Over Her Dead Body(60)

“Hello?”

“Ashley?” a voice I couldn’t quite place said. “This is Nathan, from last night.” Wait—WUT? I was so used to feeling unworthy of attention of any kind, I assumed he was calling for some mundane reason: to tell me I’d left my hat in Louisa’s parlor (had I worn a hat?) or invite me to join the neighborhood watch. But I still got nervous-excited, because that’s what I do.

“Nathan, hi!” I said, turning off the water with my elbow and giving Brando a stern look to stay still. He was dripping wet and undoubtedly on the verge of doing that thing wet dogs do to make everyone else wet, too.

“Hi,” my hot crush said. There was a beat of silence, so of course I ran off my mouth to fill it.

“I just got back from your aunt’s!” OK, not just. I’d been back for two hours. But I didn’t think he would care that I went for a run, and I didn’t want to conjure an image of me covered with dirt and sweat.

“She’s trying to help me get a job,” I explained. “I probably won’t get it, but it’s nice of her to offer.” He didn’t need to know any of that. Why can’t I stop talking?

“Oh! Well, break a leg!”

“I probably shouldn’t talk about it,” I blathered on. “It’s bad luck to talk about auditions. We actors are very superstitious.” Great. Now he thinks I’m a crazy actress who won’t walk under ladders and holds my breath over train tracks. Which I am. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Listen,” he said, (mercifully) taking control of the conversation. “I don’t want to cut in on my aunt’s turf here, but I, um . . .” You um . . . what? My heart was pounding in my ears. Brando quivered, and I squeezed his middle with a firm hand to make sure he didn’t take that moment to douse me like a furry sprinkler. “Well, I really enjoyed meeting you and I was wondering if maybe you might want to meet for a drink sometime, or even tonight?”

“I’m free tonight!” I blurted. Good God, could I be any less hard to get?

“I have to take some golf buddies to happy hour,” Nathan said, and I got scared he was about to change his mind.

“I can be ready in twenty minutes!” I lied. I had dirt rings around my ankles and was elbow-deep in dog hair. In what world could I be ready in twenty minutes? Thank goodness he didn’t call my bluff.

It’s funny how when one part of your life clicks into place, the other parts often follow. I’d heard it called many things: “manifesting,” “the secret,” “the law of attraction.” I had always been intrigued by the idea that you get what you believe you deserve—that positive thoughts bring positive outcomes. My attitude had definitely shifted since that audition and Louisa’s encouragement (“Consider it done.”). Yet, despite my newfound optimism, I still couldn’t believe the man I was attracted to might actually be attracted to me, too, even as he was asking me out on a date.

I thought back to how weird I had acted when Nathan had given me that tour. Did he like weirdos? Or could he see through my nervousness to the adorably dorky gal underneath? We definitely had “chemistry,” whatever that was. In acting, creating chemistry with another actor was all about listening. We practiced studying our scene partners’ faces when they talked, holding their gaze, hanging on their every word. One acting coach made us switch the order of our lines so that the other actor had to pay attention to know what to say next. Improv was another way we practiced listening, because when you’re making it up as you go along, you can’t tune the other person out. So yeah, in acting, chemistry is all about listening. Which is strange, because in real life, when I have chemistry with a guy, I’m too busy tripping over my own tongue to let him get a word in.

“The place is in West LA, near the golf course,” he said.

“And where are you?”

“Manhattan Beach.”

Manhattan Beach was on the other side of the world from Encino, and not on the way to West LA. So I told him I would meet him at the bar, because God forbid I let a man pick me up. I told myself I was being liberated . . . generous, even. But the truth is I was just insecure. I still didn’t believe I was desirable enough for a man to go out of his way for me, and I didn’t dare test my hypothesis. So I offered to drive myself before he could suggest it.

We set the meeting time for five. To get there on time I would have to leave by four thirty, which meant I had a little over an hour to finish bathing my dog and scrub myself clean. As I contemplated what to wear—Jeans and sneakers? Leggings and boots?—Brando finally lost his patience and unleashed a swirling spindrift of soapy water all over everything: the walls, the cabinets, the fridge, me.

“Brando!” I shouted, and then burst out laughing. I wasn’t upset. Because, after years of struggle, things were finally all falling into place, and I’d be damned if I didn’t enjoy it.





CHAPTER 49




* * *



LOUISA


Silvia, my nurse, arrived as she always does at 6:00 p.m. on the dot.

“Good evening, Miss Louisa,” she said as she handed me a bouquet of yellow peonies. She often brought flowers. It used to irritate me. I didn’t like being treated like I was sick; her arrival was reminder enough. “You don’t need to bring me flowers,” I’d said. But she just kept bringing them, so now I just said thank you.