Five Wishes

Chapter 3

No need to worry about a failed relationship with Mack, because there isn't going to be any kind of relationship with him. Before anything can happen between us, we arrive at the fourth floor, and the elevator doors open with a loud groan.

"You're so wrong about this elevator," I say, stepping out.

"Could be. I'm wrong about a lot of things. Good luck on your audition." He steps out and heads down the hall to his apartment.

"Oh!" I cry. "You never say good luck to an actress. You say break a leg. I need to break a leg."

"Sorry," he says, unlocking his door. "I hope you break your leg."

"I don't think that's exactly what you're supposed to say." I stand by my front door, too scared to open it. Suddenly, I'm wracked with self-doubt. My self-confidence level has plummeted to new lows. What was I thinking? I can't be an actress. I don't know anything about acting.

Actors train for years. They do theater before they do television or films. They starve for their craft. I'm not starving. I just ate pie.

Besides, I've got nothing to wear to the audition.

"What's wrong?" he says, looking at me. "Go on in. What are you waiting for?"

"What do I wear? I've got nothing to wear. Actresses wear clothes. I mean, they usually wear clothes. I don't have clothes. I can't go like this!" I shout, pulling at my tank top. "I'll never get this audition. I've lost. I'm a big, fat failure. What was I thinking?"

Mack turns toward me. "Relax. Relax. You have the no-sleeve black dress that goes just above the knees. You can wear that with your black sandals with the three-inch heels."

"You think so? You don't think that's too funeral-like?"

"Well, if you don't like that, you can wear your flowery minidress with your gold flats. Or you can go the slacks route and wear your pleated in the front white slacks with your tan pumps."

I've been holding my breath, and I take in a healing gulp of air. "Yes, that's right. Of course. Those are good choices. Which of those do you think I should wear?"

"I think you should go summery. Flowery minidress. Gold flats."

I clutch my chest and take a deep breath. "Okay. Phew."

"And whatever you got going on there," he says gesturing to my push up bra chest. "Keep it. It works."

Mack goes into his apartment, and I enter mine. My place is big and bright, with the view of the square. I love it, even though it's furnished with garage sale chic.

I head right for the flowery dress in my closet and put it on. I slip on my flats and douse myself with perfume. I fly out of the apartment just as Mack comes out of his.

He's carrying his tackle box and fishing rod. He didn't change his clothes except for his hat, which is covered in hooks and lures.

"What are you going for here? The American geek award?" I ask, uncharitably.

"Why? You think I got a shot?"

"You could be the poster boy for geeks everywhere."

"Ouch. You're brutal for an actress. It's a good thing you're not really an actress."

I stumble backward, as if he's hit me right in the solar plexus.

"I am too an actress," I say, which of course, isn't totally accurate, but I'm desperate. I have to be something. And right now, that's an actress.

"No, you're not."

Mack pushes the button for the elevator, and I slap his hand away.

"No," I say. "I'm not sharing an elevator with you. You take the stairs."

"You know I can't do that." Strictly speaking, there are no stairs. The staircase was ripped out and is being renovated. The only way to get down, besides the elevator, is to use the fire escape or jump out a window.

"You could jump out a window," I say.

"You want me to jump out a window?"

"Yep. That's a good idea. Jump out a window."

I elbow him out of the way and leap for the elevator as the doors creak open. I push the button for the first floor, but Mack throws his arm inside and blocks the doors from closing.

"Fine," I say, crossing my arms in front of me. "But stand on your side of the elevator. I want to be as far away from you as possible."

He steps inside and pushes the button again. "It's a thirty-second trip, Marion. I don't think I stink that bad."

I'm halfway tempted to apologize to him. I'm not normally a b***h. But I've got a lot riding on this audition, and I'm nervous as hell. The least he could do is support me. I mean, besides not kicking me out of my apartment for nonpayment of rent.

The doors close halfway and then stop. "What the-"

"I'll get it," Mack says. He puts the tackle box down on the floor and leans his fishing rod against the wall. He struggles to pull the doors together, making the muscles on his arms and shoulders bulge. I bite my lower lip. "Just a little sticky. I'll oil the doors later," he says.

The elevator groans back to life and begins to descend. Mack picks up his box and grabs the fishing rod with his other hand. He shakes his head. "Jump out a window," he mumbles under his breath.

I'm about to shoot back a real zinger when the elevator lurches to a stop, throwing me off my feet to fall against Mack. We're stuck between floors.

"You owe me a million dollars," I tell him.

Then, I panic.