“Excuse me?” she bites back at me, incredulous.
“Are the casting directors seeing actresses in both rooms?” I clarify. The receptionist frowns, my meaning escaping her, so I continue. “Listen, I’m looking for a girl who was here before. Emily. I was sitting with her. You saw us. I have her car keys and her wallet. I need to give them back to her. Is she in there?” I gesture to the Marcus room again.
“No,” the receptionist answers, her eyebrows high. “They’re only seeing guys in there.”
Fuck.
“Oh right. Okay.” Faltering, I scan the waiting room faces again. Gazes scatter away like pigeons. I’m clearly making a scene.
It suddenly occurs to me that Emily might be waiting for me by her car, and I kick myself for being such an idiot. I give no one in particular a nod and stride back out into the sunshine.
Outside I let out an exasperated sigh. This situation is really starting to stress me out. I check my watch. It’s 1:32. My next meeting is at three in Burbank and I need to eat before I go or my lines might not come out.
Down on the sidewalk there’s no sign of Emily.
Fuck.
Out of options, I stand at a complete loss on the empty pavement, casting my eyes impotently in both directions. She could have popped into a convenience store or a café along the block to grab something quickly but there aren’t any shops or cafés in sight, just office buildings. But I have her wallet, so she wouldn’t be able to buy anything anyway. I look back at the car, just as it was before, and root out its keys from my pocket. Just generic rental keys and an Avis fob with the number plate details. Where the hell would she go without her wallet and keys?
There must be a rational explanation. She mentioned a Skype call; perhaps it came early. She definitely seemed concerned about it. Perhaps it was much more important than her audition and she had to find a quiet spot to take it?
It makes sense but I feel my annoyance bubbling to the surface again. Because now I have to wait out here on the sidewalk until she finishes her call like an absolute mug. I feel the frustration building and try to disperse it with a tense wander along the line of parked cars. And ask myself what undeterrable, fiercely self-sufficient Jane would do? She would have said no in the first place. Why didn’t I just do that? Jane counter: no point in retreading that when you can just say no now.
I stop in my tracks. That’s the solution. I head back to the audition room, grab my stuff, and wander back out to Emily’s car. Plonking my bag on the hood, I ferret out a pen and tear a section of paper from my script to scrawl her out a note.
Hi Emily,
Sorry, couldn’t find you anywhere and had to dash. Hope your casting went well. Left keys & wallet with the receptionist.
Best, Mia x
I tuck it beneath her windscreen wipers and briskly take the stairs back up to the casting office to leave her things.
There’s only one Rose left in the waiting room and I’m unsurprised to see it is not Emily. I wander up to the reception once more with as much lightness of touch as I can.
“Hi, me again,” I trill, as if we’ve both had just about enough of me for today, and I plow on. “Right, so, I can’t find that girl. Emily. She gave me her car keys and wallet. I’m guessing she’ll be back for them soon but I have to go—so I’m just going to leave them here with you, if that’s okay?” I plonk them down on the counter between us. She looks at them for a moment before gazing back up at me.
“Who gave you theirkeysandwallet?” she asks, incredulous, disapproval written clearly all over her face.
I sigh internally. “I don’t know her full name. Emily something. She was auditioning before me. You saw her. She asked me to feed her meter.”
The receptionist’s expression turns to one of mild disbelief. “And youdid.”
This time my sigh isn’t internal. “Yeah, yeah, I did.”
She shakes her head, I presume at my naïveté. “Okay, well, you can’t leave her valuables here.”
For a second I think I’ve misheard her. “Sorry, what?”
“I mean, we can’t offer to take legal responsibility for someone’s car and wallet, can we? Obviously.”
I hear the unspoken addendum to her statement: that I probably shouldn’t have either. I breathe through my irritation. I hate this day.
“Right, so what you’re saying is, I can’t leave them here for her with a note?”
“No. You can’t,” she says simply. And then, perhaps feeling the harshness of this, adds, “Well, you could leave a note here, I suppose.”
“I guess that would be something. Right, I’ll leave her my phone number and I guess she can call me and get the keys whenever.”
