Page 65 of My Lucky Star
Chapter 23
Aria
ISTARED OUT THE PLANEwindow, my head spinning. Everything had happened so fast, like dominoes falling, until I sat here, seatbelt fastened, mask on my face, my heart hammering like I’d ingested a week’s worth of caffeine in two hours.
Cem and Emir hid behind masks too, even though the airline seemed relaxed about it. This way, nobody would recognize us before we were ready for our first public outing.
Janie had ensured I could take a week off and keep my job, mainly because there wasn’t much going on. So, I hadn’t abandoned the plan, and it made me a bit calmer. But I’d gone to the audition, and that part felt like a dream.
I’d floated through the door on a high, not only from the nerves and excitement, but from Cem’s encouragement. Traces of his endless faith and buoyancy must have rubbed off on me, filling my chest with an odd sensation like I hadn’t come in to audition at all but to play the part that was rightfully mine.
Of course, the feeling evaporated as unexpectedly as it had arrived. By the time I shook Lindsay’s hand at the doorway, my latent self-doubts rebounded, tensing every muscle in my body, bracing for her crushing verdict.
“It’s a big decision, so we’ll review the tapes and have to think about this but thank you so much. We really appreciate your time and talent.”
I pulled out my phone, opening the calendar app. If I got the part, the filming would start in a week, right after the trip. I’d be so jet lagged I’d probably mess up my lines, but I’d worry about that later.
After the audition, held in the hotel’s dusty sitting room, I’d found Emir waiting for me, an open laptop propped against his chest. ‘I need your passport number,’ he’d said without preamble.
I could only blame that post-audition, nothing-can-touch-me high. My brain chemistry had been so out of balance, I’d dutifully driven home and fetched my passport. After a couple of hours, I had my flight details, a transit visa for passing through L.A. – and one night to pack my bags.
The next morning, I’d hauled my pitiful carry-on with some underwear and basic toiletries into a taxi and we’d taken the first, short flight in a shaky, little plane from Napier to Auckland, to catch the first long-haul flight to L.A. in the evening.
Emir had spent the first flight talking to Cem about his social media accounts, trying to keep his attention on charts and graphs on his laptop screen as he fidgeted in his seat. I’d caught glimpses of the screen but, unable to follow the Turkish, settled on perusing the airline safety card, imagining various plane crash scenarios. They seemed more calming than what waited for me in Istanbul.
I’d agreed not to pack too many of my own clothes. Apparently, they wouldn’t be of any use, other than for sleeping and hiding away in Cem’s house. Not that it made much difference since I didn’t have many pieces of clothing, and, despite living above a laundromat, hardly any of them were clean.
I’d never travelled this far, on such short notice, or in such luxury. Cem shifted in his aisle seat, his long legs stretched on the footstool that came with the incredible first-class seats I’d only ever passed, salivating, on my way to coach. He’d insisted that I take the window seat, and closed his eyes when the plane was still on the tarmac. He’d already dozed through the safety briefings and now snored softly as the plane rolled down the runway.
The flight attendant with her perfect hair and incredible eyelash extensions tapped his shoulder, urging him to sit up and fasten his seatbelt, well after everyone else had been told to do so via the loudspeaker. Cem woke, stretched his body like a lazy cat, and did as he was told. On his other side, separated by the aisle, sat Emir, glued to his laptop and wearing noise cancelling headphones.
“Did I fall asleep again?” Cem asked, adjusting his mask. His eyes wrinkled in the corners.
I wish I could have seen his smile. “You didn’t stay in New Zealand long enough to get over the jet lag.”
“Next time.” He held my gaze until I had to turn away.
There wouldn’t be a next time. Why would he ever return? He hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place.
“Did you go to the audition?” I asked. The question had been burning in the back of my mind. I wasn’t sure what time he’d been appointed, but I hadn’t seen him.
Cem glanced at Emir and lowered his voice. “If Emir asks, I didn’t. I told him I was going to the aquarium. I’m not sure he bought it, but he hasn’t asked me about it.”
My heart leapt like a little dolphin. I wanted to ask him more about the role, but Emir glanced our way, dropping his headphones around his neck and popping a mint. Thank goodness for the general noise levels.
“Well, if he asks, tell him you really liked the penguins,” I said, leaning so close my mask brushed his ear.
