Waiting for Tom Hanks - Kerry Winfrey Page 0,56

broader concept of Tom Hanks and what he represents.”

Chloe nods. “Tom Hanks as a symbol. Got it.”

“Anyway, I’m going to be fine.” I pick up the coffees with what I imagine to be an air of insouciance. “My rom-com hasn’t even started yet. Or maybe it has and this is still the opening montage where I fall down a lot and injure myself and meet terrible men and—”

A customer bumps into me and the coffees fall out of my hand, splashing all over the floor.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I say as a few customers clap.

“Tobin!” Chloe calls. “Clean up!”

Tobin emerges from the back room, mop and bucket in hand. “On it.”

“Wow,” I say as Tobin starts cleaning up the mess. “What’s gotten into him?”

“I think he feels bad about killing all his mom’s plants,” Chloe says.

“I can hear you,” Tobin says. “I’m just working on my karma.”

I glance at the giant clock on the wall. I’m due on set basically now, and the thought of seeing Drew makes me feel as if a small but unusually active animal has taken up residence in my stomach. “Crap,” I say. “I have to go.”

“Hey,” Chloe says, carefully handing me two new cups. “Did you hear that we’re supposed to get a huge snowstorm tomorrow night?”

I shake my head. “I refuse to process that information. It’s fifty degrees right now, summer is here, and we’re about to bust out our bikinis and start playing the Beach Boys.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Never better!” I say, although to be honest, a slightly manic energy is radiating off of me. “Now, I’m off to work. My montage continues!”

Chloe offers up a wave, her brow still furrowed. The bell jingles as I push my way through the door.

Okay, so I may be slightly exaggerating my good mood, but the point is: I’m fine, and I don’t want Chloe to worry about me. I am hurt, and I am sad, but this is okay.

But one thing’s for sure: if I talk to Drew Danforth today, he’d better watch out.

* * *

• • •

My eyes drift over to Drew and Tarah, who are filming a big fight scene today. Not, like, a punching-bad-guys fight scene—this isn’t that kind of movie—but one where their emotional barriers finally come to the surface, and she yells a classic rom-com line at him: “And you know what? Maybe that’s your problem. You care so much about your past that you never think about your future.”

I’m a little bit jealous, because there are a few choice lines I’d like to yell at Drew Danforth. Not that one, of course, but maybe: You know what? Maybe that’s your problem. Hollywood Gossip caught you canoodling with your costar.

You know what? Maybe that’s your problem. You pretended like you were jealous of Sexy Gaffer, but apparently it was all some big game for you.

You know what? Maybe that’s your problem. You and your ridiculously perfect abs that you don’t even care about and that annoyingly swoopy hair and . . .

Oh, God. This isn’t helping, because now I’m feeling less “c’est la vie” and more “I want to dropkick Drew Danforth into the sun.” But honestly, I have very little lower-body strength, so I probably couldn’t even do that. Maybe I need to start going to self-defense classes or something.

Instead of thinking about every one of Drew’s infuriatingly perfect features that I now hate, I watch Tarah. While I wouldn’t say that we’re friends, we are on a friendly basis. Once she gave me an extra taco when she ordered too many from the taco truck that parks at the corner sometimes, and I can’t help but like anyone who shares their food.

But there’s no denying that we’re pretty different people. I mean, she’s almost impossibly beautiful, like a painting or a doll. Obviously I’ve seen her on screen, but in person she emits a glow that normal people don’t have. I search my heart for some sort of jealousy or anger toward her, and I can’t find any; how could I compete with her anyway? She’s a famous, talented, beautiful actress. We’re not on the same playing field. We’re not even playing the same sport—it’s like she’s in the WNBA, and I’m playing with a child-sized Fisher-Price basketball hoop.

As the scene cuts and they pull away from each other, I watch them for some sign of chemistry, for some evidence of the canoodling Hollywood Gossip talked about. But they step away from each other immediately and

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