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“Something like that,” Marie replied. “But I know this is the one for you, Alana. I can feel it.”
Alana closed her eyes, imagining herself entering the audition room. She’d smile that charming smile of hers and take charge of the audition rather than the other way around. Asher so often spoke about “manifesting” his life. It was high time she learned to do that, too.
Instead of calling the hired car, as Asher would have, Alana opted to take the Métro across the city. Far beneath the cobblestones, as the train clattered forward, Alana read and reread the lines for her audition, careful not to furrow her brow with concentration. Furrowing meant wrinkling. She’d learned that early on in her career.
In fact, she’d caught herself wanting to scold both Ella and Julia for frowning back on Nantucket. The fact that she’d managed to hold back was a pure miracle.
When Alana stepped off the train and into the glittering sunlight of Abbesses Métro stop, her phone vibrated with a call from Asher. Her heart lifted with the promise of this brand-new day. She’d traveled all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, prepared to reunite with the love of her life and reignite her journey as an actress. Perhaps it was finally time to live the way she’d always wanted to.
“Hi, Asher,” she murmured, grateful to hold his name on her tongue.
“Hi.” His tone had a traditional brooding, dark and faraway tone to it. “I just landed at Charles de Gaulle.”
“I’m so glad you’re back!” Alana bit hard on her lower lip.
“I’m exhausted.” Asher let a moment pass. “I’ll push myself through the exhibition tonight. But after that, I’m out for the count for a good three days.”
“Maybe we can camp out in bed together,” Alana whispered, her heart lifting. “Maybe—”
“Are you at the apartment?” Asher interrupted her.
Alana was caught off-guard. “No. No.” She swallowed, wanting to share this special news with him. “I’m on my way to an audition, actually. Maria found something that could be perfect for me.”
“Oh!” Asher lent her a half-moment of gorgeous happiness.
And for the briefest of moments, Alana felt the rapture of his love. God, she hadn’t felt the power of it in so many years. She’d missed it.
“What’s the job?”
Alana’s heart sank. “I um. I’ll explain later. I have to run, baby. I’ll see you later— at the exhibition?”
“Remember to wear the emerald dress,” Asher added just before she hung up.
Alana shoved her phone back into her purse and ruffled her hair, glancing at her reflection in a nearby window. A Parisian woman with sharp cheekbones walked past with three baguettes lifted like swords from her tote bag.
Alana reached the address of the audition, reapplied her lipstick, and stepped through the antique door and into the soft comfort of an air-conditioned room. It was a rare thing to find air conditioning in Europe, and her body welcomed it, floating forward as she greeted the woman at the front desk in French.
“Bonjour. I’m here for the audition for the lotion commercial.”
The woman studied her clipboard and instructed Alana to head down the hallway, take a seat in one of the plastic chairs, and wait to be called. Alana walked the hallway as though it was a runway, pretending to be a model from another era. God, those had been some good days. Camera’s flashing, her long and skinny legs purposeful as she strode forward. Back then, she hadn’t been just “Asher Tarkin’s wife.” She’d been somebody in nearly every circle. Somebody invited to parties to make sure “enough models were there.”
“Alana Tarkin?” Her name was called out from the second door on the right.
“Actually, it’s Alana Copperfield.” Alana walked toward the woman who’d called her name, who stood no taller than five foot one and wore a terribly ugly, black baseball hat. Alana had always found it ironic that the sorts of people who set out to judge the way she looked often wore t-shirts and sweatpants to auditions. The rules didn’t apply to them; they’d made up the rules themselves.
Two women and one bald man sat at a long table in front of the space where Alana now stood, her chest puffed forward and her smile perpetual yet never too eager. Back in her twenties, she’d hardly had to audition for commercial spots like this. People had called her first, begging for her face to represent their brands.
“Okay.” The bald man was clearly French, but he’d spent a good deal in the United States, a fact that played out in his flattened vowels. “I’ll read the line of the friend. Then, you take over the next lines in the commercial. Got it?”
“Yes.” Alana’s ears lifted.
“I can’t believe we tanned so much in our twenties. What were we thinking?” The man-made his voice slightly feminine, swinging his syllables.
Here, Alana recited her lines. “It’s not too late. Lavender Lotus Lotions reignite that damaged skin from your teenage years and twenties and leaves you looking fresh-faced and sun-kissed, all at once. As a mom who’s always on the go, it’s my one-step essential cream for my body, face, and mind.”
That was it. She’d killed it. Alana lifted her chin with excitement, her heart pounding. There was no way they wouldn’t go for her.
But the three people at the table just blinked at her quietly. Alana’s stomach twisted.
