"Look, I’ll only offer a prize like that if you can guarantee that Lottie Pincaster won’t ever win."
The car pulled to a stop as I chuckled. Josh beat me to the curb, holding the door open. I slid in, greeting the driver. Josh followed, pulling the door shut. The driver pulled out, flicking the bird at oncoming traffic while politely offering us complimentary water or mints. We declined.
I turned to face Josh. "I told you Lottie wanted to be an actress."
He shuddered. "She didn’t even have a line. All she had to do was sit in the back of the diner and eat a donut. Do you know that one scene cost me more to film than the rest combined? The woman demanded vegan gluten-free paleo frou-frou donuts be flown in from somewhere in Europe. She caused such a commotion Jim nearly walked."
Jim Hussen, a veteran actor and media darling. The man had more experience in his little finger than half of Hollywood combined. Sam and Josh had regaled me with stories of his demands – including the need for total immersion in his character.
"You and Sam have both told me Jim's an ass. I doubt it’s the first time he's threatened to walk."
"You’d be correct. Jim is-"
"Wait!" The driver interrupted us. "I know you!" He waggled a finger in the rear vision mirror. "You’re Josh Greenfeld."
"Guilty," Josh offered a smile. To anyone else it looked genuine, to me it sat brittle and jaded on his face. I frowned.
"You wrote—"
"Yep."
"And won—"
"That was me." Josh leaned forward. "You want me to sign something or…?"
"I want to audition for your next movie!" The driver declared stopping at a set of lights. He twisted in his seat. "You want to hear a monologue now?"
"That’s okay, how about I give you the number of our casting—"
"Mislike me not for my complexion! The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, to whom I am a neighbor and near bred. Bring me the fairest creature northward born! Where Phoebus'—"
"Is that Othello?" I whispered, watching as the driver weaved in and out of traffic, one hand gesturing in time to his words, which were delivered in a thick Boston drawl. If he were attempting a British accent it wasn't apparent.
"Merchant of Venice."
"Ah. At least he's original."
The car pulled to a stop out the front of the New Start Community Center just as he wound up.
"So," the driver twisted in his seat, face eager. "Thoughts?"
"Don't try Shakespeare. Go for something modern. Your appearance and accent lend more to action trope – try auditioning for some gangster roles, crime mob, action heroes. If you like comedy and have the timing, try that too. Start at the bottom, take any role you can get, work on your pitch and dictation. Give my casting director a call in six months." Josh pulled a card from his wallet. "Good luck."
"Thank you!" The driver cradled the card like he would a new born. "You have no idea how much this means to me!"
"We all start somewhere," Josh clapped the guy on the shoulder before opening the door and hauling himself out. He turned back, offering me a hand.
"Bye, Josh Greenfeld!"
Josh lifted a hand in farewell. We watched as the driver took off, once again gesturing rudely at the oncoming traffic as he merged.
"That was really nice of you." I said, watching Josh out of the corner of my eye.
He shrugged, "Doesn't cost anything to be a decent human being. If the guy is serious, he'll take on the advice, look for opportunities, work hard to get what he wants. Who knows, he could be the next Mark Wahlberg."
I grinned. "Do you really believe that?"
He smiled back, this one genuine and reaching his eyes. "I can hope. He seemed like a decent guy." He looked over his shoulder at the center. "We going in?"
