In an instant the family would see who the bad guy really was, and that it wasn’t me.

“It’s been many years since you’ve worked in casting,” my nephew interjected. “The business has changed a lot.”

“What do you know about it—you’re in real estate!” I admonished. “I still keep up with my producer and director friends,” I said, to imply I was still relevant and influential. Truth is, I hadn’t so much as talked to a producer or a director since I’d retired seven years ago. But I still knew how to talk the talk, which, for my purposes that night, was enough.

“I’d be grateful for any advice you might be able to give me,” she gushed. And I pounced on her solicitation.

“It would be my pleasure,” I said. “Join us for tea?” The pot was still sitting there; it would be a shame to let it, and this tantalizing opportunity, go to waste. It’s not every day a struggling actress shows up on your door exactly when you need one.

“That sounds lovely,” my intruder said. Lovely indeed.

“I need to get going, Louisa,” Nathan said, leaning over to peck my cheek. I feared his exit would prompt her to change her mind, but it turned out my being a (former) casting director was enough to entice her to stay put.

“Why don’t you pour while I walk my nephew out?” I suggested.

I got up off the couch and met Nathan at the door. “What are you doing?” he hushed.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You don’t even know this woman.”

“Are you worried she might poison my tea?” I asked. He raised an irritated eyebrow.

“I didn’t know you were looking to make new friends,” he said, because of course I wasn’t; that’s not what this was about.

“I have an instinct about her,” I said. I had several instincts about this bright-eyed stranger, in fact. One, that she was ambitious; her midwestern vowels suggested she had come from far to pursue her dream. Two, that she was struggling to find work as an actress; not much of an insight, they all struggle, and she’d already all but confessed it. And three, that she was madly in love with my nephew; her blush when he gazed at her was so vivid you could have seen it from space. These three things combined all but assured she was—as we said in my day—ripe for the pickin’.

“Don’t lead her on,” he warned.

“You have a good night, too,” I said dismissively.

I closed the door behind him, then padded back to the parlor. Ashley’s go-getting green eyes glimmered as she looked up at me.

“So tell me more about you,” I said. I was pretty adept at reading people, but I wanted to be sure she was the one, and that required a bit of chitchat.

“I moved here from Wisconsin,” she said. “Seven years ago now.” Well I got that part right.

“What do your parents think of your decision to pursue acting?” I was curious if her parents supported her dreams unconditionally and indefinitely, as my children had expected me to do for theirs.

“My dad passed two years ago,” she said, then added, “heart attack,” even though I hadn’t asked.

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t tell her that a heart attack had taken my husband at a similarly too-early age, and that I understood how such a loss can recolor a life.

“But he and my mom were cool with it,” she said. “As long as I could support myself.” I thought about my own children, how they’d scoffed at the idea of taking over my agency when I had offered to give it to them. Of course it was my fault they’d declined. Why would they want to work for a living when they already enjoyed the spoils of a successful business without having to lift a finger?

“So you’re pursuing acting without any financial help from your family?” I asked, knowing it was a rude question, even for me. But I had my reasons for wanting to know.