Page 27 of For My Finale
Lilah stared down at it. “I shouldn’t have thought so,” she said. She looked at Daisy. “Why would Anthony Hopkins have…” She shook her head. “Never mind.” She stepped aside, letting Daisy follow Arty and already regretting answering the door.
Daisy began a full inspection of the furniture, running her fingers over the arm of the lumpy couch, looking like she was trying to absorb celebrity by osmosis. Lilah crossed her arms and fixed Arty with a look. He seemed to be the sensible one in this equation. “Alright, what do you want?”
“What makes you think that I want something?” Arty said, with an air of fake innocence.
“Because you’re here,” Lilah said. “And because you knocked on my door.”
“Fair point.” Arty flopped onto the couch, making himself thoroughly at home. “We need to ask you a favor.”
Lilah rolled her eyes. “Pass.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“I know enough to know that I’m not interested.” She folded her arms tighter.
Arty ignored her. “After your, er, shall we say enthusiastic critique of our little rehearsal the other night, the Am-Dram society has decided that perhaps we could use a little professional guidance.”
“And?”
Arty sighed. “And you’re a professional.” He held up his hands. “We’re not asking you to act. Just to help direct, that’s all. Be an extra set of eyes, give advice, that sort of thing.”
“Absolutely not.”
Daisy was admiring the shockingly ordinary coffee table with wide eyes. “Does George Clooney—”
“No,” snapped Lilah. “George Clooney has not put his Horlick’s on my coffee table.” She turned back to Arty. “And I’m not directing your little play.”
“You’ve already discovered Horlick’s?” Arty said. Then he shrugged. “Fair enough, I suppose. I just thought that you might enjoy annoying Gloria.”
Lilah hesitated. She would enjoy annoying Gloria, that was a good point.
“And I’ve heard that you’re looking for a job,” he said. “I’d be prepared to let you work a shift behind the bar if you’d like.” He winked at her. “Get you closer to that three job limit so Blossom will clean this place up for you.”
Dammit, was anything a secret in this stupid town? It was a good offer, though. Tempting. “You would?”
Arty nodded. “As long as me and Blossom are there to keep an eye on you. I’ve heard all about the museum and I don’t want any funny business.”
She sucked on her teeth for a second, then nodded. “Alright, I’ll do it.”
Daisy clapped excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “This is going to be spectacular. A real-life movie star directing our play. It’ll be like Broadway.”
“It will be nothing like Broadway,” Lilah said.
Arty stood up, looking pleased with himself. “Perfect, I’ll let everyone know. Well, everyone except Gloria.”
Lilah narrowed her eyes. “Wait—”
“Oh no,” Arty said. “You’ll have to tell Gloria yourself.”
Lilah’s stomach dropped. Daisy took a notebook out of her pocket. “Here you go, that’s Gloria’s number. You can ring her. It’ll be easier.” She glanced over at the old land-line phone. “Has Brad Pitt—”
“No,” Lilah said. “Just no.”
Arty let them both out, leaving Lilah feeling like she might not have gotten the best out of the impromptu visit.
???
Blossom sat alone at one of the tables of the cafe. The place was empty, the normal early afternoon moment of quiet. Silence settled around her. Well, mostly. The fridge hummed faintly, and pipes rattled in the back. She was staring down at her open computer, tapping her fingers on the tabletop.
