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Yeah.
“Thanks for the lift.” I tried to pretend I hadn’t just been picturing him naked.
He flashed a bright, perfect smile. “You’re welcome. Have a good life, Rachael Hamilton.”
* * *
“So?” Eva said when I came home. “How’d the interview go?”
“I’m not sure. The editor was really nice. And we had a good conversation, and she laughed at some inane joke I made and told me about her kids...and she also told me about how crappy the publishing industry is, and that while it’s great that I have this internship I’m doing and that I interned at Girls! Magazine when I was in college, my best bet is to just stick around at Maples&Co and hope a position opens up.”
“Seriously? She said that?”
“Well, not quite,” I amended. “But she implied it strongly.” I let out a long sigh and opened the fridge. Three potatoes sat alone across from a door of condiments. Well then, it was spaghetti or elbows. If we were lucky, we might even have a jar of marinara. “And I’d love to work at Maples&Co, only Laurel’s been interning there longer, so if a job comes up, she’ll probably get it.”
“You must be thrilled you majored in English.”
I snorted. “Remind me to make my kids study business. At a state school.”
“Oh, don’t be a sell-out.”
“But if our kids are also starving artists, how will they pay for our retirement homes? How’s the show going?”
Eva rolled her neck and spread her hands out. “If this doesn’t get picked up, we’re all screwed.”
I laughed, setting the water on to boil. “Come on, they’ve made musicals out of Shrek, Legally Blonde, and Spider-man. If they can succeed, so can Pride and Prejudice: The Musical!”
Eva smiled reluctantly. “Even though we’re a little ridiculous?”
“You know you’re ridiculous. If people love Austen enough to read zombie adaptations and watch time-travel miniseries, they’ll come to the show.”
“Not my parents.”
“Your parents are snobs. And if they see the show, I’m sure they’ll like it. Come on, ‘Not Pretty Enough to Tempt Me’ is super catchy.” I’d been humming Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth’s duet for weeks now. “Is that what’s wrong? Your parents?”
She shook her head. “They’re fine. I guess. We haven’t talked about the show since they said I was bastardizing great literature. No, I screwed up at rehearsal. A lawyer came in to talk to Dickens, and I spilled paint all over him.”
I snorted laughter as I broke spaghetti strands into the water. “What happened?”
“I was standing on a ladder, talking to Mel. And my foot was just swinging loosely, and I hadn’t really noticed there was a paint bucket on the step below me, and—yeah. He was wearing a three piece suit, too.”
“He’s not going to make you pay for it, is he?”
“No, but Dickens was pissed. Exactly how I want the director to think about me—not that he does think about me, ’cause I’m just a singing maid. And I feel really bad, too...” Her face softened into the dreamy countenance of new infatuation. “He was so pretty.”
I grinned. “What happened to Mark? I thought you were in love with him this week.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Mark can’t even afford to take me out to dinner. So over him. Hey, maybe I should call Ryan Carter. I bet he could afford anything. We could eat, like, fresh produce with our pasta.”
I busied myself stirring the pot. “I saw him today.”
“No! What happened?”
Eva listened, rapt, as I recounted the meeting. “I can’t believe you. Taking off your skirt! Midtown! That’s so not like you!”
“I know.” I ladled out dinner for both of us. “I don’t know what came over me. He just made me so mad. I wanted to prove that I wasn’t a prude. And, of course, I wanted to get to the interview. And it wasn’t such a hardship, being smashed up against him.”
“Yeah, I bet you really suffered.”
