Chapter 29: Vee

I got up from the sofa and stepped onto the deck.

The air was warm—so warm that I felt like I was in a dream. It was hard to believe that holidays could exist so far from the snow, much less under palm trees, with the scent of salt in the air.

I was used to the warmth of stoves in Seattle, the steam rising from our lips as we walked among stalls decorated with a thousand lights in search of a hot drink. The feeling of home. Woolen jumpers with Christmas motifs that always came with the holidays.

And yet, there I was, in a stranger’s house, surrounded by people who barely knew me, wearing a dress so short it left little to the imagination, staring at the sea as if I might find there what I was missing.

I checked my phone for the umpteenth time.

Nothing.

The new year had arrived in a world that felt foreign to me. I was at a party with Patti, Corey, and some of their friends, celebrating in a beautiful beach house. And yet, I felt alone.

What was Yaron doing? Probably celebrating with his family and Daniel. Did he feel the same pit in his stomach that I was feeling? The same emptiness? Was he thinking of me?

Not knowing made me anxious.

We hadn’t talked since my last call. It hadn’t gone well. My fault. I hadn’t called him again, either—probably because the lies had tasted so bitter that I could barely look at myself in the mirror without wanting to scream.

And all because of a stupid audition—one that had turned out to be the most humiliating I’d had so far.

Once I had learned Scott’s last name, I’d wasted no time. As soon as I finished my shift, I looked up “Scott Gladstein” online. I immediately found what I was looking for.

Scott was a screenwriter and film director. Professionally, he hadn’t had much success. He had made a name for himself as a writer for a few CBS sitcoms, but as a director, his credits were limited to minor TV movies.

His biggest achievement had been co-directing an independent feature film with Dennis Dennison. It was called Despair—a movie that had made it to theaters and received positive reviews at some European film festival. Scott and Dennis had even founded a production company, Blueberry Films, and were working on a risky, expensive project. A project that could either elevate their careers or bury their names in obscurity.

Thanks to the free casting newspapers scattered around the city, it hadn’t been hard—especially with Patti’s help—to find out when and where the audition was taking place.

I had a name, a production company, and a date.

“Scott won’t believe it when he sees you show up,” Patti had exclaimed.

I had smiled. It was my trump card—the element of surprise. I had to show him that I was willing to do whatever it took to achieve my goals. I had no talent, no experience, and no formal acting training, so there was no reason to believe I could make it through a traditional audition. But Scott knew me. He knew I could be charming. He knew I was willing to work hard. He knew I was willing to be anything he needed me to be.

Or at least, I had thought he could deduce all that from my waitressing skills and our brief conversation.

To apply, I needed a CV and professional photos. I had invested my savings in a small portfolio—nothing fancy, just simple pictures with natural light and little makeup. The photographer, Luigi Mandino, who had also done Patti’s photos, had tried to capture my supposed essence.

Dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, I looked like a child. My face still bore too much resemblance to the girl who used to fantasize about becoming rich and famous in my father’s house, the girl who made outfits out of old clothes and dreamed of inventing crazy things.

Patti thought the photos were perfect, emphasizing my somewhat wild features. With my long black hair, slanted eyes, and tanned-like skin, I had never felt more out of place than when I stood among all those gorgeous girls with blonde hair and pink smiles.

But I had something they didn’t—I was different in a world of sameness.