Page 25 of Until the Last Star Fades

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. Maybe that role just wasn’t right for you.”

“No, I mean literally—I couldn’t read the script. I’m dyslexic, okay?!”

“Dyslexic—really?”

“Yeah, really. I don’t see things properly. Letters move around, words get jumbled up when I read, and it gets worse when I’m stressed out.”

Her heart dipped. Poor guy. “You should’ve told them.”

He shook his head. “They showed me the door in less than a minute. I was gutted, and furious. I smashed a mirror in the gents’ toilets with my fist.”

Riley glanced at his healed hand. “The bandage.”

“Yeah. Smart, eh? Every time I saw it—a reminder of the truth.” Ben made eye contact for the first time.

Riley felt an immediate wave of concern; he looked sad and defeated.

He gave her a tired smile, placing a finger to his lips like he was letting her in on a secret. “Want to know the truth, Ms. Hope?” Without waiting for a response, he leaned closer. “I’m just not good enough, and I’m done knocking my head against a brick wall. That’s why I'm in New York—’cause I can’t face going home…not yet. I can’t be a fucking disappointment.” He stuffed his fingers into one of the front pockets of his dark jeans, pulling out some folded cash. He opened the small stack, fanning the bills out on the bar. Riley counted one, two—two fifties, maybe three or four twenty-dollar bills, and a couple of crinkled ones.

“Ben—”

“Have a drink with me.” He waved a fifty at the bartender. “Four more, please.”

“Thanks, but I’m not drinking.”

“Why?”

“I need to keep a clear head.”

“Why?” He leaned on the bar, looking at her with a squint.

“Ben, more booze isn’t going to help you.”

He sat back, shaking his head again, his fingers digging through the bowl of peanuts. “You have no business telling me what to do! ’Specially not after giving me the wrong bloody number.” He threw a hard glare her way, his hand flying from the bowl and scattering nuts across the bar. “Why didn’t you just say, ‘Ben, piss off you loser’? Bish bosh, message received loud and clear.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t give you the wrong number.” She held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

Ben slapped an ancient smartphone with a cracked screen into her palm. He returned to the bowl, grabbing a fistful of peanuts and shoveling them into his mouth, chewing quickly and scowling at the rows of liquor bottles lined up behind the bar.

He’s got the same old phone as me. No security code necessary, Riley skimmed through the few contacts he had, all listed by first names, no last names to go with them. She spotted ‘Rilee’, but the number was off by one digit. He punched it in wrong. “You tried to text me?”

He shrugged.

Riley didn’t make a huge deal of it. “See the six at the end? It should be a four. I’ll fix it and send a text to my phone so I have your number, too, okay?”

He turned his head slightly, barely looking at her. “Hope, go back to your friends and leave me alone. I’m gonna stay here and get pissed and blot out every little bit of my shite life.”

She set his phone on the bar. “Ben—”

“I’ve got nothing: no career, no home, no—” He hiccupped, his eyes locked on the approaching bartender. “Let me have something…and right now, it’s waiting for me in these wee glasses.” The bartender lined up four full shots. “Cheers, mate.” Ben raised one to his lips, the liquid gone in a gulp.

“I know losing out on the Netflix thing must be disappointing, but you know better than anyone that rejections are part of an actor’s life, right? Sure, it hurts now, but it will fade and you’ll get other auditions, other roles. You have to keep trying—”

“Oh, you think so, eh? Think it’s that easy? Since drama school, I’ve only had a few acting jobs: some voiceover work, an advert or two, a play in a pub, and a small part in an indie film in LA, so all that crap about other auditions, other roles—tell it to someone who gives a shit.”

Riley jerked her head back. “I get it, you’re upset, but getting wasted isn’t the answer, and what’s your boss here going to say—seeing you drinking the bar dry?”

“My boss?” He laughed. “He’d say, ‘Thanks for the wages back, loser.’ Besides, I got sacked tonight.”