Roommates (Soulmates #1) Read online

  I seriously needed a Xanax.

  Not that I’d ever taken one, but isn’t that how a professional actor would’ve coped with this situation?

  Ugh.

  Even the low laugh he let out when he was reluctant to find something funny made my stomach feel hollow in a way that only his mischievous smile could fill up.

  It was fucked up.

  And the kiss had only made it worse. Because for the first time since I tried to catch his eye on the bus at age fourteen, I actually felt like I had his full attention, and it was a high better than any drug.

  Or so I imagined since my experience with drugs was very limited.

  Sure, I'd puffed a few joints in college, but that didn't really count as drug use in my opinion.

  And I did smoke cigs like a chimney sophomore year, but when I realized that I was only doing it because everyone else was and that it can make your boobs saggy, I packed it in after forty eight hours of extremely ticklish coughing fits.

  The point is, I still remember when he got on that bus.

  He was older than me. I probably shouldn't even have attempted to make eye contact with him, but I felt really great about myself that morning because the front of my backpack was full of perfectly sharpened number two pencils, brand new notebooks, and folders I really liked.

  I hated when my mom left school shopping until the end of summer, and I was forced to choose the half a dozen folders that I found the least offensive.

  But that summer- perhaps because she knew I was nervous about going to high school in the first place- she took me in July so I got my pick of the bunch.

  I realize now that my level of excitement for pretty folders probably only enhanced the toxic eau de geek I gave off back then, a scent Ethan and his friends could probably pick up a mile away.

  But I wasn't that unhappy when he didn't sit down next to me. I had this weird calm in my chest, as if I knew I would have a chance to get to meet him another time, as if I sensed that we were destined to know each other sooner or later.

  And I was right. It just didn't happen the way I would've liked.

  I took a deep breath outside his door and cracked it open.

  On account of my audition, I couldn't wait for him to wake up. I needed to get in the bathroom to get ready.

  He was sleeping face down, the top covers dangerously close to his butt, his solid back looking good enough to eat off of.

  I raised one hand beside my face like a blinder and tiptoed like a cartoon cat towards the bathroom.

  "Morning," he groaned.

  "Morning," I whispered, hoping he would notice how respectful I was trying to be of his space.

  He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his hand.

  I dropped my blinder and looked at him. His face was still soft and sleepy.

  "I'm sorry if I woke you," I said. "I just have to get ready for my audition so-"

  "It's fine. I have to get up anyway."

  "Oh good," I said, prying my mind away from the question of whether he was naked under the covers. "Thanks for the socks by the way."

  He scrunched his face. "The socks?"

  "That you put on me last night when you got home?"

  "Oh. Sure. Don't mention it."

  I took another step towards the bathroom door.

  He scooted up and leaned against his navy blue pillows. "You nervous about today?"

  I shrugged. "A healthy amount. Or so I'm telling myself.”

  He nodded and yawned. "I'm sure you'll do great."

  I raised my eyebrows. "Yeah?" Kind words from him were like puddles in the desert- too few and far between to ignore.

  "Somebody has to get the part, right? Might as well be you."

  "Thanks." I reached for the bathroom doorknob, trying to keep my eyes from scouring his chest.

  "Just kiss him the way you kissed me and you'll definitely get the part."

  I forced a smile and closed myself in the bathroom.

  What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

  "Hey Jen?"

  "Yeah?" I called through the door.

  "Don't lock the door. I gotta take a piss, but I'll wait until you get in the shower."

  My eyes grew wide. "Great," I said. Absolutely freaking fantastic.

  Chapter 16: Ethan

  I did have to piss, but I could’ve waited. I didn’t need to go in there when I knew she was naked and soaping herself up on the other side of my city skyline shower curtain.

  I guess I did it just to torture myself.

  Though the flush was to torture her.

  And when she called me an asshole, I felt like I was back on track. After all, the more she pushed me away, the sooner she’d stop feeling like the carrot at the end of my fucking stick.

  Besides, I had to do something after she called me out for giving her my best socks. Why did she have to mention it?

  And why did she have to kiss some theatre tit to get a part?

  That thought alone was completely ruining my day.

  In fact, I found it so upsetting that I threw on a hoodie and headed to MoMA to distract myself.

  It was one of my favorite places.

  Where I was from, there were no museums, no interesting sculptures, and nowhere that didn't smell like farm.

  Hell, the closest I ever got to any culture as a kid was the Ohio State Fair, and there are only so many times a person can get excited about seeing a life size cow made of butter.

  But MoMA was exciting every time.

  I even met a woman at the club once who invited me to see some of the older pieces in the archived collection that was down in the basement and no longer on public display. She showed me some new stuff while we were down there, too, but that's a story for another day.

  A day when I'm not trying to avoid the thought of rough, inappropriate sex.

  Of course, museums are pretty sexy places.

  Sure, modern art was a bit hit and miss, but it was the hits I was after.

  Every now and then I'd come across something with such surprising colors or shapes that I could admire it for ages, seeing something new in it every few seconds. I liked the modern stuff because it raised questions, whereas more classic art seemed to be about providing answers.

  But that was just my take. I suppose the whole point is that it’s subjective, that it reflects more about the viewer than the artists themselves… Unless we’re talking Frida Kahlo’s work in which case that is some straight autobiographical craziness.

  The other thing I liked about the museum was that it was a place for quiet contemplation. Like church, but without the forced religious undertones.

  I remember seeing Ferris Bueller's Day Off as a kid and watching that part where Ferris and his friends stand in front of paintings at the Art Institute of Chicago.

  At one point, his buddy Cameron studies Seurat’s Day in the Park, and his eyes zoom in on the pointillism, his focus on fewer dots in every shot.

  That's how I felt as a teenager the first time I noticed the freckles on Jen's nose. Like Seurat wishes he'd painted something so interesting.

  But I’d always liked things that could be appreciated from different angles, different distances. And I liked modern art because it wasn't the kind of art I made so I could just enjoy it without feeling the need to compare it to my own work.

  I was admiring the use of color in Matisse’s The Parakeet and the Mermaid when my phone started buzzing against my thigh.

  I pulled it out, silenced it, and slid it back in my pocket. A moment later, it buzzed again. I did the same.

  However, I knew from experience it was going to go off again so I kept it in my hand and headed for the doors to the courtyard.

  "Hello," I said, after it started ringing for the third time.

  "What took you so long?" my dad asked in an accusatory tone that I doubted was good for his blood pressure.

  "I was helping an old lady across the street." I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. Howe
ver, he was so tangibly obsessed with my becoming a contributing member of society when I was younger that I couldn’t help but find jokes about what a Good Samaritan I’d become hugely entertaining.

  It was also the only thing he couldn't argue with, which was exciting since my dad was the kind of guy who could start an argument with the mirror.

  "Where are you really?"

  "At the art museum,” I said. “Helping the handicapped people get up the ramp."

  "Last try."

  "Ringing my Salvation Army bell outside the supermarket."

  "Why do you insist on spewing such crap when you know I have no sense of humor?"

  "Because of the lifelong pledge I took to help you loosen up."

  He groaned.

  "Yeah, yeah. I know it hasn't been working, but I consulted the experts and they think prune juice might help."

  "Is that a constipation joke?"

  I smiled. "See? We're making progress after all."

  "How's your sister?"

  "I don't have a sister."

  "You know what I mean. Jen. How is she?"

  "Well, it's hard to say because I don't really know how she normally is?"

  "Normally she's bubbly and smiling and occasionally singing to herself."

  "I'd say she's herself, then, minus the singing, but perhaps she's just shy around people who aren't tone deaf."

  "I'm not tone deaf."

  "Whatever you say."

  "So she's fine?"

  "Yeah.” I yanked on the strings of my hoodie. “She's at her audition right now."

  "Oh good. I hope it goes well. She really deserves a break."

  I furrowed my brow. "Can you put my dad back on the phone?"

  "What?"

  "What happened to Mr. What-Doesn't-Kill-You-Ma-"

  "She's strong enough already."

  I rolled my eyes at the way he said it- like he was the fucking authority on strength.

  "Besides, she's put up with a lot of my shit over the years, and it would be nice if someone else recognized how special she is."

  "Have you gone soft?"

  "No."

  Maybe she'd just melted him? Like she melted everyone else around her, myself included.

  "I just know how bad she wants this and she's delicate, you know? I don't want her to have any setbacks, and I know what an unforgiving industry it is that she's trying to break into."

  "How? From all your days tap dancing with Hugh Jackman?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "I'm not sure I do."

  "Fine. Be dense. Just look after her, okay? She's not used to being a small fish in such a massive pond."

  "Right."

  "She's trusting and naive and her street smarts are no better than an earthworm’s."

  "Something tells me she wouldn't appreciate that."

  "All I'm saying is that I've seen her cry, and it isn't pretty."

  "Why would she be crying?"

  "Just look after her, okay?"

  "I am. What the hell? As if I had a choice after the way she just showed up." I flinched. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got one over on me.

  "Sorry about that."

  "About what? Getting a copy of my key cut without asking?"

  "Yeah."

  "Apology not accepted." I shook my head. "Who the fuck do you think you are anyway?"

  "A concerned parent."

  "Concerned isn't the word that comes to my mind."

  "I said I was sorry, okay? That's the best I can do. Old habits and all that."

  "That's no excuse," I said. "You invaded my privacy and then invited Jen to impose on me. Did it ever occur to you how uncomfortable that must’ve been for her?"

  "No."

  I sighed. "Well, I've done my best to make her feel welcome, but the guise you sent her here under didn't help things."

  "Mmm."

  "And I get that the Golden Rule wasn’t a big part of your army training, but you might want to look it up."

  "I take your point."

  "Good."

  "Have a nice day," he said. "And tell Jenny I said hi."

  "Yeah. Sure."

  Love you, too.

  Chapter 17: Jenny

  I couldn't believe it.

  After all that fuss, I didn't even have to do the kissing scene.

  To say I was relieved didn't even begin to cover it.

  And I channeled that relief into the adrenaline I was already feeling and totally nailed my audition. At least, it felt like I did.

  And when the director said he wanted to have a word in his office, I was feeling even more confident.

  After all, if he thought I was a nobody going nowhere, he wouldn't have gone out of his way to give me individual attention, right?

  Why would he? I mean, I knew enough to know that show business wasn't about letting people down easy and handing out attaboys.

  Of course, after forty five minutes of lying low in the back of the theater and watching the people who came in to audition after me, I started to have my doubts.

  Some of my competition was really professional. And they stuck out like crazy, dancing through their auditions like it wasn't even the only one they had that day. Like they were merely doing the director a favor by coming in, which was both sort of inspiring and completely unendearing.

  However, there were others whose visible nerves made my heart break for them. One girl was sick and couldn't sing the song she was supposed to. Another boy was so nervous he couldn't stop stuttering.

  It made me question how I came across.

  Frankly, I feel like anyone with experience would've been able to tell that this was my first rodeo, but Brandi often told me that I gave off an unapproachable aloof vibe when I was nervous.

  Whatever. It didn't matter.

  All that mattered was that the director wanted to see me in his office, so I arrived perfectly on time, well aware that every second his eyes were on me was another chance to impress.

  I took a deep breath and knocked on the wooden door.

  "Who’s there?"

  I turned the doorknob and poked my head in. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Leighton?"

  He looked up from behind a heavy looking black desk. "Jennifer, yes. Come in."

  I stepped in his office and tried to act less nervous than I felt, which was a role I was growing more accustomed to all the time.

  He stood up and gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."

  I did as he asked, noticing that he looked less intimidating in the small office than he did in the front row when I was on stage.

  He sat back down and smiled. "And please call me Ken."

  "Sure," I said, doing a cartwheel inside that I was on a first name basis was a real big time casting director.

  "Tell me a little bit about yourself, Jennifer." He leaned back in his chair. He was wearing a black V-neck shirt that clung to him like his matching gelled hair.

  I pursed my lips. "Well, I'm from a small town in Ohio, and I studied acting at Oberlin."

  "Your family must be very proud of you."

  I nodded.

  "I bet they'd be even more proud if you got a leading role in this production right out of school."

  "Of course," I said. "They already told me they'd come see me in it and everything."

  "That's fantastic." I felt his eyes dip below mine and pulled the front of my tank top up automatically.

  "I take it you liked my audition?" I asked.

  He lined up the fingers on his hands and looked at me. "I was very impressed, yes. Especially by the energy you brought to the role. I like each of my cast members to treat their part like it's the biggest one in the production so no one gets out acted by their peers, and I really think you can bring the right intensity to the role of Marilyn."

  I raised my eyebrows.

  "In fact, your audition was so good it's put me in a bit of a pickle."

  I tilted an ear towards him.
"How's that?"

  "Can I be honest with you?"

  "Of course."

  "There are two other young women up for the same part."

  I swallowed.

  "One of them has a lot more experience than you, and she’s already proven that she has the stamina to deliver night after night."

  "Uh-huh."

  "And the other woman looks a lot more like the real Marilyn did, and while I hate to be swayed by something so superficial, I know from experience that when the physical resemblance is there, it's one less thing the audience has to overcome to really get into the performance."

  I slid my sweaty palms down my thighs as covertly as I could.

  Ken stood up, walked around his desk, and leaned against it. He came so close I had to lean my head back to keep my eyes on his.

  "So it really comes down to what I'm looking for," he said.

  "And what's that?"

  "Well, some of the things I'm looking for are obvious enough- dedication, sex appeal, someone with a youthful energy who can convincingly convey the spirit of the free loving sixties."

  "Sure."

  He wrapped his hands around the edge of the desk. "But there are other things I can't tell as well from a traditional audition."

  "Like what?" I asked, doing my best to ignore the bulge in his black jeans.

  "Like how well someone takes direction," he said, moving his feet a little farther apart.

  "For what it's worth, I've always felt that was one of my strengths," I said, scooting back in my chair in the hopes that the air might feel less thin there.

  "And how bad do you want the part, Jennifer?"

  He was officially leering at me. At first I had my doubts and didn't want to believe it, but the way he was looking at me no longer felt supportive or good. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want it."

  He nodded, a smarmy smile spreading across his face. "Of course. I suppose that's a silly question.

  I felt my pulse quicken in my tightening chest. Something wasn't right. The air, the room, the look on his face. It all felt strangely sinister all of a sudden.

  "Allow me to let you in on two little secrets," he said, lowering his voice.

  "Okay."

  "It's all who you know."