Chapter Two

Ryan

Not everyone in my family is supportive of my acting career, especially when I’ve given up a perfectly normal, highly respectable and well paid job in the city to chase my dream, and I’m still about a million miles from making it big. If I had the time outside of this to get another job I would, principally because the last of my savings have already run out and the rent isn’t going to pay for itself, but I’m in rehearsals five days a week, and learning lines or working on smaller gigs as often as possible outside of that and there is no way in hell I’m going to give up on this career completely when I’m just about finding some success with it - and I don’t just mean I’ve finally landed a role I can fulfil my fantasy in. Besides which, working in the city may pay well, it just sucks in every other respect, and acting is way more fun, especially when I get to spend every day with Sophia.

Anyone who doesn’t work in a creative field has no idea what it’s really like to do it, hence my parents continued belief that I spend all day sleeping and all night partying, despite my constant insistence to the contrary, and that until they actually see me in something big (broadway/literary review/blockbuster film alongside A list Hollywood stars), they’ll think I’m wasting my time.

Having people around who understand that it’s actually really hard work is incredibly important, and like my parents, my landlord isn’t one of them. Thankfully my best friend, Alex is.

“That all sounds very meta”, Alex says. “Are you sure it’s not just an extension of this method acting bullshit he’s got you doing? You know, kind of like you’ve been brainwashed into thinking this is going on inside your head for real.”

Understanding, but not exactly the best at giving advice.

“I know how I feel”, I say. “I just don’t know how she feels.”

“Then you should invite her over here, you know, after you clear the place up a little, and put on the Ryan Carter Speed dating charm.”

“Yeah, and no, that’s not going to happen”, I say. “Maybe after the production is over.”

“Maybe after the production is over you won’t have anywhere to invite her”, Alex says, holding up the third letter from my landlord that says, RENT OVERDUE in such big letters across the top there’s barely any other room for the threat of legal action that follows. I take the letter from him and put it with the others.

“It’s standard procedure”, I say, “he’s not going to kick me out.”

“I hope not”, Alex says. “I’d hate for you to have to get a real job again, I like telling people I meet that I know one of the guys that stands in union square covered in silver paint.”

“Once”, I say. “I did that once.”

“I’m not the right person to be giving you advice anyway”, Alex says. “All of my relationships turn into tragedies in the end.”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m trying to avoid here”, I say, “but I have no idea how to do it.”

“Well I know this might sound a little radical, especially coming from such a deep thinking accountant as myself, but maybe you should try and spend a bit of time with her away from the theatre.”

“You don’t think condensing a six year relationship that culminates in a marriage into an hour and a half isn’t good enough?”

Alex looks sarcastically at me over the top of his beer glass.

“We go for lunch”, I say. “And we’ve been out as a group.”

“That’s good, do more of that”, Alex says. “That’s exactly the kind of thing you’d tell me to do.”

“It’s not that easy, she always seems like she’s got stuff to do, and she was seeing that jerk Jack for a while.”

Alex puts his hands up into the air theatrically, “Not anymore”, he says in a thespian voice, “the path has been cleared for your arrival, your majesty.”

“You know you’re wasted in accounting”, I say.

“That’s exactly why I come half way across Brooklyn on a school night to help you with your lines.”

“You come half way across Brooklyn to see me because you hate your roommates”, I point out.

“I resent that implication”, Alex says. “Even if Troy is a masterful ass-hole.”

“There’s always the couch”, I say, “I could do with the rent.”

“As much as I’d love to, my back couldn't take it”, Alex says. “And you’re about a million miles away from where I work.”

“Quit your job, become an acting bum like me, I think I’ve still got some of that silver paint left over somewhere.”

“No, I couldn’t risk it”, Alex says. “What if I made it big and Hollywood came calling? That would destroy you and I’d feel so guilty.”

“Again, I think you are absolutely wasted as an accountant”, I say.

Alex takes another beer from the fridge and sits down on the sofa. “Chicks dig accountants”, he says, “it’s an unavoidable fact of life. Money makes women wet.”

“So how come all of your relationships end in tragedies?” I ask, taking another beer for myself and joining him.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for a long time”, Alex says. “I guess I’ve just got bad luck.”

“Six times in a row?” I ask.

“At least I want to stay with the same girl”, Alex says.

I get the copies of the script and pass one over to him. “You’re the mafia boss, Vincent”, I say. “I’m Carlos, his number one hitman, and they’re arguing over money. And I’m a completely different person now by the way.”

“She must be impressive”, Alex says. “Don’t tell me you’re falling in love.”

“Don’t be stupid”, I say. “That would be reckless and ridiculous.”

“Especially with an illegal immigrant.”

“She’s French, Alex, she’s not an illegal immigrant. She’s here perfectly legally on a student visa.”

“Which is going to run out soon”, Alex points out.

“Are you trying to make this difficult for me?”

Alex holds his hands up passively again. “I just don’t want to see you hurting yourself, that’s all, especially on your first time around. Being in love sucks if the other person doesn’t feel the same way, take it from me. I know you’re a serial dater and a long time ladies man, but I’m a serial relationship man, and I have more than one experience of a broken heart. I know you won’t listen to my advice anyway, which considering my track record is perfectly understandable, but don’t get involved in something you can’t see through to the end, because a broken heart sucks balls.”

“I’m not in love with her, Alex”, I lie. “Vincent, the mafia boss”, I add, jabbing the front page of the script. “If we don’t get this done tonight I’ll have no chance in the screen test tomorrow.”

“Capiche”, Alex says, in a phony Italian accent, his finger and thumb together to gesticulate at me wildly. “I’ve always wanted to be in the mafia.”

“Less Godfather more Sopranos”, I say. “Otherwise we’ll never get through this. Page twenty-two.”

Alex takes a sip of his beer and readies himself. “When can I meet her?” he asks.

“The same night as everyone else”, I say. “When we’re up there on the stage and doing it for real.”

Alex gives me a serious look.

“What?” I ask.

“I just never thought I’d see the day, that’s all”, he says. “The woman that takes Ryan Carter Speed off the market.”

I jab the script again. “Read”, I say, “or no more beer.”

“Just saying”, Alex says. “And you heard it here first, of course.”

Finally he turns the page. “Carlos”, he begins, in an Italian accent that’s way too thick but  not problematic enough for me to stop him, “you’re like a brother to me. We grew up in the same neighborhood, we fell in with the same crowd, we fought on the same team. We—.”

My cell phone ringing cuts his hammy performance short. “I can’t work in these conditions”, he says in response, throwing the script to the sofa jokingly. “That better be your agent.”

“It’s Dad”, I say, looking at the caller ID. “He only ever calls me when it’s something urgent.”

“We’re supposed to be working here”, Alex complains.

“This won’t take long”, I say, putting the call through, half expecting him to have pressed the number in error. “Dad?”

“Ryan”, he says, his voice sombre. “Do you have a minute? I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”