“Tommy?” Uncle Don asks, putting his hand over his ear to block us out. “Yeah, it’s Don! I know, long time no talk!”
And with that, he walks into the pantry and shuts the door.
“What the hell?” I turn to Chloe and smack her arm.
She rubs her hands together, as if she’s a cartoon villain executing an evil plan. “You’re welcome.”
“For what? For embarrassing me in front of Tommy Crisante? For forever making my name synonymous with ‘girl who makes her uncle beg for a job for her’?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Chloe says, taking another bite of pasta.
“You’re calling me dramatic? You literally just rubbed your hands together like you’re a bad guy in Scooby-Doo. And how have I never known that Uncle Don is besties with a major American film director?” I ask, even though I know it’s because Uncle Don pretty much watches Lord of the Rings and Star Wars over and over. Maybe I should ask him if he knows Peter Jackson or George Lucas.
The door clicks open, and Uncle Don emerges from the pantry, then heads straight for his plate. He takes another bite as we stare at him. “What?” he asks when he looks up.
“Well?” Chloe prods. “How did it go?”
“Oh!” He brightens. “You got the job!”
My heart stops. “What job?”
“As Tommy’s assistant. His last one quit to go work for an underwear model. So, perfect timing, I guess.”
Chloe raises her arms in the air and starts humming the theme song for Rocky, which is an annoying thing she does whenever she has a perceived victory, major or minor, in any area of her life. “This is it!” she squeals. “Annie, you’re getting a job on a movie! You can show Tommy your screenplay and meet your Tom Hanks!”
“Tom Hanks is in this movie?” Uncle Don asks, putting down his fork. “I love that guy.”
I shake my head and put my hands over my face, then decide that isn’t enough and slump over the island, talking into the counter. “Everybody loves him. That’s the entire point of Tom Hanks. But no, he’s not in this movie. Just . . . never mind.”
Chloe and Don are silent, and then I feel a hand on my shoulder. Don’s. “Sweetheart,” he says. “Your mom would be so proud of you.”
I lift my head a little and peer up at him. “Yeah?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
And I know he isn’t going to say anything else—isn’t going to give me an emotional speech about what romantic comedies meant to my mom or a pep talk about how I can do it. Neither of those are things Uncle Don would ever do, or may even be capable of doing. But in those few words, and in the look on his face, I get what he’s trying to tell me. That he misses his sister just like I miss my mom. That she wouldn’t have wanted me to be here, still, static, instead of pursuing something I’ve always loved. That she would be so happy to know I was going to be on an actual movie set, even if it’s only in German Village, even if it’s only for a few days, even if I’m only an assistant.
“Thanks, Uncle Don,” I say, sitting up as tears start to tingle the edges of my eyes. And although I’m still nervous (that’s putting it mildly), maybe what Chloe said is true. That this is meant to be, and maybe my mom had some hand in making it happen. I just wish I could tell her about it.
Chapter Four
Filming doesn’t start until Monday, so I’m not employed yet, but crewmembers are already closing down the street, putting up signs, and moving cars.
“This is ridiculous,” Nick says, handing a coffee to a customer. “You can’t shut down an entire neighborhood because some Hollywood big shots want to make a movie.”
“They took over an empty storefront and closed down one block,” I point out. “And it’s not even this one.”
“Still,” Nick grumbles.
“You’re such a negative Nancy,” Chloe says, squirting whipped cream onto a drink. “It’s like if you don’t have something to complain about, you’ll shrivel up and float away on a breeze.”
“What are you doing?” Nick grabs her arm, looking at the cup.
“Adding some sprinkles,” she says with wide eyes.
“Does this look like a sprinkle smiley face to you?” Nick asks the customer, a middle-aged man in a puffer coat and a knit hat.
“It does indeed,” he says.
“And how does it make you feel?” Chloe asks with a smile.
The man appears to think about it. “Pretty good,” he says finally, taking his cup and walking out.
“See?” Chloe asks. “Customers like a personal touch!”
“Just serve the coffee, okay?” Nick asks as “What a Fool Believes” starts playing. “Chloe.”
“What’s that?” Chloe asks, suddenly very interested in the espresso machine.
“Did you mess with my playlist again?”
“Hmm?”
I stifle a smile as I watch the scene that plays out almost every day.
“Is this or is this not the Doobie Brothers?” Nick asks, crossing his arms.
Chloe turns around and throws her hands up in frustration. “Fine, it is! Do you know how upsetting your sad music is? I’m so tired of listening to Sufjan Stevens!”
“‘Carrie and Lowell’ is a masterpiece,” Nick grumbles.
“And it makes our customers cry,” Chloe says.
“She has a point,” I say.
Nick points at me. “You stay out of this.”
“Totally unfair that Chloe gets to play what she wants all the time, and you wouldn’t even let me play what I wanted once,” Tobin whines from behind the espresso machine.
Nick runs a hand over his face. “That’s because I’m not going to play a five-hour loop of ambient whale sounds, Tobin.”
“But it’s so chill,” Tobin says, handing a latte to a customer.
I smirk and turn back to my computer, but Chloe whips off her apron. “Okay, it’s my break, so feel free to change it back to your Crying Alone playlist.”
“No more yacht rock!” Nick shouts.
“Come on,” Chloe says, grabbing my arm. “We’re gonna go get a closer look at your new workplace.”
“I’m in the middle of typing this sentence—” I say as Chloe pulls me out of my chair. I manage to bring my coffee along because I have a feeling I’ll need caffeine to fortify me for this.
“I’m nervous to get too close,” I whisper to Chloe as we walk, my breath puffing in the air.
“Why are you whispering?” she asks.
“I don’t want anyone to hear me and know how nervous I am!” I hiss. But she has a point—it’s ten A.M., and there aren’t even that many people on the brick sidewalk. Almost everyone is at work, although there are definitely some people standing right at the edge of the caution tape, looking at what appears to be nothing more than a few guys in winter coats milling around.
Chloe sighs. “This is way more boring than I expected. I guess I thought, like, Drew Danforth would be right there, and we could shamelessly ogle him for the remainder of my break.”