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He’s gone before I can respond. I’m left holding my phone in my hand like those drunk guys at the bar, hitting on girls clearly out of their league.
I remain frozen and listen. I hear my sister’s advice. My mother’s words. That’s twice he’s done something like this. The warning bells are now blaring like the foghorns on the Titanic. I’m missing something that should be staring right at me in my face.
What is it?
Chapter Eight
Devon
“You’re supposed to be there getting ready for your role.” Marvin shouts through FaceTime at me. I press my earbuds tight, standing outside the back entrance to the coffee shop, away from prying ears.
“Don’t tell me what I’m supposed to be doing and tell me what to do. Why can’t I just tell her who I am and what I’m doing here?”
“You can’t do that. It’s in your contract. Xenia is strange that way.”
“And how would she ever find out? It’s not like she’s going to leave her private island and pop into a coffee shop in the middle of nowhere.” I knew before I picked up the phone that Marvin would toss the contract stipulation in my face. But it’s the simplest and cleanest solution. Moreover, I feel a connection with Zara and can’t bear to deceive her any longer.
“I never promised you she wouldn’t show up.” Marvin’s statement gives me something else to worry about.
“You can’t be serious right now?”
“Kid, why do you think I told you to always remain in character? Xenia has been known to pop in on actors in training in disguise to see if they’re doing what she demands.”
“I can’t believe this.” I shake my head.
“Keep your eyes on the prize. This role will put you on the map. Everyone in Hollywood will be watching this film. Think of it as doing ten thousand auditions simultaneously. After this, casting directors will be calling me, not the other way around.”
He reminds me of my why. My career. My future. “Please tell me you’re kidding about her showing up.”
“She doesn’t always do it herself. Sometimes she’ll send someone from her company. They’ll have a hidden camera and record you, streaming it back to her. You’ve heard of Olivia Young?”
“Yeah, she won the best supporting actress five years ago in Xenia’s last picture, playing an arrogant kindergarten teacher.”
“That’s the one. What you don’t know is she was the backup actress for that role. The original actress refused to act like a jerk to five-year-olds in character for two weeks at the school. Xenia kicked her off the project and replaced her with Olivia. The rest is history.” Marvin laughs, and I add another chapter to the long Hollywood history book he constructs for me, one lesson at a time. “Irony of ironies, that actress is now teaching first grade in Ohio.” His laugh does little to erase my concerns.
“Got it. Stay the course.” Resignation fills my voice, and I hate the sound.
“It’ll only be another week. Just avoid her, then you and your lady friend can have a good laugh about it next week.”
If only it were that easy. Zara lives in the café. Besides, no part of me wants to avoid her. It’s the opposite. I want to spend every free moment I have with her. Lying to someone you care about just sucks, and I know it will catch up with me.
“I’ll figure it out.” I disconnect and take a long pull of fresh air, hoping it contains a secret answer. “One week,” I mutter. Marvin is right about one thing; all I have to do is keep up this facade for one week. I’m an actor. I’ve played parts much longer than this in the past.
I square my shoulders and remind myself who I am and what’s at stake. I’ll continue to flounder in the café, even though it pains me to appear this incompetent. I’ll walk that tightrope and show enough flashes of competence to remain employed.
As for Zara, I’ll let her focus on her pitch in a few days, let that be the distraction I need to keep her from prying into my identity. One week. I can do this.
****
I press send and wait for her phone to buzz. I’m sitting on the same stool her sister sat on earlier. A short yip escapes her lips when the phone vibrates in her hand. “There you are.” Her lovely smile makes me feel like the world’s biggest heel. She taps away, adding my name to her phone. “Now for the pic.” She lifts the phone and snaps a candid before I can prepare.
“Nice. If this barista thing doesn’t work out, you should really consider modeling.” She twists the phone, and all I see is my fake smile. Everything about the man on her screen screams fraud.
She pecks away, and the tremor I feel has nothing to do with the phone in my pocket. “I’ve just sent you my socials.”
I nod and don’t say a word. After speaking with Marvin, I set my social media accounts to private. Devon Alexander is a common name. If she searches, she’ll find over three thousand of us. Too many even for the most determined person to scroll through. I hate that I’ve had to do this, but one glance at any of my accounts would expose my truth in less than three swipes.
Her brow rises at my silence, and I realize I need a distraction. “I only have a few minutes left on break. How was your latte?”
