“Great,” the casting agent says. “We’re almost done. For the third couple I choose–”
“We have to keep Paula!” I shout, snagging the petite Asian girl’s folder from the stack.
“I insist we use Owen,” Jackson snatches a folder with the photo of a tall, dark, and handsome older man in full firefighter gear.
We turn to face each other, heads down and tilted like two rams about to clash horns. And then our eyes meet. Something sparks. Jackson smiles. I nod. We both laugh.
“Wait, what?” the casting agent, who is now positive we are both crazy, asks. “What’s so funny?”
“Paula and Owen,” we both say simultaneously. We’re still making eye contact, and it’s still buzzing. There’s a vibration in the air not unlike the gong from the garden. Except it’s hitting me a bit lower. The buzzing is happening below the belt. The butterflies in my belly are waking up.
The casting agent exhales with relief and looks between the two of us. “Did my ears deceive me, or did you two justagreeon something?”
“Oh my God, we did, didn’t we?” I laugh, placing Paula’s folder onto the pile of keepers.
“Who knew it was even possible?” Jackson adds Owen’s.
“Out of curiosity,” I hold his gaze, “what made you choose these two?”
“Just the numbers,” Jackson says confidently. “That’s all that matters. These two are even more compatible than Chloe and Darwin.”
“So it doesn’t matter to you that she’s legally blind and that he’s an ex firefighter?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“You’re not interested in the fact that she likes to read and he volunteers at the library? Or that they both love the color blue and want to have three kids?”
“Wait, what? Where in their files does it say that?” The casting director leafs through the paperwork.
“It doesn’t,” Jackson says. “But even if it did, it wouldn’t sway me. None of that stuff is all that important, it turns out.”
“Bullshit,” I challenge. “It would totally be important to me.”
“I fail to see why, when you could simply close your eyes and pull a tarot card,” Jackson retorts.
“I didn’t need to pull a tarot card to get a feel about these two,” I answer. “They just make sense.”
The casting director scoops up the pile of folders containing our picks and pulls on her cardigan. “If it’s all the same to you two, I’m going to head out now. I just texted Rob, and I’ve got some calls to make. I wish you both the best of luck with the show.”
“Thanks,” Jackson waves. “But I don’t need luck, I’ve got science.”
“Right,” she agrees and pauses before scooting out the door, “I hope it all works out for you two.”
jackson
“No, I’ve never used a hookup app. Those things will clog up your emotional arteries.”
~ Isla Fairfax, Playing With Matches Confessionals
The minutethe casting director leaves, Isla and I burst into nervous laughter.
“Well that was a trip,” I say while putting my laptop back in my carry-on bag. It’s too late to fly home tonight. I had my assistant switch it to the morning and book a room near the airport.
“How long have you known about the show?”
“They just asked me to do it a couple of weeks ago,” Isla says. “How about you?”
“Same,” I say. “My friend Dean mentioned Rob called him last month, and then someone reached out to my software team.”
