Roommates (Soulmates #1) (4 page)

Chapter 6: Ethan

I
saw Christophe’s hand shoot up at the back of the restaurant as soon as I
walked in.

“Hey,”
I said, sliding into the wooden booth across from him.

“Dude,
are you bleeding?” he asked, pointing at my hand.

I
turned my wrist towards me and rubbed the dark red streak. “No, it’s just
paint.” Shit.

“Paint?”

“Yeah.
Is Ben coming?”

“What
the fuck were you painting?”

“Some
asshole dinged my jeep.”

He
squinted at me. “So you thought you’d paint over it with a different color
red?”

“It
just dried dark on my hand. Will you let it go? Jesus. Where’s Ben?”

“Where
do you think?”

I
sighed. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“He
blew us off last week.”

He
shrugged. “I know.”

“I
want to be happy for him that he found someone so great, but he’s making it really
fucking difficult.”

Christophe
opened the glossy black menu in front of him and sighed. “Women happen to the
best of us.”

“No
shit.”

He
raised his eyes. “What? Naomi prove a handful last night?”

“Not
exactly.”

“What’s
the problem? She told me she wanted to lick your balls till they were raw.”

I
cocked my head. “Fuck off.”

“So
she didn’t say it,” he said. “But she had that look in her eye.”

A
young girl with a swinging ponytail appeared at the end of the table. “Spicy
Nachos?”

“Thanks,”
Christophe said, scooting his drink over.

She
raised her eyebrows. “You guys ready to order?”

“I’ll
have the bacon burger,” Christophe said.

I
handed my menu to her. “Same. And a Coke.”

She
nodded and left.

“So
what happened?” he asked. “Last I heard you left together-”

“Things
were fine till we got back to mine, but I had an unexpected visitor.”

He
furrowed his brow and reached for a cheesy chip. “At your place?”

I
nodded.

“Who?”

“My
stepsister.”

“I
didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Stepsister.”

“Still.”

“Yeah,
well, I didn’t know you cared.”

He
raised his eyebrows. “Is she hot?”

I
shook my head.

“I’m
going to have to take that silence as a yes.”

“Take
it however you want,” I said, sliding a jalapeno covered nacho from the pile
between us.

“Can
I meet her?”

“She’s
not your type.”

“How
so?” he asked. “Cause there’s really only two things that would make her not my
type.”

I
furrowed my brows.

He
counted on his fingers. “Either she’s bald or she doesn’t swallow.”

I
leaned back in the booth and rubbed my painted hand along the edge of the seat.
“Yeah, definitely not your type.”

“Which
is it?”

“Bald,”
I said. “And gay.”

He
narrowed his eyes. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Would
I joke about having a bald, gay houseguest?” I asked. “Don’t you think if I had
a gorgeous girl staying at mine I’d be rubbing it your smug face?”

“Mmm.
Probably.”

“Plus,
you know I like girls with flavor,” I said. “Like Naomi.”

“True.”

But
it wasn’t. I liked Jen. But going for girls that reminded me of her just made
things worse. So I did everything I could to keep my distance from petite
brunettes with hazel eyes and melodic laughs. Cause it was hard enough to not think
about her as it was.

“So,”
he said. “How long’s she staying with you?”

The
young waitress placed my Coke on the table a second later.

I
turned to offer her some thanks, but she’d already disappeared.

“Well?”
he asked.

I
shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s got some audition to go to. She’s just staying
with me while she sees that through.”

“You
guys close?”

“Not
really. I was sixteen when our parents got married, and I got shipped off to boarding
school a year later-”

“So
you didn’t know her before your folks hooked up?”

“I
knew of her.”

He
raised his eyebrows and drank from his glass, ignoring the straw in it so it
poked him in the cheek.

“We
went to the same high school,” I said. “So I’d seen her around for a while.”

“Too
bad you guys didn’t hit it off.”

“Why?”

“Cause
then you could’ve dated all her friends and-”

“We
didn’t really run in the same crowds.”

“So
she was a loser?”

“She
wasn’t a loser,” I said too defensively. “She just didn’t care about fitting
in.”

“Cause
she couldn’t if she wanted to.”

“Cause
she liked books and acting and didn’t have an athletic bone in her body.”

“When
was the last time you talked to her?”

“This
morning.”

“Before
that.”

I
rolled my eyes up to the ceiling. “When I went home for Christmas her freshman
year of college.”

“Sounds
pretty fucking awkward.”

“It’s
not so bad,” I said. “She’s cool. A total cock block, but cool.”

“Maybe
you could find a girl you were both into and-”

I
raised a hand. “I’m going to stop you there before you say something that makes
me want to punch you in the face.”

“Why?
It’s not like you’re related.”

I
leaned an elbow on the table. “You know who else I’m not related to?”

“Who?”

“Your
sister,” I said, craning my neck forward. “How’s she doing?”

“That’s
none of your fucking business.”

“I
thought she kind of took a shine to me last time she came to the club.”

“I’m
sure she didn’t.”

“In
fact, I think she would’ve done a lot more than take a shine if I’d-”

He
raised his hands in the air between us. “Okay. I get your point. I won’t say
shit about your sister anymore.”

“Stepsister.”

“Whatever.
Just don’t even think about Camille,” he said. “Okay?”

“Deal.”

“She’s
too good to be fodder for your pathetic wank bank.”

“I
assure you that she’s-”

He
pointed at me. “I’ll fucking kill you if you finish that sentence.”

I
wanted to smirk, but I knew it would set him off so I let it go. Of course, I
had zero confidence he wouldn’t mention Jen again at some point, but if he
could refrain for the rest of the meal, it would be a small grace for which I
would be grateful.

“You
know what she’s auditioning for?”

I
raised my eyebrows. “I thought we were done.”

“Hey,”
he said, showing me his palms. “I’m only asking because my uncle’s got an
agency in Midtown.”

I
swallowed the nacho in my mouth. “Really?”

“Yeah,”
he said. “So if she needs some representation-”

“Thanks.
I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I
can’t guarantee anything, but I can get her an appointment.”

“Let’s
wait and see how the audition goes today,” I said. “I’m not sure I want to give
her loads of reasons to stick around.”

Chapter 7: Jenny

I thought I’d be able to go home right after the audition, but
when the director said the callback results would be up in two hours, I decided
to stay in the neighborhood.

The waiting was nerve wracking, though.

Despite my best efforts, I didn’t have a clue how I’d fared in
the audition, and I could tell by some of the looks I got from the other girls
that I wasn’t going to be winning any popularity contests.

Brandi always maintained that I had resting bitch face if I
wasn’t careful, but I wasn’t a bitch. I was just shy, especially when I was
surrounded by people whose baby toes had more confidence than me. I mean, one
girl was name dropping so hard I felt like I should recognize her.

Fortunately, I had my kindle and a healthy appetite to distract
me from the stress of waiting to hear whether they wanted to see me again.

God I hoped they did.

It would be so embarrassing to have to tell my mom and my
professor and Brandi that I’d flubbed everything up. I knew she was only joking
that I was her ticket out of our one tanning salon town, but it was sort of true,
and if I did make it big, I wanted to be one of those stars that had all their
same childhood friends… so I’d have someone to hang out with when I wasn’t
playing drinking games with Amy Schumer.

And of course it would be nice to have good news for Ethan so he
didn’t feel like he’d put me up for nothing. Plus, getting a callback might
make him take me more seriously.

I knew he thought I was still the same nerdy girl who
co-directed Bye Bye Birdie in high school and read books about the golden age
of Hollywood, but I wasn’t completely talentless. I mean, I had to cry in a
production I did last year.

Surely that counted for something.

I managed to find a little cafe within a few blocks of the
studio, and since I didn’t have to do any more dancing or singing for the day,
I ordered myself a New York sized chocolate milkshake and a chicken sandwich to
enjoy while I read.

The milkshake was so delicious I was almost sexually aroused by
it, and the sandwich was the perfect thing to nibble mouse sized chunks of in
order to keep the table.

After all, I was in no hurry to start wandering the city streets
without somewhere to go when I was liable to get trampled.

And as ridiculous as it was, I felt like I’d already made it.

I mean, I was on a veritable lunch break in downtown New York
City a few blocks away from a studio where I’d just auditioned for a role in a
real Off Broadway production. It was an amazing high.

Sure, I felt like a big girl when I went away to school, but
this was different. I’d finally done something that most people never do, and
that made me feel special. Like the whole trip had been worth it. Like no
matter what happened now, I was one step closer to sticking my hands in cement
on Hollywood Boulevard.

And the people watching was amazing.

I’d never seen so many severe bobs and wacky glasses and amazing
coats. Everything was bolder and louder and more colorful, and I so desperately
wanted to fit in. And yet, it seemed the only way to fit in was to stand out.

No wonder Ethan left and never came back.

I felt like I finally understood.

This place was the total opposite of living in Ohio under his
dad’s inflexible military standards or the regimented atmosphere of boarding
school. It was wild and alive and exciting and unpredictable.

Better.

And I couldn’t help but feel like I was in a position to appreciate
it more than anyone who’d ever taken such vibrancy for granted.

When enough time had passed that I didn’t think I’d be the first
person to come looking for the callback list, I paid for my lunch, slipped out
the door, and walked purposefully back to the studio, finding that if I just
focused on squaring my shoulders directly behind the person in front of me, I
was less liable to get knocked around.

And as I approached the typed list in the middle of the large
corkboard, my heart was beating in my throat.

I held my breath as my eyes scanned the names of the people who’d
earned a second audition, reading slowly to make sure I wouldn’t miss a single letter.

And then there it was- my name. Next to a time to return. Next
to the part I’d be competing for.

But it didn’t say chorus line.

It didn’t say surfer girl #4.

It said Marilyn.

I blinked.

Then I blinked some more.

Then I stepped up to the list and dragged my finger under my
name and the time and the role just to be sure I was reading straight across
the line.

I looked around. People in leg warmers and black turtlenecks and
Victorian costumes scurried around the entry way. Going places.

Like me.

But I still had my doubts.

What if it was a mistake?

What if I told my family I was up for a leading role and it was
just a typo?

I hoisted my backpack over one shoulder and walked up to the
front desk where a woman with jet black hair sat with lime green glasses
perched on the end of her nose.

“May I help you?” she asked without looking up.

“Hi, yeah. I have a question about the auditions for Life’s a
Beach.”

“They were this morning.”

“I know. I was there.”

She lifted her eyes and pointed a pen towards the corkboard.
“The callback list is over there.”

“I know. I’m on it.”

She kept her eyes on a computer screen I couldn’t see.
“Congratulations.”

“I just want to make sure there hasn’t been a mistake.”

“If there were any mistakes, their names aren’t on the list.
That’s how this works.”

“But I’m on there for Marilyn, and it’s a leading role.”

She straightened up and looked down her nose at me. “Let me
guess. This is your first audition in the big city?”

I nodded.

“Thought so. Listen-”

“Jennifer. Jennifer Layne.”

“As I was saying,
I hope I have a reason to
remember your name someday, but unfortunately I already forgot it.”

I forced a smile.

“And as far as the list, the person who made it isn’t a lowly
illiterate volunteer. They’re a professional, a professional whose job it is to
make sure that list is error free. In fact, his job depends on it. So how about
you trust him to do his job, and we’ll trust you to do yours which is to come
back here- when?”

“Two thirty on Thursday.”

“Fabulous. So you can read, too. Just like the man who made the
list.”

“Okay, thanks for your help,” I said, taking a step back from
the desk.

Because a cartwheel would’ve seemed too eager.