Read Online Someday, Someday, Maybe by Lauren Graham - Free Book Online

people are still thankful to have. If I’d never come to New York, someone else would have taken my place: in class, on the train, as a waitress at the club. No one would be sitting at home saying there’s something missing from this Sally’s Wear House commercial. No one’s thankful that I did it. No one would say, “If only Frances Banks had done more. What a contribution she could have made! Think of all the lives she could have saved by wearing that fuzzy acrylic sweater.”
    I feel a tap on my shoulder.
    “Aren’t you cold?”
    It’s James Franklin. The last person I want to see right now. Nothing could make me feel worse after what happened tonight than to be reminded that a guy I gushed all over got my phone number but never called me. Even after I learned that he and Penelope were some sort of couple, I held my breath every day for the last two weeks while waiting for the machine to rewind, hoping he’d left a message. But he never did.
    James smiles at me and stamps his feet, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. He’s wearing his green army jacket and his blue and red striped scarf. Standing this close to him for the second time, it occurs to me that his scarf is homemade, and I feel a pang of jealousy, wondering who knit it for him.
    “I like to be cold,” I say, in what I hope is an appealing yet mysterious way that will make him regret not calling me, while trying not to shiver. “Did you—were you just in there?” I ask, eyeing him carefully. Please, God, say no.
    “In the audience? Yeah. I was standing in the back. It’s over. They just had curtain call. Stavros is giving his little speech about how to fill in the callback sheets. They’ll be coming out in a minute.”
    I missed the curtain call, forgot there even was one. I missed the chance to bow with everyone and to be seen one last time actually upright on two feet. And the callbacks. Stavros will be collecting the response sheets right now, where the agents and directors and casting directors will put a check next to the names of people they want to see again. Suddenly I’m deeply, freezing cold. I hug my arms around myself, trying to warm up, and stare down at my feet, attempting to look tough.
    “You sure you’re warm enough? Want my coat?”
    “No, thanks, I’m fine.”
    “Well, take this at least.” James unwraps the long striped scarf from around his neck and drapes it over my head, winding the ends round and round. I want to protest, but my knees are shaking from the cold, and I’m afraid I’ll cry if I speak. Besides, it does make me feel better to think he wouldn’t be offering his scarf to me if it were some precious item an old girlfriend had made for him. This small bright spot in my otherwise miserable evening emboldens me.
    “So, you saw me fall?” I might as well just get it over with. I want to know how bad it seemed from someone who saw it.
    “Yeah, but that was nothing. You’ll laugh about it someday. You really held it together well.”
    That’s not what I wanted to hear. People who are admired for “holding it together” are not people who are about to get agents; they’re people who are recovering from cancer, or undergoing a murder trial.
    “And I dropped a section,” I add, hoping he’ll say he didn’t notice.
    “Yeah, I know. But I only know because I’m obsessed with that guy’s work. No one will dock you for that.”
    It’s not exactly a glowing review, but he doesn’t seem totally horrified. Still, he’s avoiding the thing I most want to know.
    “But when I fell—I mean, how bad was it? Was it really—”
    “Can I tell you the truth?” James looks very serious. He’s going to tell me it’s even worse than I thought; I can tell by his face. Why does he have to be the person to deliver this information? I’ll never be able to look at him ever again.
    “Sure.” I pull myself up a little taller, steeling myself for what’s to come.
    “Usually you … I hope you take