She takes a seat, leaving an empty one between us, and we face off. I consult her résumé for her name.
“Lexy Hunter.”
“Yes.” She nods in a way that makes me think this isn’t actually her name but a stage name she’s trying out.
“So this is a very avant-garde production.” I tap my pencil and avoid direct eye contact.
She bobs her head vigorously, and now I wonder if she knows what avant-garde means.
“We don’t currently have a script, but I’ll be able to email you pages in time to learn your lines before each scene. And we’ll workshop. I’ll also be one of the actors in the production. The scenes will be filmed out and around Atlanta in a kind of guerilla-film-making style.”
I chance a glance at her, gauging her reaction. My conscience twinges that since there is no film, I’m lying to this girl. On the other hand, I’m raiding my savings and what I could return of my honeymoon to pay her a real salary, and she is, after all, an unemployed actress. Also, although my “film” will lack distribution because in truth it will have an audience of one—Tarek—I’d be happy to give her a glowing recommendation, and maybe the experience will help her to go on and get a better fame-making gig in town.
“One question.” She raises a finger in the air. “Will I be the one wearing the gorilla suit?”
I pause, waiting to see if she’ll smile or say she’s joking. She doesn’t.
“Um, no. In fact, there probably won’t be an actual gorilla suit in the film itself.”
She nods and places a finger to her lips in contemplation. “I think it’s better that way. This is a romance, right?”
“Right.”
“Romances are better without gorillas. Just my opinion.”
“Yes. You’re right.” I start to wonder if this woman is bright enough to pull off what I have in mind, but she’s a talented actress and Tarek has never liked being outshone in the brightest light bulb department. I straighten my shoulders and focus my professionalism. “And our producers agree. No gorilla suits.” I pull my clipboard up and pretend to consult it for details. “Like I said, there’ll be a series of scenes filmed in and around Atlanta over the next few months. Although you’ll receive scripts ahead of time, the film will be largely improvised.” I look at her searchingly. “How are you at improv?”
She smiles with relief. “Oh, really good. I did an adult film—or two—and there was tons of improv in those. I was great.”
I duck my head and bite the end of my pencil while my insides strain toward my hand sanitizer. Adult films? Oh my goodness. What am I doing here? There’s no way this is going to work. What was I thinking? “Good. Good. That’s great. Just so you know, there won’t be any sex scenes in this movie. Our producers want to keep it strictly PG-13 material, you know, so it’ll appeal to a wide audience.”
“Sure. I get it.”
“So there might be a kiss—or two—but nothing more. Are you comfortable with that?” Tarek doesn’t deserve free kisses let alone ones I’m paying for, but for the sake of selling the romance I imagine there might need to be at least one.
She crosses her legs and clasps her hands over her knee. “Yeah. Absolutely.”
“This is our lead actor’s first role, so you won’t have seen him in anything before. Since this is an indie film, the producers wanted unknowns as the leads so you both could really dig in and disappear into the characters you’re playing. Make them real. We’re going for a cinema verité kind of feel, so we don’t want you and your co-star to interact or even speak to each other when we’re not filming.”
“Okay. Yeah.” She frowns and seems to think about it for a minute. I start to panic that she’s going to call B.S. “You know, I think that’s really good actually.”
“You do?” I’d started feeling like all of this was screaming loud and clear that THERE IS NO FILM and YOU’RE INTERVIEWING WITH A CRAZY PERSON, but here she is not only buying it but being supportive. My pulse revs with excitement. This is going to work.
She runs a hand over her hair and twists a strand of it around her index finger. “Yeah. I have a boyfriend, so if I’m not even talking to this other guy off set then there’s no reason for my boyfriend to get jealous like he did with those other films I was in.”
I swallow, picturing her boyfriend who’d probably love to find out she’s been lied to and was starring in a fake movie. Um, no, I’m sure he wouldn’t. If the controlling boyfriend finds out, I’m toast. “Yes, that’s true. Excellent point, Lexy. There’s nothing for him to be jealous of here.”
Her pretty face splits into a huge grin. “So I’ve got the part?”
“You’ve got the part!” As anxious as I am, I can’t help but reflect some of her enthusiasm.
She squeals and hugs me, knocking my clipboard and papers to the floor.
“Sorry!” She scoops them up and hands them to me in a jumbled mess.
“No problem,” I say, but really, my problems may just be beginning.
Chapter Six
It’s so easy to create the perfect woman for Tarek to fall in love with. I’ve only known him since I was ten years old and he was eleven. Yes, he likes blondes, boobs, and blue eyes. Check, check, check. Lexy has all that and more.
But what he’s also going to need is a soul-to-soul connection that will have him rethinking his life choices and deciding that there is indeed real value to commitment.
And I’m pretty sure I can give him that.
Tarek has always been the dumper, never the dump-ee. If you can even call it that. I can’t remember a single one of his “relationships” lasting longer than a week since he was in high school.
I can set him up with the perfect girl—one who’ll tease him and tantalize him but remain teeth-grittingly out of reach. She’ll engage him in a scintillating game of high-stakes sexual tension for a period of, say, six months—because that’s how long I’m paying Lexy—and he’ll come out the other end mangled, lacerated, shredded by the claws of despair. He’ll know the iron-hot searing pain of loving someone with his whole heart only to be ripped away from her, from that only person who’d filled the gaping hole in the center of his being. If she could find a way for him to lose a couple of his toenails, I’d be good with that too. That’s painful. Only then will he understand what he’s done to me. Only then will he drown in a Florida-sized swamp of remorse. Only then will he crawl to me, naked, and dirty—from all the crawling on the ground—and beg for a particle of my forgiveness. At this point, he’ll have even become a better person. One who’ll be dead sorry he wrecked my life.
I create the social media profile on Facebook for Tarek’s perfect woman using the “promotional” photos I took of Lexy after her audition yesterday, but the picture is where the resemblance to Lexy ends.
Tarek’s dream woman is named Giselle Bisset. She loves rock climbing, dogs, and beaches with palm trees. She’s a freelance photographer whose photos have been featured in travel and lifestyle magazines around the world. She knows a lot about wine, a little about fishing, and almost nothing about football. She’s been living in Germany working for an online German travel magazine and is now back in the US, finally giving in and joining Facebook.