Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 87

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Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 87

Eli shook his head. “Telling jokes onstage isn’t the same as acting.”
“Why not? Acting isn’t hard. It’s just timing, and you’ve got that down. Gerald thinks it’s a great
idea, too, by the way.”
“Of course he does. It’s your agent’s job to always agree with you.”
“Not true! That’s only half his job. The other half is telling me when I need to chill the fuck out,
and he hasn’t yet, not about this. Which means it’s perfect.”
“I’ve seen Gerald wear socks with sandals,” Eli said. “Are you sure his instincts are good ones?”
But Margo wasn’t budging. “Look, I don’t want to share scenes with some shithead from
Juilliard. I want to do this with you.” She tapped her short nails against the wheel in a cheery
drumbeat. “So? What do you think?”
It was already difficult to believe that Margo’s dream might actually get off the ground; it was
impossible to think Eli’s life could go from zero to Hollywood happy ending practically overnight.
“I don’t know…”
She took her eyes off the road long enough to give Eli a look. “It’s your role, E. It’s got to be
you.”
“I’d have to move out to California.”
“That is part of the deal, yeah.” Margo shrugged, turning back to the road. “It’s not so bad. It’s
like Florida but bluer. You’d fit right in. Are you allergic to avocado? How about smugness?”
Eli stared out his window. It was a lot to take in. This didn’t change anything with Nick, did it? Eli
had always thought—hoped—that his time in New Port Stephen would be limited. Besides,
Dorothy wasn’t a done deal. Nothing was certain, least of all Eli. “I’m going to need to think
about it.”

-- 193 of 228 --

Margo’s voice sounded strangely optimistic when she replied. “Of course. Take some time. It’s a
big decision. I just think you deserve a chance to reboot
your career. Everyone else seems to get one.” She muttered the last part almost to herself.
Eli turned back to her. “What does that cryptic little statement mean?”
“Hm? Oh. Nothing.” She shrugged the way a liar might. Eli stared at her with narrowed eyes
until she caved. “Okay, you obviously haven’t heard, and I wasn’t going to bring it up, but—
Winston Beck announced a new special. It’s airing next month.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eli’s mouth hung open. Righteous anger flowed through him.
“Not even one year after being caught with his pants down and he’s getting specials handed to
him on a silver platter? That’s—”
“Ten kinds of messed up, yep,” Margo said.
“He was crying in an interview not three months ago about being a victim of cancel culture and
‘wah, wah, wah, everyone’s so sensitive these days!’ Yeah, you’re so canceled you’re getting a
spread in Variety, and now this? Oh my god, I might throw up.”
“Want me to pull over?”
“No.” Eli took a deep breath to tamp down the nausea roiling in his stomach. “I’ll be fine.” There
was truly no justice in the world. This was exactly why Eli had zero faith in Dorothy getting
picked up. The assholes of the world kept getting handed everything they wanted; everyone
else got screwed.
“Make a left at the intersection,” Eli said, pointing at the main artery they were approaching.
“Turn right after we pass the RJ Gator’s, but before the Chili’s.”
“That sentence you just said? It’s the worst one I’ve ever heard in my life.”
Eli gave her a half smile. “Just do it.”