by Lia London
Without letting go of her, Milo shifted towards the couch. “Now can you get back up on your balcony, Juliet? You might be a future soap star, but I’m going to bomb Acting if you don’t help me out here.” Maybe we’ll get all the way to the kissing part this time.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to kiss me until we do it for the final.” Jill didn’t want to make Milo more uncomfortable than necessary, after all. She had to admit, though, that he said his lines with a surprising sincerity. Who knew science geek of a best friend could act?
“Oh. Right. Okay.” He grabbed a pencil from his backpack. “So, we’ve got the blocking down. Should we just drill lines ’til they’re memorized?”
“What, just sit here and read lines over and over? Boring.”
“But …”
“Boys can never multi-task. Come on.” Jill grabbed her keys. “You’re done with classes for the day, right? Let’s zip out to Lincoln City.”
“The beach?”
“What, it’s only a 45-minute drive. If we take my bike, I can get us there in 30.” Jill snatched his script from his hand, folded it in half, spun him around and slid it into the pocket of his jeans. “We’ll take it with us and practice on the beach. It’s perfect weather.”
Milo’s hand went to the script in his back pocket, pulling his t-shirt taut across his chest. Jill noted that his weight-lifting P.E. credit was paying dividends. He shook his head. “Not the Harley.”
“Why not?” whined Jill.
“Because there’s no place to put the bags.”
“What bags?”
He dropped his eyelids to half-mast. “For whatever you end up buying at the outlet mall to wear when you audition for Who Wants to Be a Soap Star?”
“Oh my gosh, you’re the best! I forgot about that!”
Jill scrambled to put her shoes on. When it came to shopping for clothes, she had never known a more patient person for watching her model each outfit. Her parents always said, “Just buy it if you like it. If it doesn’t fit, we’ll return it later.” Milo made it more fun, applauding like she was on a fashion runway.
“But …” He held his finger up.
“But what?”
“If I’m paying gas, you buy the onion rings.”
“Milo, you are such a creature of habit.” The clam chowder at Mo’s restaurant rocked, and they always shared one of the giant orders of onion rings. “All right,” she agreed. “Let’s time it so we can see the sunset over the waves from the windows. Don’t want to miss that.”
The corner of his mouth turned up in a sly grin. “A sunset dinner with you? How could I refuse?”
Jill snorted. “Stick to science, Romeo. Your comedy stinketh.”
Scene 2: Getting in Costume
“Afraid to go fast on the curves, Milo?”
Milo ignored this with a smile. “We’re stuck behind the slowest Winnebago in North America, Jill. Just relax. The Pacific Ocean will still be full when we get there.” The truth was that he cherished car time with Jill. Most guys saw a nice car as a vehicle to sex, but Milo enjoyed their conversations with no distractions. “Got anything exciting planned for the summer—I mean, besides the auditions?” Maybe her parents had tickets for some great concerts or a cruise.
“I don’t know. I think we’re going to have to get creative this year, Milo. Mom and Dad keep dropping heavy hints that I can’t wait for any passes this summer. I think they want to use them for themselves or re-gift them to other clients as incentives and stuff.”
“I suppose that’s only fair. We’ve been scoring all the fun for a decade now.”
“Remember that Bahamas cruise?”
“Of course. It was too short.” Two years ago. Another missed kiss opportunity because …
“Ugh, too long! I got so seasick!”
“You were kind of barfy that year, if I remember.”
“Yeah, all the stress. I thought I was going to flunk out.”
Milo grimaced at the memory. Jill wasn’t really designed for self-motivated, higher learning. “You made it, though.”
“Barely.” She rubbed a friendly circle on his shoulder. “You saved me every term. How did I ever come to deserve you?”
Milo’s heart skipped.
“You’re the best tutor ever.”
Milo’s heart plunged. Tutor. Wheee…
“Oh my gosh, I totally forgot to tell you.” Jill rummaged for something in her purse. “I got an A+ on my latest creative writing project.”
“What? Another one? That’s awesome!”
“Look.” She retrieved her phone and thumbed at it for a few seconds. “I took a picture of it so you’d believe me.”
Milo laughed. “I’d believe you.”
She held up the rhinestone-rimmed screen to a crooked shot of a piece of paper.
Glancing quickly at it, Milo said, “You’ve always been good at making up stories. Every time you got us out of trouble with your parents—”
“This is for real, Milo. I’m actually acing this class. A real A!”
“You’re acing Acting, too.”
“Well yeah, but even you’re getting an A in that.”
Milo made a show of looking offended.
Jill just chortled and sighed.
“Seriously, Jill, I’m proud of you. What was the assignment? Want to read it to me?” Milo knew some guys faked interest, but Jill actually came up with some fun stories. When they were kids, she used to write them during the summers in her family’s fancy tree house while he played video games. The stories were always far-fetched fantasies, but they had a certain flair, the Jill Ripley “Believe-it-or-Not” factor that skirted reality just close enough to make him wonder if it could come true. In high school, she had won the Most Likely to be a Famous Novelist Award. Milo might have suggested that one to the editor, who happened to be his locker partner. She had been ecstatic.
“Really? You won’t be bored?” asked Jill.
“It’s me.”
She chuckled. “I know. You’re immune to boredom. That’s why you’re going to be a pharmacist.”
“Let me rephrase. It’s you. I can’t be bored if it’s you. I mean, one of your stories.”
“Well, all right then.” The lilt of her voice told him he’d given just the right approval. “I can pull up the Google Doc on my phone.”
For the next several miles, she read a crazy narration from the point of view of an athlete’s water bottle. It was bizarre, intuitive, and very funny. By the time Milo pulled into the parking lot of the outlet mall, he was laughing hard. “A+ is right, Jill. That is publishable.”
“Oh, right.” She rolled her eyes. “By who?”
Milo parked and pulled on the emergency brake. “That’s a good question. I don’t know if there’s a venue that’s ready for you yet. But just wait.” He grinned and knuckled her chin softly. “We’ll find it.”
“You think?”
“Yes. But first let’s find your outfit for the auditions.”
“Really? You’re up for this?”
“I will take photos of everything you try on so you can go back and compare.”
“Oh my gosh, Milo, you are the best!”
Jill slipped her arms up through the cool, soft fabric and thought about Milo sitting just outside the dressing room area. Sure, he might be the slowest driver in the whole world, and he lacked creativity, but he had earned the Major Good Sport Award while she tried on about fifty-two different outfits.
They had debated the benefits of going frilly vs. sporty vs. ultra-chic, and he had patiently helped her button up the dresses and put on all the necklaces with practiced fingers. Without complaint, he just stood there taking pictures. Then she’d go grab some more, and he’d play games on his phone.
Smiling at his kindness, Jill pushed open the door to her cubicle and stepped out in front of the three-way mirror.
“That’s it,” said Milo He put his hands on her shoulders, directing her to look at their reflection. “This is
the outfit. It’s perfect. You look amazing.”
Jill’s eyebrows crawled up her forehead as she tried to see what he saw in the mirror. She wore a red dress with white polka-dots and a pair of white high heels with a strap. Nothing glamorous or special. “Why?”
He slipped into his analytical zone and mused for a second before answering. “It says ‘sweet girl next door who doesn’t realize she’s drop-dead gorgeous, and that makes her all the more alluring.’ Look at how it shows off your figure without revealing too much.”
Jill examined her image from all three angles, working the glamor eyes.
“No, no.” Milo elbowed her. “Just be you.” He pointed at the mirror and held up the phone to take the picture.
Jill slipped the hair tie off her wrist and pulled her light brown hair into a quick messy bun while he waited, camera poised. “Like this?”
“Like that.” He smiled and took the picture. “Come on. Let’s go buy this one at least, and then I can show you the pics over dinner. I’ve organized them into folders by overall fashion statement.”
Jill burst out laughing. “Milo, you’re such a geek!”
“Hurry up and change. I’m a hungry geek!”
***
After two bowls of chowder, a huge order of onion rings, and an hour of scrolling through the pictures Milo had taken, Jill agreed that the polka-dot dress ranked in the top three. Personally, she favored a little low-backed black number, but she could always use the red one for a fun summer date. If she could find a decent guy who wasn’t trying to score on the first night.
She glanced at their hunky Latino waiter who had a certain inexplicable sizzle about him. Too bad I can’t mix that with Milo’s loyal gentlemanly qualities. A little sweet and spicy action. She blinked coyly and handed the waiter her credit card to pay the bill.
“Thank you. I’ll be right back with your receipt.”
Milo smiled up at him. “Thanks, Antonio. You’ve been great.”
As the waiter worked his way back to the register, Jill leaned forward. “How’d you know his name?”
“It’s on his name tag.”
“What? Where?” Jill leered after him.
“It’s not on his butt. That’s probably why you didn’t see it.” Milo’s tone had a little snark that surprised her.
“I was not staring at his …” She flushed and kicked Milo’s ankle under the table.
Crunching the last of his ice, Milo shifted his gaze out the window. “We got our timing wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“We finished dinner too soon. Sunset isn’t for another half hour at least.”
“That’s okay. Let’s go walk the beach. I need to digest before we get back on those windy roads anyway.” He smiled and started to speak, but Jill stopped him. “I know. You’ve told me 362 times about Dramamine. No. I don’t want to sleep all the way home.”
“I won’t take advantage of you.”
Jill rolled her eyes. “I know that. But without me talking, you might fall asleep at the wheel, and then where would be?”
“Aw, you do care.”
Milo and Jill strolled in the damp, packed sand where glassy sheets of seawater kept reaching a little closer to the dunes. A seasonal breeze pushed from behind, making wisps of Jill’s hair dance around on her cheeks. Milo leaned closer. “You cold?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine.”
Why did that ploy work for every other guy he knew? “Which way?”
She pointed. “North. The glare isn’t as bad. Can’t get wrinkles from squinting if I’m going to be a TV star, right?”
He studied her face for a moment before walking. “Do you really want this? I mean, what if you make it?”
She shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then I’ll have something to keep me busy all summer.”
“And if you make it make it? I mean, do you want to? All the way to the nationals? Do you really want to be a soap star?”
She gave a pensive pout. “It’s a job. What else am I cut out to do but act and wear great clothes?”
Milo stopped. “You’re not a mannequin, Jill. You’re so much more.”
“But isn’t that what we just did?” She gave a sad smile. “I buy clothes. I prance on the stage. It’s what I do.”
Taming a feral strand of Jill’s hair with his fingers, he said, “Jill, you are adventure personified. You are generous and funny, beautiful and creative. You could be anything.”
For a moment, she leaned into his hand, like a kitten pressing into affection. “If I just stuck to something long enough. I’m not like you. I don’t have long-term goals that make sense.”
Milo dared to hold her face in his hands, tilting her closer. “But … a soap star? Swilling martinis and hiding from tabloid photographers?”
“Then maybe my parents will take a break and at least watch me on TV? They can record it to watch later, if they’re too busy when it goes live.”
“Oh, Jill.” Milo pulled her into a hug. “They love you. They just don’t know how to show it.”
She made a pitiful sound into his chest. “Right. As if it’s hard to show how you feel about someone.”
Milo sighed. This was one of those scripted moments from a movie, and he knew his cue, but he delivered the wrong line. “Sometimes it’s harder than it should be.” He gave her a gentle nudge and they started walking, both with heads down and hands stuffed in pockets. They walked like that so long that they totally missed the moment the sun disappeared over the horizon.
Scene 3: The Audition
Doors for the auditions opened at seven a.m., so Milo and Jill camped out for three hours in the dark on the side of the Moda Center with at least 500 other soap star hopefuls in at least seven shades of crazy.
A cluster of people walked by and asked if they were waiting for Blazer tickets.
“In May?” Jill flopped her cheek onto Milo’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with these people?”
Milo yawned. “You’ve seen the bumper stickers: Keep Portland Weird.”
The concrete pavement was chilly, but the shoulder Jill leaned on was so warm Milo thought it might melt. Eventually, he got the guts to slip an arm around her, and she snuggled close against his chest, too sleepy to realize she’d just hiked his heart rate into overdrive. By the time he’d settled enough to rest his cheek on the top of her head and stretch his legs out, she was breathing steadily. He could have stayed like that forever if his butt wasn’t freezing to the ground.
Just as Milo’s hazy thoughts turned into dreams, someone tapped his foot. “Everybody up!” A tired-looking guy in a black t-shirt gestured for him to hurry. “Up, up! We need photos of this and then we’ll get your names.”
Suddenly people were scrambling to their feet and fussing with their hair. As Milo stood and stretched, a man handed him a piece of paper with a number on it. “Pin that on.”
Milo fingered the straight pin tucked into the corner. “Huh. They checking crowd size for publicity?” He glanced over to Jill and felt his eyes bulge. Her hoodie and jeans were gone, replaced by the silky black dress she’d tried on their shopping trip. When had she gone back to get that? “How did you…?”
“I had it on underneath,” she said, taking a number from the guy.
Milo figured it was too tight to wrinkle. “When did you put on the heels?”
“I was wearing them the whole time, silly,” she said, her teeth clamped on the handle of her brush while she fastened something on the back of her head. She took the brush out of her mouth and tapped Milo on the shoulder with it. “You never notice anything, Milo.”
He gave her a half-hearted “you win” smile and looked around. Similar transformations had taken place all around, and he figured this proved they’d all done enough theater to be good at fast costume changes.
Someone wheeled over a giant spotlight and Milo turned to see their shadows climb higher on the side of the building, big and bold.
“Swirl me?”
Milo squinted in the bright beam. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Pick me up and swirl me?”
“What does that even mean?”
“When I was really little, my dad would pick me up and swirl me for good luck—you know, on the first day of school or something. It was like the only time he ever did anything special with me.”
“That is … a very interesting tradition.” Why am I complaining? He picked her up and twirled her around. She laughed and looked at him with so much trust that he almost leaned in to try a good-luck kiss—
FLASH!
Milo saw sparks and almost dropped Jill instead. Why, why, why was the universe conspiring against his pursuit of happiness?
“Oh, that’ll be a great shot for the promos,” said a male voice.
“Come on, Milo!” Jill slid smoothly to her feet and tugged his hand. “The line’s moving. Let’s go!”
They shuffled with the masses around the corner, up some steps, and through the double glass doors. Inside, the faint scent of industrial cleaners and old hot dogs filled the air. Milo had never been in the Moda Center with all the lights dimmed. It felt bigger, and the sweeping angles and curves cast grotesque shadows.
Most of the auditioners handed glossy black-and-white photos to a guy typing their names into a data base. When Milo got to him, the man barely looked up. “No headshot?”
“Um, what?”
“Over there, please.” He jerked his thumb.
Milo stepped over to a lady with a huge camera tripod standing in front of a brightly lit white screen. She glanced over him with an indifferent shrug, motioned for him to stand in front of the backdrop and clacked a picture before he could figure out what was happening. As she fidgeted with her camera, she said, “What’s your number?”
“My number?”
She squinted at the viewfinder. “Never mind, I got it.”
Milo spotted Jill nearby, and she dragged him back into the slow-moving line. They filed into the stadium, but the basketball floor was gone. Just plain concrete. The area closest to them had been set up with folding tables and benches. On the far side of the floor, a curtained barrier had been set up, creating a separate room there. Another guy in a black t-shirt stood in a hydraulic cherry-picker poised above a gap in the curtain, obviously trying to fasten a glittery arched sign that read Who Wants to Be a Soap Star?
