‘Dubbing films instead of subtitling them is an artistic crime.’
Some people found Ren’s pronouncements annoying, but Sarah had always found his decisiveness amusing. And he never seemed to mind when she laughed at him, which was why they had gotten along.
She hadn’t realized how much she missed him until he reappeared in her life again, but now she felt the loss of him as a pang. It would have been fun to have stayed in touch, in spite of everything that had passed between them. It would have been fun to have heard his takes on movies and books and society at large during the last few years. She always felt smarter after talking to him, especially when it was because she had proven him wrong.
A key turned in the lock. Paul entered, peeled off his coat, and walked into their tiny kitchen. He was wearing the nice black button-down that he considered his lucky charm at auditions.
“How’d it go?” she called.
“Booked it,” he said.
“Yes!” She felt a rush of joy as she slid off her blanket to hug him. “That’s great.”
“No, no, I was kidding,” he said, throwing open the refrigerator and grabbing a beer. “Their eyes glazed over in the middle of my first line. Usually people wait at least three lines before they start looking disappointed, but I guess this casting director was quicker than average.”
“Oh, no.” She struggled to find words to cheer him up that she hadn’t used before; she’d given him a lot of pep talks.
“It’s fine,” he drawled. “I’ll just have a beer and walk into traffic.”
It bothered her to see Paul being pessimistic. She felt like one of the two of them ought to believe it was possible to make a career in the arts, and it certainly wasn’t her at the moment.
“Are you committed to that beer,” she asked, “or could I make you a cocoa? I made homemade whipped cream earlier for Liam but he didn’t end up coming over.”
He glanced at the beer. “I could have a cocoa. That’s probably going to make me marginally less suicidal.” He tossed the unopened beer back in the refrigerator and slumped against the wall.
As she pulled out the fancy cocoa powder she had gotten for Christmas, she spoke over her shoulder. “Want to watch an action movie? I was lusting after yourSpeedDVD.”
“The DVD itself or Keanu in a buzz cut?”
“My lawyers have advised me not to answer that question.”
“Fair enough. You make the cocoa and I’ll put on the movie. But I’m stopping it if you lick the screen.”
He walked to their small living room as Sarah spoke casually over her shoulder. “So how long has Ren been playing in your league?”
“Rene Durand? Just a week or two. You know him?”
“We were friends in school.”
“That’s right. I forgot he went to McGill.” She could hear Paul setting up the DVD player. “Yeah, I met him on a shoot, and he was looking to do something active.”
“Don’t tell me he was acting in a film.” She had a horrified vision of Ren booking ‘handsome guy’ roles with no effort while Paul, attractive but not dazzlingly so, struggled to get work. Paul was a wonderful actor; that was the frustrating part. He was naturally funny, great at improvisation, good-looking—a bit gangly but handsome, his light brown hair in a charmingly unruly wave on his head. He was the kind of guy you cast as the cute boyfriend or the relatable lead in a Neil Simon play.
“No, nothing like that. He was the stills photographer,” Paul said. “He was friends with that chain-smoking director on the indie film… Remember when I played the schoolteacher ex-boyfriend who everyone thought was the killer but was actually just really socially awkward? Ren was shooting stuff for the press kit and we got to talking. He’s a super nice guy. He looks like he’s going to be a narcissistic asshole, but he’s great.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Sarah agreed.
Paul walked back into the kitchen and gave her a pointed look. “Do you have a history with him?” Paul’s expression shifted to horror. “Oh, God, tell me you didn’t sleep with him.”
“No!” She shook her head quickly. “I was just surprised. He and I were friends for a while, and then we weren’t.”
Paul watched her from where he was leaning against the door frame. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” She considered the question, stirring the cocoa. “I mean I do know. He asked me to sleep with him, and I said no.”
Paul frowned. “And he pressured you, or…”
“No, no, no, nothing like that. I think he just philosophically believed in casual sex, and I didn’t, so when I turned him down it became like this intellectual problem he had with me.”
