Page 3 of Some Sort of Happy (Happy Crazy Love 1)
I eyeballed her. “What do you mean by that, exactly?”
“Don’t get prickly.” She nudged me with one bare foot. “I’m just saying that you know how to work a room. You obviously charmed the producers into wanting you to stay on.”
“But not so much that they thought I’d win the cowboy’s heart on my own,” I pointed out.
She shrugged. “You said yourself you guys had no chemistry.”
“We didn’t. But why me?” I whined. “Why couldn’t they’ve asked someone else to play the villain?”
“Because they didn’t trust anyone else to play it right. They needed someone to act devious and manipulative but who was also beautiful and appealing enough for it to be realistic that he’d keep you on so long. I think it was a compliment!”
I held up one hand. “Please. Everyone there was beautiful. And haven’t you heard? My mouth looks like someone’s asshole.”
She kicked me. “Stop it. You have that something extra—you light up a room, you always have.” She slumped like a hunchback and contorted her pretty features. “The rest of us just linger in the shadows, waiting to feed on your scraps.”
I rolled my eyes. Natalie was perfectly lovely, and she knew it. She just had no desire to play it up. While I adored cosmetics, she usually went bare-faced. I was a hair-product and hot roller junkie; she let her natural waves air dry. I could easily—and happily—blow a paycheck on a pair of Louboutins; she saved every penny she could and always had.
And that’s why she owns her own business at age twenty-five and you’re still scrambling to get by at twenty-seven. You might be the big sister, but she’s got a shop, a boyfriend, and a condo. What do you have?
I propped my elbow on the back of the couch and tipped my head into my hand. “God, Nat. I really fucked this up. It didn’t lead to Scorsese knocking at my door, and I probably just alienated everyone we know.”
“Quit being such a drama queen. They’ll forgive you once you flash that Cherry Queen smile at them.”
“Ha. Maybe I should dig out my crown and start wearing it around town. Remind them they liked me once upon a time.”
“Does that mean you’re staying here for good?”
Picking up my drink, I took a slow sip. “I guess so, although I promised Mom I’d be out of this guest house by the end of the month. That gives me about three weeks to figure out where to live, or else move in with them.” I grimaced into the glass. “I’m such a loser. Moving in with my parents at twenty-seven.”
“You’re not, Sky. But if you still want to be an actress, why not go back to New York and try again? A lot of people don’t break out right away.”
How many times had I heard that over the last few years?
I swirled the ice around in the glass. Could I take the New York audition scene again? All the rejection was so disheartening. Then there was living in the city itself. New York had such frantic energy, at every time of day during every day of the week. Once upon a time I couldn’t wait to be a part of that. Of course, I’d romanticized it entirely—the life I’d imagined included actually getting the jobs I auditioned for, and being able to pay my rent with plenty left over for shoes, blowouts, and trendy nightclubs, where I’d clink glasses with elite theater people who called each other darling and invited me to summer with them in the Hamptons.
Needless to say, that’s not how it went.
I spent four full years in New York, and the last year I paid my rent solely by bartending, lying to my parents, my sisters, and anybody else who asked about going out on auditions.
How pathetic is that? I mean, plenty of people lie on their resumes about their successes, but there I was lying about my failures, making up jobs I didn’t get.
That beer commercial? They went younger.
That legal drama? Turns out they wanted a brunette.
That web series about vampire nannies? Never heard back.
So after spending my entire childhood dreaming of being an actress and being voted Most Likely to See Her Name in Lights, turns out I wasn’t cut out for it. Or maybe I just wasn’t good enough.
Either way, it was really depressing.
I was debating calling it quits when the opportunity to do Save a Horse came up, and since I hated the thought of coming back a failure, I figured I’d give it one last-ditch effort to find success.
In hindsight, I probably should have just crawled out of the ditch and held up the white flag. Or better yet, told someone to shoot.
“I don’t know, Nat. I…did
n’t really love living in New York.” Admitting how homesick I’d been seemed like another failure.
