Page 30 of What I'm Looking For

“Yeah. I mean, not romantically. I rent a room from them.” I nudge her knee, an excuse to touch her. “So you can tell me.”

“Okay.” She wiggles on the bench. “The very first thing I invested in, as soon as I’d saved up enough money and was old enough to buy stock, was Tambrands. The company that makes Tampax? I believed in the quality of their tampons, which I’ve used my whole life.”

I’m enjoying this monologue way too much to interrupt. Or let her off the hook.

“I mean, since I was old enough to need them… you know.”

My nod has her sailing through a bunch of details about why they were such a smart buy, embarrassment left behind. The odds that I’ll ever have enough extra cash to invest in anything are extremely low, but as is the case with acting, often it’s the subtext of the speech that’s important. This woman is passionate about the stock market. Maybe she’d be passionate about other things as well.

“Sorry. That was weird, huh?”

“Nope. Not weird at all.” I look down, surprised to find my hands clenched in my lap. Not sure if it’s wanting to touch her or thoughts of my dad’s failures with money that have me tensing up. I tip my face up and focus on the warmth of the sun for a moment before saying my bit. “I guess I see how what you’re doing is important to the economy, but individuals who don’t have your background can get themselves in trouble with investing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just… something that happened to someone I know.” I shrug away those thoughts. “Anyway, the commercial I got might’ve been a fluke. Who knows if I’ll ever get another.”

“Well, if it were me?…” She lengthens the last word, seemingly waiting for my permission to continue.

Maybe it can’t hurt to hear what she has to say on the business of my career, so I bite. “If it were you?”

“Diversification is usually the way to go. You know, not putting all your eggs in one basket?”

“Or one theater?”

“Right. On the other hand, a company—or a person—can fail if it gets overextended or puts too many resources into a market where there’s no demand.” She taps her chin and then shrugs. “Research is often the solution.”

“Research? Like what?”

As she elaborates, I have to admit that she has some good ideas. Studying what kinds of things are being shot in Boston, how many roles there are for white men in their late twenties and how many actors there are in that pool. She gets all excited talking about trade papers and year-over-year comparison models.

“I’ll ask around, maybe talk to someone at the union. But I’m still not sure it’s what I want to do. Or even if I’d be good at it.”

She waves a hand and actually says, “Pshaw. You could sell anything. You sold me, anyway.”

I bow slightly. “‘If it were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces.’”

“Hey! I’ve actually heard that quote before.”

“It’s fromThe Merchant of Venice.”

She nods. “Ah.”

Before I can get up the nerve to ask her if I can kiss her, she looks at her watch, squeaks and says she has to get back to work. I hold out my free hand, which she takes. Just before we step through the park gates, I lean over to speak softly in her ear, my heart hammering away in my chest like a boy asking a girl out for the first time ever. “Hey, would you want to go on a bike ride with me this weekend?”

* * *

Flopping downon the bench in our back hall that evening, I kick off my shoes and hang up my gym bag. Mondays are always dark in the theater, so I have a regular basketball night with high school buddies who also ended up in Boston after college. None of them are actors, so it’s usually a nice change of pace. Lots of trash talk and always a good workout.

Tonight, though, had been a bit much. The guys would not stop dodging me on the court saying, “Oooh, you can’t catch me, I’m a coffee cup!” Like that was the funniest thing ever.

It was kind of funny.

The first time.

The thing that kills me? There was also a new respect there. Last summer, when I had a leading role plus did half the fight choreography inAs You Like It, I couldn’t even get them to the show. But I do one commercial and they can’t stop talking about it. Can’t stop asking how much money I made.

“Will! What are you doing back there?” my roommate Pam yells from the kitchen, setting off Rufus, our yappy little dog.

---