Free Someday, Someday, Maybe by Lauren Graham Page A

arms. “Rock star!”
    “And another agency called Sparks.”
    “Sparks! That’s Barney Sparks. It’s just him. He’s the whole office. He’s great—he’s been around a long time.” Deena holds her wineglass up, already half empty, and smiles. “Another toast. I’m really happy for you. It’s a real sign of encouragement. I think you may make that deadline yet.”
    Later, Deena’s boyfriend Leighton Lavelle walks in. He’s tall, with a long nose and curly light brown hair that makes him look like a guitar player in a ’70s rock band. Deena waves, and he slips easily through the crowd and kisses her on the lips. “Hello, Angel,” he says and orders a drink from Patrick, the bartender, before claiming a space among the crowd between our bar stools, where his lanky frame just barely fits. I’ve met him a few times but I’ve never been this physically close to him. He won a Tony last year for Shining Country , and it’s silly, but it takes my breath away to be this close to an award-winning actor. Some of his show makeup is still visible around his collar. I try to imagine what it might be like to have just come from a show on Broadway. The thought makes my heart pound, but to them, it seems to be no big deal.
    “How was it tonight, babe?” Deena asks him.
    “Not great. Shitty house. It’s this stupid weather. They over-cranked the heat and it made them really sleepy.” He glances down, shuffling his feet, then looks up and breaks into a grin. “Jesus. Listen to me. Blaming them. That’s what we all say, right? It couldn’t possibly be us , could it?” Deena laughs and so do I. He rolls his eyes at me, including me even though he hardly knows me. I allow myself to imagine I’ve just come from a show, too, and have my own theory on the temperature of the house and its effect on the mood of the audience.
    “What about you, Franny?” Leighton says. “When will we see you out there?”
    “I don’t know,” I say, and even the idea makes my head go light. “Someday, I hope.”
    Leighton’s hand rests on Deena’s shoulder as he plays with her dark, glossy hair. “And you, my love?”
    “Probably never,” says Deena, happily.
    “But why not? It’s every actor’s dream to perform on Broadway,” I protest, and she gives me an indulgent smile.
    “I don’t mean to shit on your dream, sweetie. But I’m mainly out of show business these days. This is as close as I want to be to that life,” she says putting her arm around Leighton’s waist. “I just lost what the point of it all was—and anyway, no one is exactly breaking down my door.”
    “You never know, sweetheart,” says Leighton, “ The New York Times said some very nice things about her, Franny.”
    “Ancient history,” Deena says, but she’s smiling.
    “And what about …?” Ever since I saw Deena in class, I’ve wanted to ask about the series she did, and tonight, with a drink in my hand and the giddy flush of the day behind me, I’m finally feeling bold enough to bring it up.
    “The show?” she says, sharing a look with Leighton, who smiles sympathetically.
    “Sorry—I don’t mean to …”
    “It’s fine,” Deena says, shaking her head. “You, I don’t mind telling.” She takes a deep breath, and exhales with a sigh. “Well, it goes something like this: I did this play when I was just starting out—”
    “The one The Times liked,” adds Leighton.
    “Yes, but I hadn’t worked much after that, and, while it got nice notices, it was only a little thing, downtown, no money. I had, in general, no money at all. But my agent called—”
    “Your then agent,” says Leighton.
    “Yes, a fellow who is no longer with us—”
    “He’s with us, generally speaking,” says Leighton.
    “But he’s not my agent anymore—”
    “A scumbag,” Leighton says, winking at me.
    “He would later reveal himself to be a scumbag, yes, but at this point I was still thrilled to have him, and he said—”
    “ ‘I’ve