Page 2 of No Interest in Love

My last conquest, Chantal, and I slept together the whole time we shot the low-budget movie. My best buddy, Landon, got a grant from a film festival he’d won a few years before that, and he needed actors willing to work for pretty much nothing. I was for sure going to help out, but Chantal thought we should get something else out of all the hard work in case the movie didn’t sell to any studios. The terms were beautiful. No one was gonna find out, and we weren’t gonna keep it up when filming was over. It was the cleanest “breakup” I’ve ever had.

It was magnificent.

And Shay, my brilliant—yet pain-in-the-ass—agent, landed me an audition for the next Carletta movie.

“Hey, the audition’s not till Friday,” I say, plopping down on the bed closest to the door. I tuck my hands under my head. “We got time.”

She dives into her bag, the only luggage she packed. Her tablet catches a glare from the setting sun as she pulls it out, and it hits me right in the eyes.

“Please tell me you’re not going to make me work.”

Her face lights up as the screen turns on. “You can’t mess this up like you did the last audition.”

“That wasn’t my fault.”

“You mooned the casting director.”

“He wanted a butt double! What kind of messed-up shit is that?” I flip around. “Look at this ass. It’s glorious.”

She pushes her lips together, holding back her laugh. Her eyes are definitely checking out my ass, but she neither confirms nor denies its glory.

“I’m going to see if the front desk can print out the script.” She tries to shove the tablet into her back pocket but it doesn’t fit. So she leaves quickly…probably so I don’t have the chance to make fun of her for trying to fit a square peg in a round hole.

As soon as the door clicks behind her, I reach over and mash the remote till it hits something worth watching. The TV is always on no matter where I am. I call it research even though my friends call it laziness.

Neil Patrick Harris is first up on the entertainment news of the day, and I toast with my coffee mug to the acting god himself. It’s because of his genius character onHow I Met Your Motherthat I strive for my life to be legen…wait for it…dary.

Along with The Playbook, I’ve taken what I call the “Stinson Approach” for all decisions. Quick background: Barney Stinson is a character on that brilliant show who achieved the thing I didn’t know was possible. He went through his entire life sleeping around, different woman every night, rarely the same woman twice, and was easily the happiest character on the show. It’s because of his elaborate schemes that I majored in acting.

My life might not be legendaryyet.But it will be. I think I’malmostat that place where I can really embrace my inner Barney Stinson. See, Barney has one thing going for him that I don’t.

Money.

Struggling actor = broke.

Broke = less women.

Less women = can’t be picky.

So I thought that when I caught my big break, the women would flock to the cash flow. Then I realized that there wasnocash flow, and what little I did make from the small-screen movie went straight into Grandma’s bank account for the house I’m trying to buy her.

The brunette hosting on-screen switches topics, and I sit up at the mention of Carletta.

“Turns out Carletta Ocean’s new film might be delayed, costing the studio a large sum of money. Up-and-coming actor Ian Ritter walked off set and away from his leading role playing opposite Carletta after a heated argument about the cat she kept on set. Ian’s highly allergic, and when Carletta refused to keep the feline in her trailer, Ian hit the road. Now producers are searching the globe for a leading man. The only qualification they seem to be looking for came from screenwriter and producer Killion Jacobs, who says, ‘He better be comfortable with partial nudity.’ Whether he’s talking about in the film or behind the scenes is another question.”

“Oh, I’m comfortable with it,” I tell the TV, grinning like a buffoon and grateful Shay has left the room. The brunette keeps talking about how open auditions will be held in Alabama next week, but she’s gotta check her sources. Because Shay called up the casting director this morning, sent in one of my tapes from the Syfy movie I was the lead in,The Walking Stiff. Not three hours later, Carletta was inviting me to an exclusive screen test. Not even a read first. Hells yeah.

“Prepare yourself, boys,” I say to the Smurfs out loud because I’m just that damn happy. “You’re in for a color change.”

10:29P.M.

Shay perches on one of the chairs by the window, red-rimmed glasses sliding from her nose. Her body is so short and small, she can fit a leg under her and plant the other on the edge so she can rest her coffee on her knee. Her mouth is moving, muttering Korean unintelligibles under her breath. She has a frantic look as she moves things around on her schedule, her black hair pushed up into a messy bun that’s held together only by pens and pencils. She did that in school, too.

“Yeah…if you’re gonna do boring shit, I’m leaving.”

“Well, I love you too,” Shay says—it’s our shared sarcastic phrase—then waves me toward the door. I grab my swim trunks, since I’ve got about half an hour before the pool closes, change in the bathroom, and head out. Shay doesn’t look up from her tablet once.

The indoor pool has wall-to-wall glass windows, and since it’s raining, the fog from the heated water makes it impossible to see outside. There are three other people there: a couple who are not afraid of public displays of affection—and have bright, shiny rings on their left hands—and an old lady who looks dead in the hot tub. I stare at her for longer than is considered normal to make sure she’s breathing.Isshe breathing? The couple doesn’t seem to notice, but they are kind of groping each other. I ease forward a step and the old lady’s mouth drops open and she lets out an enormous groan, making me just back away with a laugh. Good…I don’t remember what the proper mouth-to-mouth etiquette is.

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