by Dayo Benson
He roars with anger.
I yank off his hood and spray him in the eyes.
He tries to punch me. I grab his fist. It's full of cash. Another man's cash.
The guy in the brown sweater appears, just then. He headlocks the thief and grabs all his money.
It looks like a lot of money. At least a hundred dollars.
A few bills blow away and I chase them down.
By the time I return, the thief is gone and it's just the dude in the brown sweater.
Most people around us are minding their business, hurrying on to wherever they're going. But a few people are staring at me. They probably witnessed what just happened.
I look up at the dude in the brown sweater and am about to hand him his money when my gaze connects with his.
There's an instant eruption in my chest. He has the dreamiest pair of brown eyes I have ever seen. They're medium brown with gold flecks that are glinting in the sun.
My eyes, of their own accord, travel to his hair. It's tousled. I have to ward off visions of running my hands through it. The five o'clock shadow that darkens his jaw lends him a roguish look.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
Which is ridiculous, because I'm not the kind of girl who gets stupid over a handsome face.
Being an actor, I've seen many a handsome face and didn't look twice.
I pride myself on never looking twice. On cool detachment.
And I still can. I haven't given this guy a second look. It's been one look.
One very long look.
But still, it's just one look.
"Thanks," he says.
His voice is a husky rumble. It makes me think of groaning thunder.
I hold out the money I retrieved. It's fifty dollars.
He shakes his head. "Keep it. I'd say you've more than earned it."
I find my tongue. "No. It's yours."
"I insist." He gives me a small smile.
My heart flops over in my chest at that hint of a smile.
I get the impression he doesn't smile much. He seems kind of brooding.
"What's the word for a knight in shining armor if the knight is a woman?" he asks.
I smile. "I'm glad I could be your knight. I had to help. I know the value of money."
People who steal from others are so inconsiderate.
If someone had grabbed that ten dollars that I just withdrew from my account, it would have crushed me. It would mean that, in order for me to eat over the next week, I'd have to depend on my roommates' mercy. With this last ten dollars, I'm going to buy pasta sauce, chicken, and as many vegetables as I can. I have just enough spaghetti and rice to last me until I get that two hundred and fifty dollars next week. Thankfully, I have gas in my car, so getting to college won't be a problem.
But now, Mr. Hot Stuff has given me fifty dollars. I can do real grocery shopping.
I notice that Mr. Handsome is staring at me. It can't be because he finds me appealing in any way. I'm wearing no makeup and my hair is in a scraggly ponytail that I did while I was chasing that thief. I have wild, curly hair. Ponytails are always puffy unless I take the time to get them right. I think he's just in awe of me.
"I really can't believe you chased him down," he says.
Yup. He's just in awe.
"That was kind of dangerous, though," he continues. "I appreciate it, but I hope you don't make a habit of chasing criminals down the street. He could have had a gun or a knife."
"You're right. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted justice."
Just then, my cell phone begins to buzz in my pocket. I'm totally prepared to ignore it, but I'm waiting on the results of an audition I attended last week for a part in a TV series called 'College Life'.
College Life is a pretty big deal. Everyone watches it. The part I auditioned for is a new girl on campus. I come between the main couple in the show. Mom and Nana will hate it, but it could launch my career. I'm in my senior year of college. My goal is to land a big acting gig and not have to look for a job after graduation.
"Are you okay?" I ask my handsome stranger, slipping out my phone. "He punched you. I hope he hasn't done any damage."
Mr. Hot Stuff is staring at me. There's a strange look in his eyes. He must be in pain.
"Are you hurt?" I ask. I glance at my cell phone screen. It's Timothy calling.
I quickly turn the screen away and look up at Mr. Handsome. His gaze is on my cell phone. I hope he didn't see Timothy's name.
"I'll…be okay," he says, raking a hand through his hair.
It's almost like slow motion. This dude should be in commercials. He's that gorgeous.
My phone stops buzzing in my hand.
I notice that Mr. Handsome is looking at my left hand.
All of a sudden, I'm so glad I removed my engagement ring.
Instantly, guilt stabs my heart.
I try to tell myself it's no big deal. Whether or not Mr. Handsome knows that I'm engaged doesn't matter. We're both strangers. We're never going to see each other again.
Unless he asks for my number...
But why would he? I look a mess.
Why, oh why, didn't I take more care with my appearance today?
My cell phone begins to ring again.
Mr. Handsome looks down at a gospel tract blowing across the ground among a bunch of leaves.
He bends to retrieve it, so I glance at my cell phone. Timothy again.
Mr. Handsome is stuffing the tract into his pocket. He glances at my cell phone screen before I turn it away.
I wonder if he's a Christian.
He must be if he's picked up a tract from the ground.
"Looks like Timothy really wants to get hold of you," Mr. Handsome says.
He glances at my left hand again and I wonder whether he saw my engagement ring before when we were standing in line at the ATM. He would have been standing behind me so I doubt it.
But if he did see it, does he think I'm a ring-ditching kind of woman?
All of a sudden, I feel too guilty to speak.
But there's no need for guilt. I removed my ring because I didn't want to lose it while chasing the thief, not because I wanted another man's attention.
"It's been nice to meet you," he says.
I just nod.
Mr. Handsome turns and I watch him walk away.
I tell myself to walk away too. Instead, I stand there watching the hottest dude I've ever laid eyes on disappear into the crowd.
That guy could very well have been the full package: tall, broad, handsome, and a Christian.
I mused about my dream guy just a few minutes before meeting him. I now have something else to add to the list: My dream guy would have dark hair and tawny, brown eyes that make a girl breathless just from looking into them.
Just then, my cell phone begins to ring again. I groan, until I look at the screen and see my agent's name.
Chapter 3
"College Life has invited you for a second audition on Monday."
I stop walking. I feel like screaming. "Did you ask how many other people have been invited for a second audition?" I ask my agent. His name is Quin and he's been my agent since my freshman year of college.
When I lived back home in Ellenwood, Georgia, I did a few local stage plays, but couldn't really pursue acting seriously because Mom was against it. Once I got to D.C., I found an agent and, surprisingly, I began to get bookings. Nothing major yet, but enough bookings to pay my tuition and not need to work any other job. I do an insane amount of modestly-paying acting work, and the money adds up.
"Only one other girl has been recalled," Quin tells me. "
I cannot believe it. They must have really liked me.
"I think this could be your big break," Quin says. He sounds slightly breathless as he always does whenever he gets excited. "I really think you could land this role."
My heart is palpitating as I begin making my way back to where I left my car before goin
g to the ATM.
This time, it's palpitating for entirely different reasons than a pair of deep brown eyes.
"Can you come over right away?" Quin asks. "They've sent me your script. We need to discuss it."
"I have to get to the Olympia."
"Oh, yeah." Quin groans. "It's your last night of Rumpelstiltskin."
"Yup." I've enjoyed it, but it hasn't been easy. The director took a pretty unhealthy shine to me from day one. His name is Edmund. But I call him Shrek—not to his face, of course. He honestly looks like an ogre.
I should have known he would be a pest from the way he wouldn't stop staring at me at the audition. Needless to say, my audition was a breeze.
The minute I laid eyes on you, I wanted you, he told me when I accepted the role. His tone was thick with innuendo, but I played dumb. I wanted the experience that playing such a role would give me, and I need the paycheck. I can play dumb. I'm an actress, after all.
"I'll come after I'm done," I tell Quin. "Will you still be in the office?"
"Of course."
"Are you sure? It's Friday night. Don't you have a life?"
"We both know I don't. I can have a life after I make my first million. That's why I need you and all my other clients to land bigger gigs that will bring in some serious bank."
I smile. I knew I made the right choice when I chose Quin to be my agent. He has a stake in my success too. He takes a bigger cut of my paychecks than other agents at his level do. But he busts his butt to get me work so it's worth it. I've had steady acting jobs throughout college.
"See you later," I tell him.
"Later." He hangs up.
I hurry to my car and jump in. I'm about to switch on the engine when my cell phone begins to buzz again. It's Timothy this time.
I'm in such a good mood after talking to Quin so I decide to answer. "Hey, Timothy."
"Chloe. I've been calling you. How come you didn't answer?"
"I was—"
"Don't tell me you were in a class," he cuts in. "I have a copy of your college schedule, remember?"
I frown. "I wasn't going to say I was in a class. I was at the ATM and I saw this dude get robbed. I chased the thief and got the money back. That's what was happening when you were calling me."
I leave out the part about the victim of the robbery being super gorgeous. Somehow, I don't think Timothy would appreciate such details. I'll save that part of the story for when I see my friends, Leah and Gina, later.
"You chased a thief?" Timothy asks. "That's dangerous, Chloe. He could have had a weapon on him. Money—especially someone else's money—is not worth risking your life!"
Timothy has just said pretty much what Mr. Handsome said. However, when Mr. Handsome said it, I didn't feel like I was being scolded. I didn't feel like a naughty child.
Maybe Timothy talks to me like that because he's so much older than I am. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it.
I look at my bare ring finger.
"I hope you've been wearing your ring?" Timothy asks.
I want to tell him nobody is competing with him for my heart. I'm too busy with college and acting to notice anyone or be noticed.
The only interest I'm getting these days is from my fifty-one-year-old Rumpelstiltskin director. Not exactly tempting.
I take out the ring and slip it onto my finger. I have to push pretty hard to get it down to the bottom. "Yes, I'm wearing the ring."
I want to ask him if he bought the right size, but I don't want to sound ungrateful.
"What are you up to for the rest of the day?" Timothy asks.
I think of how excited I was before answering the phone. Somehow, Timothy has managed to suck all my excitement away, and he's six hundred miles away.
But thinking about my second audition for College Life perks me up again.
"I'm on my way to the final night of Rumpelstiltskin," I tell him. "I just got a call from Quin. You know I did that audition for College Life last week? Well, I've been invited for a second audition. Only me and one other girl got through. Can you believe that? I have a fifty-percent chance of being chosen. Quin has the script so I'm going over to discuss it with him after the show tonight."
Timothy is quiet for a long moment. I know he doesn't like that I want to be an actress. It's something we've agreed to disagree about.
But he should be excited about this. Even if only because I'm excited.
I have big dreams of becoming an A-list actress. Of acting in Hollywood movies. I like the action genre, mainly because I don't want kissing and sex scenes. I want to establish myself as the go-to actress for action. Maybe I can even get my own film series like Tom Cruise has the Mission Impossible series and Matt Damon has the Bourne series.
It's hard for me to imagine Timothy by my side if that happens, but maybe he'll warm up to it.
Timothy's silence is beginning to fill my heart with ice.
I'm going to have to pump my fists extra hard when I get to the theater. My getting-into-the-zone routine is not optional tonight.
"So," I say, hooking up the call to feed into my car speakers so that I can drive, "what are you up to?"
"Just preparing my Sunday sermon. I'll be preaching on the consequences of sin. Ed has been preaching for the past two weeks and it's been fluffy topics about love and grace. I need to get everybody whipped back into shape before the whole congregation becomes a bunch of spoiled, lukewarm people."
I have no idea what to say, so I'm quiet.
Nana loves that Timothy is a hardcore preacher who preaches hard-hitting sermons. He comes from four generations of preachers and he's immensely proud to keep up that legacy.
Timothy, as usual, doesn't notice that I've gone quiet. He fills the silence with constant chatter. As I drive, I get the full sermon. He preaches it to me from beginning to end, all three points. By the time I pull up at the theater, he's still giving me his concluding remarks.
If you're lukewarm, God will spit you out of His mouth.
We are in the last days, and the love of many has waxed cold.
Are you one of the cold?
I can't deny that the Bible does say these things. But I wonder if Timothy ever applies any of it to himself. His tone and his word choices tell me he doesn't. It's all about setting other people straight. Never about looking inward.
"I have to go now," I tell him. I have plenty of time, but I'm done with this conversation.
Talking to my fiancé should be exactly what I need before a show.
Unfortunately, I can't think of a single scenario where talking to Timothy is exactly what I need.
We hang up and I heave a sigh of relief.
A text from Gina comes in as I enter the theater: This show had better be worth the cost of this ticket.
I smile. Gina and Leah are coming to watch tonight. Leah has already been twice. She's come each month that it's been on. Gina has watched me in lots of other shows, but not this one yet.
I have the best friends ever.
You can't choose your family. You just have to deal with whatever's handed to you. But you can choose your friends. I chose great ones.
Inside the theater, people are rushing around, making final preparations. I'm too early for hair and makeup so I figure I'll head to one of the storage rooms. Those are the only places I'll be able to be alone and have some quiet time. I might even tease my hair into submission so that the hairdresser doesn't have to. I have my straighteners in my purse.
"Hey, Blondie," Shrek calls from his office as I walk past.
See? I'm justified in using a nickname for him—even if only in my mind. He has never called me by my name. He only ever calls me 'Blondie'.
I shove down my irritation. He merely has to breathe and I get irritated. I shuffle into the doorway of his office. He's not alone. There's another dude in there with him. They could be twins. They have the same weathered, leathery skin, humongous noses, and matching, I-like-to-prey-on-young-women-my-daughter's-age looks
in their eyes.
The other dude has humongous ears, though—something Shrek doesn't have. I instantly coin a name for him: Dumbo.
"This is my good friend, Desmond," Shrek tells me, nodding at Dumbo.
I almost laugh. Edmund and Desmond?
But I like Shrek and Dumbo better.
I look at Dumbo, making sure not to smile. Men like him would construe even a polite smile as interest. Goodness knows why! I doubt many girls ever respond to their advances.
Shrek takes a swig of the glass of beer he's holding. Whenever he's drunk, he gets even worse than usual. From the two empty bottles on his desk, he's been drinking a lot today.
"Desmond is casting for Beauty and the Beast," Shrek tells me. "He needs someone young and pretty."
He's obsessed with younger girls. It's creepy.
"It'll be for three months," Shrek tells me, "just like this one."
That means an opportunity to receive a steady paycheck for another three months, but I don't think I can handle another creepy director for that long. Besides, I have a fifty-fifty chance of landing a role in College Life.
"Beauty is brunette," I tell them. "But I'll think about auditioning."
Both men laugh uproariously like my comment was hilarious. Shrek slaps Dumbo on the shoulder. "What did I tell you about her?"
They've been talking about me? Eww. I don't even want to imagine what was said.
Dumbo gives me some details about the audition. As he does, his gaze cruises my body at least four times. I decide I'm not going to audition. I'm sure Quin already has a lot lined up for me. He always makes sure I don't have too much downtime between gigs.
There's a catcall when I walk onto the stage, three hours later.
I don't look at the audience. They're not there.
Even if I looked, I wouldn't see them. The only lights that are on in the theater are those focused on the stage.
I deliver my lines as my 'father' tells me the lie he has told the king about me being able to spin straw into gold. Then, I gather my skirts, and begin my song and dance.
There are zillions of awesome actors out there, so I quickly realized that, in order to have the edge, I would have to become proficient in other things that aren't acting but are complementary skills. Things like singing and dancing.
