I step out and lock up my beautifully restored car, the one that took me across the country to try to make it in Hollywood, and I feel like I should apologize to her. This car represents my one and only happy childhood memory. And what did I do to her? Betrayed her. I shake my head.
Even with decent headshots, I still have zero juice in this town. Not a single call back from auditions. Not so much as a hemorrhoid cream commercial.
And now here I am, having plumped up my résumé to get a second job with a housekeeping company, just to earn enough money to make the phone calls stop.
The phone rings again as I walk up the steps to the rounded front door. I glare at the screen, see the likely-spoofed number, decline the call and silence the phone.
At moments like these, I realize I’m too young to have ever angrily slammed down an old-fashioned telephone receiver. Hanging up and declining calls on smartphones has got to be the most physically unsatisfying response to dickheads ever.
Ever since I stopped answering the lender’s calls, they’ve started spoofing numbers, trying to get me to answer. It’s not lost on me that if I’m spooked away from answering the phone, it really puts a damper on me waiting for acting audition callbacks or prospective agents.
So yeah, it’s a fun little pickle I’ve gotten myself into. Fun as in, the kind of fun I imagine it would be to have my balls waxed.
Honestly, I’m not above extreme manscaping at this point, if it’ll get me a paying acting gig.
Huh. I wonder if I could do porn? Do I want to do porn? I’m not terrible in bed, I don’t think.
Focus, Luke. Focus.
On the clipboard in my hand is the paper they gave me at Maid for You with all the information about today’s client. Stella Monroe. By the look of the house and the name, I’m imagining another sweet little old lady, just like my neighbor Lucille.
Rich or not, I’d better do a great job here today. This is my last chance at eking out some way to make ends meet before I give up and head back to Indiana with my tail between my legs. If this fails, hopefully I’ll make it out of the State of California with my sweet baby Fairlane just ahead of the debt collectors.
I don’t want it to come to that. The lender, Golden State Finance, will get their money. Just have to stop harassing me long enough to let me lock down this job.
When the administrator at Maid for You peered at me over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses and asked me if everything on my application was accurate including my experience, I nodded my head and said yes with a clear conscience.
Have I cleaned houses before? Yes. My own apartment. And Lucille’s, when she went into the hospital after she fell ill.
Did she pay me? Only in banana bread. But it was very good banana bread, which I consider enough to make me a professional housekeeper.
Not enough to pay the rent—which, by the way, I’m also behind on—but it sure filled me up when I was out of grocery money.
Hopefully the little old lady on the other side of this door will like me enough that I can earn more than some homemade banana bread.
As the door opens, I pull myself up to my full height and turn on my most disarming smile, ready to charm the pants off the little old lady.
What an expression.
The woman answering the door is wearing a high-end suit, sexy high heels, and a handbag that looks like it costs more than I’ve made in the past year. Pearls, Rolex watch, the whole nine yards. She is not little, or old, but is very much, in every sense of the word, a lady.
How do I know? Beyond the high-end clothes and jewelry, I see the polished poise and posture of someone who’s either been to finishing school, modeling school, or both. And, surpassing all of that, the kindness and humor in her huge, beautiful eyes make me want to burst into song. She’s the most breathtaking human I’ve ever seen. And I’ve spent a lot of time at auditions, surrounded by models and aspiring actors. Many times I thought about asking for their phone numbers, and some of them have asked me for mine after striking up a friendly conversation.
But none of them ever made me catch my breath at first sight. I might not be able to focus on cleaning all day if I’m thinking about losing myself in those eyes, tugging loose that high ponytail, and unbuttoning the top button of her silk blouse to take a taste of that swan-like neck.
When the client opens her mouth to speak, her fire-engine red tinted lips have me ready to fall to my knees right here, right now.
The universe is playing some kind of sick joke on me.
I haven’t dated anyone since I moved to LA. I decided early on that I shouldn’t try to brave the dating scene until I achieved some kind of success. Or at least met some of my goals. I’ve stayed true to that because I’m not a casual dater. I want a wife, kids, dogs, cats, maybe even a pair of guinea pigs.
And, now, here I am, standing in front of the woman I’m going to marry. At the most unstable, desperate phase of my life.
Not a good look, Luke Jeffries. Not a good look at all.
Stella and Luke’s story is available now on Amazon! Get it here!
