Free Wish Upon a Star by Mindy Klasky Page A

I should let the call go to voicemail. I’d left him a message five full days before, telling him that the pregnancy scare was over. Five entire days, and this was the first chance he’d had to call me back?
    But what would ignoring him prove? I’d already staked out the moral high ground, letting him know he was off the paternity hook. I might as well stay up there on my mountain of superiority. Sighing in exasperation, I answered. “I can’t talk now.”
    “Erin!”
    “I’m in an audition, and I can’t talk.”
    “Okay.” He sounded the slightest bit chastised, if I could judge by that one word. “Come by tonight. I’ll be home after eight.”
    Home. Sam’s brownstone wasn’t my home anymore. Not to mention the fact that Sam didn’t have any right to dictate my schedule. “No,” I said vehemently. “I don’t want to talk there.”
    So much for my being walked over by every single guy I’d ever known. Amy would be proud of me. Sam hesitated before responding, wasting enough time that I wondered if this was a classic booty call. Did he have any intention of talking to me at all, of trying to work things out? Or was he actually arrogant enough to think that I’d just leap back into his giant bed, roll around a little for old times’ sake?
    This independence thing was actually starting to feel pretty good. I cut short the suspense of waiting for Sam’s reply. “If you really want to talk, then let’s meet at a restaurant. Some place down in the Village. I’m living there now.”
    “The Village?” I heard his incredulity. This conversation wasn’t going the way he’d planned.
    I hadn’t had a lot of time to explore my new neighborhood, but I knew enough to press my advantage. “There’s a place called Garden Variety. We can meet there at eight.” I gave him the address. He started to negotiate, using all his lawyerly skills at manipulation, but I snapped, “I’ve got to go, Sam. I’ll see you at eight.” I hung up before he could say anything else.
    Without my conscious permission, my fingers clutched at the fabric stretched across my belly. I’d purposely worn a soft pink sweater set, wanting to connote Laura’s old-fashioned vulnerability. The shell was smooth over my flesh, but I could imagine the faintest bump, the evidence that would have existed if I’d truly been pregnant. I tried to return my attention to the crumpled sides in my hand, but I couldn’t concentrate on the script.
    Dammit! Why had Sam called now? Why hadn’t he felt guilty—or horny, or whatever—a day earlier? Or three hours later? Why was he ruining the best theatrical lead I’d had since I’d arrived in New York?
    I shouldn’t have been so rude to him. I shouldn’t have hung up on him. I had never hung up on a guy before.
    And why was I making such a big deal out of going up to his place? He’d be tired after working all day. I should have agreed to a restaurant that he chose. I hesitated, starting to take out my phone, to call him back, to agree to his simple request that I stop by the home I’d lived in for ten full months.
    “Hollister!” The hall monitor barked my name. I jerked my thoughts back from Sam, from the mess I’d made of our relationship, and I forced a perky smile on my face. I’d worn my straight hair in a ponytail, further attempting to look young, shy. Now, my fingers itched to twirl a few strands, to work off my nervous energy. Instead, I crossed my fingers and breathed my personal incantation, “Just this once.”
    And I stepped into the audition room.
    I know that I introduced myself to the three people who held my professional life in the figurative palms of their hands. I know that I read from the sides. I know that the casting director offered up the few lines that belonged to the Gentleman Caller.
    Most of the piece was a monologue, though, a chance for me to bring Laura’s lovelorn jitters to life.
    I said something. I did something. I looked at each of them, the casting