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that test. I’ll be praying for you. I’ll light a candle at St. Agnes for you, too.
    How are you now?
     
    Patrick

5
    H e should be writing the script, Lauren thought as she read Patrick’s e-mail. The two of us could write a better script.
    She smiled. Patrick knows how to use his shovel. I wonder if he meant it to mean the way I’ve taken it. I’ll bet he did. What does an Irish wolfhound smell like? Those are some seriously big dogs. Maybe Patrick’s a big guy. I have attracted yet another white man, though his last name isn’t white. Esposito? Maybe he’s mixed with something. He has to be mixed up to think I’m amazing. And he’s praying for me and lighting a candle. That’s so sweet. No man on earth has ever done that for me.
    She quickly replied:

    Patrick:
    Erika James isn’t skinny. She’s an anorexic piece of balsa wood. She would splinter into a million pieces if she actually had to speak for more than five seconds at a time without cue cards written in big, bold letters. They may even have to spell out words phonetically for her. She has the acting range of a paraplegic snail and the stage presence of a dust bunny.
    Thank you for asking how I am. You’re the only one who has asked that. My agent just wants me to make him some money again. I made that man a bunch of money once, and now he wants me to make him some more money with Gray Areas. He isn’t going to make much.
    Thank you for caring, Patrick. And please don’t stop. : )
    How am I now? I’m okay. Not great. Just okay. I’m still worried to death about the results of that test, and I haven’t been sleeping or eating much. Your encouraging words have helped me a great deal. And while I haven’t had much to smile about lately, your e-mails have made me smile. : )     Work is indeed work, and I should be thankful to get anything after taking a seven-year “vacation” and not knowing what my future holds. I’ll probably do Gray Areas. I am getting older but not necessarily wiser, I guess. I wish you could fix this script. You’re funny. And real.
    At any rate, I will make numerous suggestions to the script, and if they don’t want to make the changes, I’ll just go off script whenever we’re taping. ; )
    Are you a writer by chance? You write very well.
    Thanks for writing back. I look forward to your next e-mail.
     
    Lauren

    Lauren watched her in-box for several moments. I wonder where he is. She checked the times Patrick sent his previous e-mails. He only writes late at night. What could that mean? Maybe that’s the only time he has to write.
    After no e-mail from Patrick appeared, she called Todd. “I’ll do the reading.”
    “I’m glad you came to your senses,” Todd said.
    “Work is work when you can get it,” Lauren said. Thank you for reminding me of that, Patrick. “Have you talked to the SNL people yet?”
    “No,” Todd said. “It’s only been one day. I have other clients, you know.”
    “Keep pestering them for me, though, okay?”
    “I will,” Todd said. “They’ll expect you at Tumbleweed’s main studio in Studio City at nine sharp tomorrow morning.”
    “Okay,” Lauren said.
    It’s about time I left this apartment. The paparazzi will appreciate me leaving, too. They have to be bored out there in the parking lot. They’ve been taking numerous pictures of my car, which is splatted with bird poop.
    “I’ve just sent you the next scene attached to an e-mail,” Todd said, “and it is much better than the first.”
    “I doubt it,” Lauren said.
    “Trust me,” Todd said. “You’ll see. Bye.”
    Lauren didn’t see.
    If anything, the next scene made the first scene worse.

    LAUREN
    (Sees hot white guy. Voice-over : He’ll do. He has brown eyes, but at least he has an ass.) You like what you see?
     
    HOT GUY
    What?
     
    LAUREN
    I said, do you like what you see?
     
    HOT GUY
    (Holds up a clay vase.) It’s not in very good condition. I wouldn’t pay more than five dollars for