Page 108 of What I'm Looking For

“How about a costume? I mean, that bag is full of ‘em.” She points at the laundry abandoned at my feet.

“Ugh. They’re all sweaty.”

“Do you want to get out of here or not?”

I peek out the flap again just as one of the girls comes running back from the direction of the parking lot yelling, “His car is still here!”

“They know your car?” Jess whispers from the slit on the other side of the flap. “Jeez.”

“See what I’m talking about?”

Jess marches over to the laundry bag marked with a “W” and begins to pull out clothing. “There’s got to be a something in here that’ll fit you.” Grousing about men and their slim hips, she breaks off to point in the direction of the makeup tables. “Oh! You could wear Lady Capulet’s wig.”

“I’m not wearing a—”

Hands on hips, she interrupts me. “You think you’ll get past them with just a skirt and blouse?”

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I stifle a moan.

“It’s just a few ads,” I mutter, imitating my agent’s voice. “Just do the one job and then you can move on to commercials. Maybe a spot on a sitcom or a soap.”

That was six years ago. All I’ve done since then is pose half-nude for one designer. It took coming home to get a chance to actually act again.

This adventure aside, I’ve loved working for Shakespeare Boston. All the actors are top-notch, but Jess is an especially talented partner. Her Juliet is unexpectedly hilarious in the early scenes, making the character’s death at the end all the more tragic.

It’s been good to be home with my dad, too. While I haven’t managed to gear myself up to try and reconnect with the girl I left behind when I moved to LA, I promise myself that if I get out of this tent and make it home tonight, I’ll do it. Tomorrow. I’ll go to Lucy’s old house and find out where she is. And then I’ll apologize for running out on her, just when she needed me most.

Right now, though, Jess is shoving an all-too-fragrant blouse over my head. After she helps me step into a long skirt, she flips a wig onto my head. When she comes at me with lipstick, however, I shake my head.

“If they get close enough to see the color of my lips, we’re sunk.”

She pouts. “You’re actually pretty, you jerk. Hang on.” Replacing the tube of lipstick, she grabs a polaroid camera. “I have to get a shot of this.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Shhh!” she reminds me, her grin evil. “Don’t give yourself away.”

“I am going to kill you,” I grit out.

“Come on, Bennie.” She points the camera. “Work it.”

Giving in, I strike a pose and the camera flashes. “Oh man.” I peek through the flap while the camera spits out the photo. “I hope they didn’t see that.”

Once I’m reassured that we haven’t been made, I reach under the skirt to get to my shorts pocket and pull out two sets of car keys. Mine, and the one I found under a chair earlier. “These yours?”

“Yes. Whew!” She draws a hand over her brow dramatically.

“Good thing, ‘cause you’ll have to drive. I guess I’ll come back for my car tomorrow.” I stuff the costumes Jess rejected back into a bag. “Can you carry one of these?”

“‘And though she be but little, she is fierce,’” she quotes.

“Yeah, yeah, Hermia.Midsummer.”

Ignoring me, she hefts a bag to her hip and then raises a brow. “Are you ready to sell it, sister?”

In my best falsetto, I reply. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” In my real voice, I add, “Don’t run. Be casual.”

Feeling like I’m back in high school playing Francis Flute playing Thisbe inMidsummer Night’s Dream—which just makes me think of Lucy—I force myself to focus and saunter out of the tent with Jess by my side.

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