Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

heel and starts to waltz out of the studio. Before he goes through the door, he turns his head and says, "But holler if you want to talk to this casting director."
    And damned if I'm not tempted.
    ****
    JESS
    Sam is out of sorts when he gets home but won't say what's bugging him.
    I don't feel like talking anyway. I'm exhausted. That's pretty stupid, because all I did today was walk back and forth down a twenty-four-foot catwalk five times, when you think about it. Sure, there were three hair-and-makeup sessions and four wardrobe changes and lots of backstage chaos. One of the designers yelled at me for almost five minutes because I've got a tattoo on my hip that showed in the stupid low-waist pants she put me in, and there was apparently nothing in my dossier that said I had a tattoo. But most of the physical activity I had today was walking twenty-four feet and then walking back.
    I have to do a trunk show tomorrow. This means I'll be on my feet all day and I have to be outgoing and friendly, and I find that exhausting, too. I'm not naturally an extrovert. I got into acting because it gave me a chance to be someone else. Modeling is like acting in a lot of ways, because you have to be a chameleon, you have to look how the designer wants you to look. In the years I've been modeling, I've gained and lost weight, my hair has been died six different colors, I've gotten my photo taken in various states of dressed and undressed, I've had every part of my body painted with makeup, I've been rendered completely unrecognizable. I'm a vessel for a product. It sounds weird, but I like that aspect of modeling.
    People assume models are narcissistic and arrogant. This is rarely true in my experience.
    Sam is quiet through dinner, and quiet as we watch a stupid reality show on TV, and quiet as we climb into bed, and finally I can't take the quiet any longer and I say, "Did something happen at rehearsal?"
    "No, it was fine."
    "Did something happen outside of rehearsal?"
    He hesitates. He says, "Eh, not really."
    I'm not sure if I should push this. I'm tired and cranky enough that I might say something to start a fight, which I can't deal with right now. But there's that doubt again, wondering what he's hiding from me, wondering if it's as bad as I fear. In the end, I don't pursue it because I don't want to know the answer, don't want to know if I'm right. I settle onto the mattress and pull the covers up to my shoulders.
    He flips off the bedside lamp, which pretty effectively tells me that we're just going to sleep. Fine by me. But then he says, "Is this enough?"
    "Is what enough?"
    "What we have."
    "Yes." Although I don't know what he means. What we have in our relationship has been enough for a long time, and I demonstrate that by rolling over and snuggling with him. He puts an arm around me.
    Sam was my first everything. I can't imagine wanting anything else.
    But maybe he's asking about the apartment or money or our jobs. Maybe he's asking about something he wants that I can't give him. I don't know. He doesn't elaborate.
    "Are you unhappy?" I ask.
    "How could I be? I have you, I have a great job, I live in New York. I have everything I ever wanted."
    It takes me a few minutes to realize he didn't actually answer the question. By then, he's asleep.
    ****
    SAM
    The plan was for us to move to New York and become actors, but it became obvious pretty quickly that Jess was always going to struggle with getting work. When his agent suggested he start taking modeling jobs, I told him he should. I, meanwhile, am far more generic-looking, which I guess gave me an edge as far as casting went, or at least more options. The theater world is strange that way. For all that people will tell you talent matters over looks, that casting is blind, that doesn't actually pan out most of the time.
    We'd been in New York about a year when reality came calling, and we had to adjust our expectations. We were so fucking naive. People tried to tell us that it wouldn't be easy, and we ignored them because we were young and in love and everything seemed possible. But a year of sharing a shitty studio apartment, living mostly on ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches, has a way of running you down.
    It was around that time that I got my first break. I landed a role in an off-Broadway play that wasn't very good but still ran 149 performances. I had a co-star, a super hot Japanese guy who I thought was brilliant. He'd struggled to get roles despite his