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but scared just turned my mind into a wad of stale cotton candy. I needed all the brain power possible to perform fantastically at the read. The producers were getting their first real taste of how this film might turn out, and I could be replaced. It would cost them, because yay contracts, but it could happen.
    Fortunately, as the next few hours unfolded, the laughs were many and happened in all the correct spots. Danny, as his friends call him, was easy to riff off of, and the chemistry was natural and zinging around the room.
    During a break, he came over to me at the snack table. “I’m a big fan,” he said.
    I looked around. “Of me? Be real—you’d never heard of me before you saw my audition.” He was one of the producers, so he would have had to sign off on me. Remembering that flattered me anew.
    “That’s not true! I watched you on TV, the one about scientists during World War II. Very funny.” I’d done an arc on a one-season hit wonder called Manhattan Projectile . It was a black comedy spoof about science, inequality and America, which naturally meant that no one in America had watched it. “You have a real spark. I’m the one who put your name on the list for this role.”
    “Really? I thought that the producers just called in everyone cited in the latest issue of The Hollywood Reporter .”
    He chuckled, a warm sound, friendly. The word ‘gentleman’ doesn’t have much meaning nowadays, but, by my first impression, it seeped from every attractive part of him—and there were no unattractive ones visible to the naked eye. He was kind to the caterers, calling them by name, had a handshake for everyone in the room, and it didn’t seem put on. I laughed and stared at my Diet Coke. “Well, thank you. I’m very happy to be here.”
    “We’re happy to have you.”
    It came out so lilty that I flicked a glance into his eyes and felt myself blush. He extended his arm towards the table, where folks were sitting down again. I rushed to my spot and thought Sam-like thoughts—stealing stuff, fake driver’s licenses, Hot Pockets.
    I was sure I’d see Sam tonight. I was only lusting after movie stars because of our strange evening last night. And because movie stars named Daniel Zhang were skin-meltingly hot when they tell you how glad they are to have you.
    But I’d learned that being had wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
    * * * *
    As I left the studio, Danny squeezing my hands while his eyes promised unending love—it could happen!—I mentally worked through the next few days of prep. Wardrobe fittings, stunt rehearsals and the like. It would be a busy few days until my first actual set appearance.
    I rushed into my apartment to find no one there. I checked my phone for the hundredth time—nothing from Sam. Dammit, dammit, dammit! And damn him ! Should I be worried? He often went on radio silence when it suited him. “Gggggaaarghh,” I growled, picking up Captain Taco for the cuddles I wished his daddy were giving me. The cat grimaced and turned his nose away like he’d rather be anywhere else. Just like Daddy!
    A knock at the front door. “Yes! Oh, thank God.” I plopped fur face on the couch and ran to the door.
    “Surprise!” screamed my best friend Ellen. She rushed in and picked me clear off the ground in a hug. Taller than me, she practically strangled me with love and tiny, yet squishy, boobs.
    Her girlfriend, Nicolette, walked in after, a look of bemused resignation on her face. Nicolette was the cop who’d busted the evil art theft ring wide open during the Picasso debacle. With my help, of course. She hadn’t liked me since, what with my interactions with known felons, and letting one get away only to return to my bedroom. But I was working on her. This past year, I’d helped Ellen plan Nicolette’s surprise birthday party, and I’d brought one of her favourite bisexual starlets with me to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to the enraptured, mostly-female audience. Now, if that