unemployed movie critic for a now-defunct magazine no one’s ever heard of.”
Vaughn stared at me for a moment. “Hmm,” he said finally. “I wouldn’t peg you as one of those, either.”
“Is that a fact?” I laughed. “Do you see me as a secretary or a biochemical engineer?”
“A novelist, actually. I can totally see you on some author panel, dazzling your sycophantic fans with your dry wit and pretty hazel eyes.”
No one ever notices that I have hazel eyes; they’re so dark everyone just thinks they’re brown. You have to look at them really closely to see that they’re green around the edges. More than once, I’d gotten pissed at some long-term boyfriend who thought it was cute to croon “Brown Eyed Girl” to me. I’d given up thinking that guys ever noticed things like that.
“That’s the dream. Now I just have to write a novel. Except that when I have the money, I don’t have the time, and when I have the time, I’m too worried about money to be creative.”
“At least you’re writing.” Vaughn shrugged and turned to stare at the preparations down the beach. The number of people had tripled since we’d left for our drink. “Not all of us get to do the job we set out to.”
“You mean, as opposed to producing a show for preteens and watching as the IQ-challenged star makes millions for warbling songs about her boyfriend’s convertible?”
Vaughn still didn’t turn back to look at me, but he smiled ruefully at my question, the grin not making it all the way up to his eyes.
“If it’s not producing, what is it you want to do?”
I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Vaughn reddened slightly. He finally glanced back toward me, his expression that of a little boy who’d just been caught doing something embarrassing. “Promise you won’t make fun of me.”
Since I’m not that in control of my emotions, it would be a promise I couldn’t possibly keep. “I won’t laugh as long as you don’t tell me you want to be a trapeze artist or rodeo clown.”
That earned a real grin. “What, you don’t think I could pull off the floppy shoes?”
“A bright red nose wouldn’t go with your complexion.”
I expected him to laugh, but instead, he inhaled deeply. “I went to college to be a director,” Vaughn blurted out. He made it sound like some deep dark secret.
I stared at him for a brief second, trying to figure out what was so embarrassing about that. “Unless you want to direct snuff films, I can’t imagine why you would hide that.”
“Because everyone wants to be a director. In L.A., that’s the next worse thing to saying you want to be an actor.”
We both stayed silent for a few beats, watching the warm bluish green waves wash up onto the shore. It occurred to me that I never go to the beach in Los Angeles, maybe because I’m terrified of being mugged at knifepoint. “I’m willing to bet thousands of people would kill for your job.”
“I’m sure I could find tons who want your job, too.”
I shrugged, acknowledging he had a point. “I’m sure there are thousands of tweens who would die for my access to Daisy Mae Dixson. And men of all ages, if she continues to wear her underwear to work.”
A gust of wind blew my hair directly into my mouth, and before I could reach up and brush it away, I felt Vaughn’s hand gently pull the strands from my lips. The move made me both uncomfortable and a little flushed. Good God, I needed a date—of the nonfeline variety. Worried my red face betrayed my thoughts, I stood up as soon as his hands were clear from my face.
“Listen,” I said, smiling politely. “I really should go. I need to start transcribing and maybe even write a few pages.”
Vaughn looked openly disappointed. “Sure, you’re right. I should probably get back to the stage, anyway. I don’t really have any work to do, but I should at least pretend.”
I brushed the sand from my clothes, trying to act as though I wasn’t in a hurry to escape.
Vaughn stared at me for a moment. “Hmm,” he said finally. “I wouldn’t peg you as one of those, either.”
“Is that a fact?” I laughed. “Do you see me as a secretary or a biochemical engineer?”
“A novelist, actually. I can totally see you on some author panel, dazzling your sycophantic fans with your dry wit and pretty hazel eyes.”
No one ever notices that I have hazel eyes; they’re so dark everyone just thinks they’re brown. You have to look at them really closely to see that they’re green around the edges. More than once, I’d gotten pissed at some long-term boyfriend who thought it was cute to croon “Brown Eyed Girl” to me. I’d given up thinking that guys ever noticed things like that.
“That’s the dream. Now I just have to write a novel. Except that when I have the money, I don’t have the time, and when I have the time, I’m too worried about money to be creative.”
“At least you’re writing.” Vaughn shrugged and turned to stare at the preparations down the beach. The number of people had tripled since we’d left for our drink. “Not all of us get to do the job we set out to.”
“You mean, as opposed to producing a show for preteens and watching as the IQ-challenged star makes millions for warbling songs about her boyfriend’s convertible?”
Vaughn still didn’t turn back to look at me, but he smiled ruefully at my question, the grin not making it all the way up to his eyes.
“If it’s not producing, what is it you want to do?”
I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Vaughn reddened slightly. He finally glanced back toward me, his expression that of a little boy who’d just been caught doing something embarrassing. “Promise you won’t make fun of me.”
Since I’m not that in control of my emotions, it would be a promise I couldn’t possibly keep. “I won’t laugh as long as you don’t tell me you want to be a trapeze artist or rodeo clown.”
That earned a real grin. “What, you don’t think I could pull off the floppy shoes?”
“A bright red nose wouldn’t go with your complexion.”
I expected him to laugh, but instead, he inhaled deeply. “I went to college to be a director,” Vaughn blurted out. He made it sound like some deep dark secret.
I stared at him for a brief second, trying to figure out what was so embarrassing about that. “Unless you want to direct snuff films, I can’t imagine why you would hide that.”
“Because everyone wants to be a director. In L.A., that’s the next worse thing to saying you want to be an actor.”
We both stayed silent for a few beats, watching the warm bluish green waves wash up onto the shore. It occurred to me that I never go to the beach in Los Angeles, maybe because I’m terrified of being mugged at knifepoint. “I’m willing to bet thousands of people would kill for your job.”
“I’m sure I could find tons who want your job, too.”
I shrugged, acknowledging he had a point. “I’m sure there are thousands of tweens who would die for my access to Daisy Mae Dixson. And men of all ages, if she continues to wear her underwear to work.”
A gust of wind blew my hair directly into my mouth, and before I could reach up and brush it away, I felt Vaughn’s hand gently pull the strands from my lips. The move made me both uncomfortable and a little flushed. Good God, I needed a date—of the nonfeline variety. Worried my red face betrayed my thoughts, I stood up as soon as his hands were clear from my face.
“Listen,” I said, smiling politely. “I really should go. I need to start transcribing and maybe even write a few pages.”
Vaughn looked openly disappointed. “Sure, you’re right. I should probably get back to the stage, anyway. I don’t really have any work to do, but I should at least pretend.”
I brushed the sand from my clothes, trying to act as though I wasn’t in a hurry to escape.
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