Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

know." He looks away.
    He doesn't know. That's what this is about. "It's sleazy, and it's sure to backfire. If I can't get this part on my merits as an actor, I don't want it. Besides, I'm with you. I would never cheat. You know that."
    He sighs and rests his head back on my shoulder again, but he's still twisting the edge of his shirt in his hands. "I know you wouldn't."
    "I love you."
    He presses his face into my neck. "Yeah," he says.
    ****
    JESS
    He was in a campus production of Hair , which seems both unlikely and kind of stereotypical now. Sixties nostalgia is so over, and the show doesn't make any sense, but everyone knows the cast gets naked, and I think that's why colleges still do it. Like there's something subversive about nudity, like we don't look in the mirror every day. But that was the first time I saw him. He played Berger and wore this ridiculous brown wig that went to his shoulder blades. He sang all the songs about having life and hair and how The Man was oppressing all the free-spirited youths in New York City. At the end of the first act, he dutifully disrobed with the rest of the cast. It was ridiculous. I was mesmerized. I came back every night they put on that show.
    I wanted to be that fearless.
    My roommate was in the ensemble, so he invited me to the cast party when the show wrapped. The party was held in the spartan apartment of one of the other cast members, where the walls had peeling paint and the furniture all looked like it had been passed to a succession of college students since the seventies. It was ugly but had that starving artist cachet. And there was Sam, standing as if under a spotlight, still in his makeup from the show but minus the insane curly wig. The peace sign drawn on his cheek was smudged, but I didn't mind. He had a crowd around him, everyone talking and laughing, him grinning.
    This would be a trend in the years to come. This still happens, in fact. Sam just has It . He's handsome and charismatic and everyone flocks to him. He knows how to talk to people, how to pretend to be interested in what they're saying, how to agree with them even if he doesn't. He's jovial and friendly, dishy when it's appropriate to be. He's everyone's favorite guy.
    At the time, I was a freshman theater major who hadn't managed to get cast in anything more exciting than a part as the Soothsayer in the drama department's production of Julius Caesar . My only line was, "Beware the Ides of March!" and I wore a robe that obscured my face.
    I was nervous about talking to him, but I couldn't stop staring. He noticed and looked over at me. Our eyes met.
    Geoff, my roommate, distracted me by handing me a red plastic cup. I sipped it. I had no idea what it was, but it tasted like fruit punch. "You're not trying to roofie me, are you?" I asked.
    Geoff laughed. "Nah, man. I'm trying to hook up with Julie, for one thing. But I know you don't like beer."
    He looked at me for a long moment and then followed my gaze, which had drifted back over to Sam. "Oh," he said softly. "Let me introduce you."
    That made me panic. "No, that's all right, I'll just—"
    I really would have been content with admiring from afar. Sam was really hot, blond with a square jaw and a fit body, and he had a self-assured confidence that I found was hard to look away from. I liked looking at him. But then, before I knew what was going on, Geoff had pushed me to be standing in front of Sam, just as the rest of his hangers on moved on to gawk at someone else.
    "Oh, hey Geoff," he said. He lowered his eyelids and smirked. "What have you brought me?"
    So I was the dessert course.
    "This is my roommate Jess," said Geoff. He glanced to his left. "Oh, hey, Julie!"
    And so suddenly, I was alone with Sam Beatty. I was also completely unable to speak. When I opened my mouth, no sound came out.
    "You're an actor?" he asked.
    "Theater major." My voice sounding choked. I cleared my throat. "I had a small part in Julius Caesar ."
    Sam nodded. "A Shakespeare guy, eh?" He softly sang the first few lines of "What a Piece of Work Is Man?" from Hair . His voice was like caramel.
    "Ha, yeah," I said. I really had no idea what to say to him. He intimidated me. He was better looking than me, a better actor, a better singer, more popular, more successful. I knew even then he was going to be a star. I'd be lucky to get cast as a dead body.
    He started to talk, and I was having a hard time paying attention, because my mind swam with everything that was