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“I’m not the bad guy here,” Alice continues. “I tried to help you. All I want is for gay kids to make it in Hollywood. But some—”

She pinches her nose. Her too-thin, Beverly Hills–made nose. Her cerulean-blue eyes that are still hugged by stress-induced crow’s-feet that even the best plastic surgery can’t get rid of. There would be no blurriness if I were framing this. No tricks. A simple 4K close-up reaction shot with our too-bright light to show off every fucking fake detail on Alice Dadamo’s fucking face.

I’m done.

Tears have already fallen down my cheeks, and I’m so done.

I get up out of my seat. Grab my purse. “I’m bi, and I quit.”

And that’s that.

Alice might have eventually regretted what she said and rehired me, but I’ve killed that opportunity. I’ve killed every opportunity, and I have to pay rent.

The only place I have left to go in this hell building is the bathroom.

It’s empty when I slam the door open. The sound echoes off the hollow walls, the hard floor, and the mirrored wall. I force breaths, dropping onto the sink as the room spins. For a moment, I just clutch the edges of the porcelain. The tears have fallen, but I can’t start sobbing here. I have to make it to my car, at least. Preserve a shred of my dignity.

The hinge on the door whines as someone enters.

Valeria’s image plays against the mirror, her figure behind me. I turn around, all raccoon makeup and tear-streaked cheeks.

“Please tell me you didn’t see that,” I say, choking out a sort of strangled laugh.

She smiles softly. “This business is hell, but your boss seems like an asshole.”

The whole moment feels like something out of a dream, down to the oversaturated lighting and the distinct lack of witnesses.

I sigh and work to wipe my eyes with a paper towel. It doesn’t fix much. “You really don’t—”

“Do you want a job?” She runs her hand through her hair in the mirror.

I must be dreaming right now. It’s the only explanation. I wouldn’t quit. Valeria Sullivan wouldn’t offer me a job.

“What?”

She turns to me head-on before she speaks again. “A job. A P.A. job. Like you asked me. I called my line producer, and he said if I moved a set P.A. to the office, then I could hire another set P.A. You wanted the job, didn’t you?” She smiles. “Besides, I don’t want to waste your talent.”

“I’m not that—”

“We’re calling it a P.A. gig, but the production is small. My D.P. especially needs an assistant. He’s pretty fresh himself, and I’m sure he’d love a P.A. dedicated to his unit.”

I blink a few times. This sounds like Valeria, looks like Valeria. The Chanel smell, the trimmed nails, the Grace Kelly blond hair, the dark eyes. It’s all her. I’m pinching myself, and I feel the pain. I’m here. Unless this is a huge hallucination, I’m here.

Valeria just offered me a job helping a real D.P. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Even my voice sounds like me, but it’s like I’m watching this happen. Like I’m on a set.

Valeria laughs. “Yes, I’m really serious. Do you want the job?”

Even if this is a dream, I know what the right answer is. And the beaming smile spreading across my lips feels real.

“Absolutely,” I say.

chapter eight

When I wake up on Saturday, I think I have to return to Alice on Monday for only five seconds before I remember what happened. Valeria’s shoot starts in a few weeks, which leaves me with actual significant time to do nothing. The possibilities are both endless and very simple. With Wyatt mostly at work, I can hang out with Romy more during the day since her shifts aren’t as long as mine used to be. I can attempt to reach out to other film school grads I was friends with who’re also unemployed. I can read this script Valeria sent me and work through potential visuals. Not that I’m really gonna get the chance—I’ll likely just be fetching lenses for Brendan, the actual D.P.—but it might be worth doing a little homework. And finding some way to thank Romy for putting up with me the past couple of weeks seems in order too.

The script is read by nine a.m., and slutty brownie ingredients are spread across my parents’ kitchen by ten a.m. (They have a better oven, and their kitchen is best for surprise effectiveness for Romy.) The script, currently titled Oakley in Flames, is really cool. It’s an L.A.-noir-type piece in which the protagonist is a queer bartender in a WeHo male strip club where one of the strippers goes missing. Super moody and atmospheric, but ultimately a very found family story with a happy ending. Lots of big names involved, including the now box office hit Goodbye, Richard!’s director Mason Wu as an E.P. and buzzy genre staple Charlie Durst as the male stripper who disappears. Based on interviews Valeria has done with each of them, they’re actually her friends. Every detail I learn gets my heart racing in excitement. This movie might be a big deal. I have a job on a movie that might be a big deal.

There’s also a particularly interesting pursuit/fight scene that takes place in a moderately wealthy L.A. home during the day. It’s obviously easy to accomplish chaos and surprise with a night setting, so the timing feels like a very deliberate decision the screenwriter made.