“Was he the guy who directed all those cheesy movies in the ’90s?” Nick asks, because Tommy Crisante is Steven Spielberg–level famous. Everyone knows his name.
“Yeah, that’s him,” I say, my mouth going dry. A romantic comedy filming here, blocks from my house?
“We have to get you onto that set,” Chloe says, and hearing her say the thought I hadn’t yet formed makes me realize how ridiculous it is.
“Why?” I ask, shutting my computer. “I don’t want to be in a movie. I want to write one.”
“Yeah, but,” Chloe continues, “if you could weasel your way onto set, wouldn’t this be such a great learning experience? If you won’t move out of Ohio—not that I want you to leave my side literally ever, but come on, you know this isn’t exactly the cinematic hub of the country—then this could be your chance to actually be involved in a movie!”
I nod, but I’m thinking Sure, Chloe. Because what am I supposed to do? Send a letter to the director that reads, “Rom-com fanatic with zero experience and an unused, dusty film-studies degree seeks literally any job on your film”? That’s, like, the world’s worst personal ad.
Then Chloe lets out a low whistle. “And—whoa, okay, apparently the lead is Drew Danforth, that hot guy from that sitcom. Have you even seen what he’s looking like these days?” She turns her phone so I can see the screen, which is showcasing a picture of a very shirtless, very muscled man.
But I already know who he is. Everyone does.
If there was ever a man who was the complete and polar opposite of Tom Hanks, it would be Drew Danforth. Where Tom Hanks is known for being humble and respectful, Drew Danforth is known for acting like none of his acting success matters and like he’s way too good for Hollywood traditions. He’s always showing up in gossip columns for doing ridiculous things like pratfalling whenever he sees the paparazzi taking his photo. Once, he went on Late Night with Seth Meyers wearing sweatpants and with uncombed hair, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to look presentable. And then there was the time he did an entire day of press while wearing a fake mustache, but never acknowledged it, or the time that he recited the Declaration of Independence on the red carpet instead of answering reporters’ questions.
He’s known for not taking anything seriously, and the last thing this all-too-rare studio rom-com needs is some jerk who probably thinks the entire genre is formulaic and beneath him.
I take another glance at the picture, staring at it a little longer than I need to. Sure, he looks good, but romantic comedy leads are usually more cute than sexy, and they definitely don’t spend a lot of time showing off their abs (unless we’re talking about a rom-com starring Chris Evans, in which case he will be shirtless 90 percent of the time).
“Okay, first of all, rom-com leads don’t have to be muscular. And this guy doesn’t take anything seriously—everything is a joke to him. There’s no way he’s going to treat a romantic comedy with respect.”
Chloe turns her phone back toward her and reads. “Whatever. He could treat me with respect, if you know what I’m saying. I guess after he was in that sitcom, he was in some action movie so he got, like, super ripped.” She looks up at me with wide eyes. “Oh, my God, Annie. What if your life isn’t a Nora Ephron romantic comedy? What if it’s Notting Hill, and you’re supposed to end up with Drew Danforth?”
“That’s not how this works. My Tom Hanks doesn’t have to be a celebrity.”
“But it couldn’t hurt!” Chloe says. “Just think about it . . . Annie and Drew. Your celebrity name would be Andrew.”
“I’m not a celebrity . . . and I’m pretty sure his full name is already Andrew.” I open up my laptop and find the Dispatch’s website.
Gary drains his cup, then stands up and puts on his coat. “You’ll find your Tom Hanks, Annie, just like I found mine. Her name is Martha.”
“How did you meet?” Chloe asks, turning around and leaning over the back of her chair. She may not believe in fairy-tale love for herself, but don’t think I haven’t noticed she loves hearing other people’s stories.
Gary wraps his scarf around his neck. “She was married to my brother, but she decided she liked me better.”