I was a mess on Thursday morning, two days after the 4th. Late to work by a good hour because I had wasted half the morning looking for my black patent leather closed toe pumps with two-inch heels. It dawned on me finally that I’d left them in the bottom drawer of the desk in my office. Debbie had already left in Otis’ van so I had to take the bus.

Launching myself out of the elevator, I sprinted as quickly as my tight pencil skirt allowed but slowed to a leisurely, slinky gait when I passed Mei Ling’s desk outside Chuck’s office. I tossed my dark auburn locks and bade her a good morning. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Once in my office, I retrieved the pumps from the bottom drawer of my desk and swapped out my sneakers for those torture devices. The only reason I put them on today was the sales call I had to make in the afternoon with our sales manager, Buzz Feiten. We were making a presentation to LPGA executives at the Palos Verdes Golf Club, an hour’s drive from the office. If the meeting goes well, we would be on track to visit their headquarters in Daytona, Florida to possibly finalize a deal. Road trip!

Due to my misadventure with the shoes this morning, I had not finished doing my make-up. Specifically, my eyelashes needed to be sorted out. I was starting to get fairly competent at it with the help of my sister and Peg, the wardrobe lady at GlobalNet Studios. Still, it was early days. Taking my hand mirror out, I applied some lash serum to my top lashes. Debbie tells me a daily application accelerates the growth of those bad girls. A steady hand is optimal.

The eyelash curler is next. Peg tells me my top lashes naturally grow out and down so I need to use the curler. Finally, I apply mascara. Again, a steady hand is absolutely necessary.

Just as I was checking the job I’d done on my lashes, Buzz cleared his throat, leaning against the door jamb of my office.

“Those lashes really make your eyes stand out. I’ll bet you whip your boyfriends into shape with those lashes—”

“Buzz, don’t you ever knock?”

“Sorry, I was mesmerized and I forgot to. I’m heading out to Rancho Cucamonga to see the people from The Quakes. Do you have a thumb drive with our minor league baseball presentation on it? I kinda misplaced mine.”

I got up from behind my desk and bent down to retrieve a thumb drive from the bottom drawer of the lateral file cabinet next to the window.

“That’s one hell of a view you got there.”

I handed the thumb drive to him.

“Oh, yeah, you can see the San Gabriel mountains on the horizon.”

“The mountains? Oh…the mountains. Yes, nothing like seeing the wonders of nature to show a man the true joys in life.”

I gave him a puzzled look.

“I’ll be back to pick you up at…uh…2, 2:30. Make sure you bring the golf presentation—”

“All of the presentations are on my laptop. Don’t worry.”

“And get the golf samples from Mei Ling. She’s got the keys to the stockroom. See ya later.”

The instant I sat back down at my desk, my cell phone rang. It was Juan Moskowitz, my putative agent.

“Hello, Juan. What’s the word?”

“Hey, Evie. Just got off the phone with Alastair Knowles and you’ve been cast in Newport: The Series! Congrats, girl!”

“Wow, Juan, I never thought I’d actually get the part. I’m shocked—”

“Pleasantly, I hope. You’re my first client! The execs here at CAA are dumbfounded. When I told them I met you in a dog park, they thought I was joking.”

“So, what happens now?”

“I’m negotiating your contract. Maybe sometime next week, they’ll have you come in to sign it. Do you have a lawyer?”

“Not really. Oh, wait. My boss Chuck is an attorney. He knows about contracts. You know, he told me he wanted to be a sports agent before his sisters started this company—”

“That might be a conflict of interest, Evie. After all, you’d be leaving your job if you sign this deal. He probably wouldn’t want you to leave—”

“Oh, we talked about it already. There are ways I could do both, sort of part-time between production dates. I mean, I wouldn’t be shooting all year round, right?”

“Evie, this isn’t going to be your one and only acting job. Danny and Alastair think you could be the next big thing. You’ve got the looks and that special something. We all agree. It’s just not something I can put my finger on…”

“You better not.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Anyway, how much are they paying me?”

“Sorry, Evie, but since this is your first gig, they’ll try to keep you close to the SAG-AFTRA minimum for lead actors in an hour-long TV program. I’ll do my best to boost that somewhat. Parenthetically, I’ve put you in for a SAG card. You should get it pretty quickly. GlobalNet’s a big name in the industry.”

“Juan, just tell me what the number is—”

“The minimum’s only 12K an episode. They’re planning on 13 episodes in season one. That’s…let’s see…that’s $156,000 total. My first counteroffer will be 250 thou. Maybe we’ll meet in the middle somewhere. I can also ask for certain perks that are not monetary in nature. Anything you’d like in your trailer or dressing room?”

“Well, a large bowl of M&Ms would be nice—”

“Got it. Do you need to exclude any particular colors?”

“No, I’m all for diversity.”

“Oh, yeah, two more things. Are you on social media? Instagram, Tik Tok, Twitch, etc.?”

“I’m not even on Twitter…anymore.”

“I’d advise you to get on as many platforms as possible. Your fans will need to interface with you on a daily basis. It’s what everyone does these days. Also, think about starting your own Only Fans—”

“I’m not doing porn, Juan!”

“No, you don’t need to do nudity. Bikini pics are fine—”

“No, Juan…I can’t.”

“Well, think about it. It’s another revenue stream. You’ve got an MBA, girl, it’s all business.”

“What’s the other thing?”

“Trent Foster. He’s been asked to participate in the celebrity softball game at the All-Star Game in Seattle next Monday. He wants you to go with him.”

“Why?”

“Maybe he needs some hitting tips. I don’t know. He didn’t say. All I know is he told me he’s dropping by your office to talk to you about it. I’m giving you forewarning. Listen, Evie, watch it with this dude. He’s a real player. I don’t want to see you get hurt—”

“Oh, Trent’s a really cool guy. I met his parents on the 4th. They’re nice people. You people in show business think the worst of everyone. Not everyone’s a pervert.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard—”

“La la la la. I’m not listening!”

“Okay, Evie. Just be careful. I’ll keep you posted. Bye.”

I was beginning to think what Juan told me about Trent dropping by was him just winding me up for some reason. A quarter to noon and no Trent…yet. That’s when I heard a cacophony of feminine voices from the other end of the office. I walked to the door and opened it to find Mei Ling about to knock on my forehead. Her fist stopped an inch short of the bridge of my nose. Flinching, I jumped back and almost lost my balance.

“Mei Ling! What’s going on out there?”

“I was about to tell you that Trent Foster is here to see you—”

“Thank you, Mei Ling. I was expecting him. You should have just escorted him back here. Or pointed him in the right direction?”

“I took him to the lunchroom.”

“Why the lunchroom?”

“He looked hungry. It’s almost noon. And everyone in the office wanted autographs—”

“That’s what the ruckus is about.”

I pushed Mei Ling out of my way and walked quickly to the far end of the office. I entered the lunchroom and saw Trent sitting at a table, surrounded by a gaggle of women, some of them waving legal pads, others clicking photos with their phones. All of them raised a high-pitched din.

Trent spotted me at the entrance to the lunchroom and waved.

“Evie! Help me! I’m a little overwhelmed here…”

“Ladies! Ladies!” I put two fingers between my lips and let out a loud whistle. That did it. They all turned their heads my way. “Trent promises to sign everything and take all your selfies—”

“I will? Evie—”

“Just give Trent and me a few minutes. Then he’s all yours, ladies.”

A cheer rose up from the girls as they moved away from Trent, forming a corridor for me to approach. Kyle, who was in his last weeks as our chef, pointed to a table in a corner of the lunchroom. Taking Trent’s hand, I practically dragged him to it and sat us down, our backs to the crowd.

“Evie, your co-workers are like a pack of she-wolves! Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Oh, poor Trent. The drawbacks of being a heartthrob. Boo hoo.”

“Lose the sarcasm, Evie. When all your guy fans drool over you, you’ll probably be thrilled. GlobalNet has millions of subscribers, you know.”

“I still can’t believe I got the part. Frankly, I almost peed myself during the screen test, I was so nervous.”

“Wow, that adds a little…uh…stimulation to the scene we did. You’re going to be wild to work with, Evie. So, listen, why I’m here. MLB invited me to participate in the celebrity softball game at the All-Star Game on Monday—”

“I can give you some hitting tips. There’re some batting cages on Venice Boulevard we could use—”

“No, but thanks. I’m good. I mean, I played varsity baseball at Pepperdine so softball will be a cinch. What I’m asking is…have you ever been to Seattle?”

“No but I’ve always wanted to visit.”

“Come with me. It’s just a couple of days but we’ll see some of the nightlife and I’ll get you an AB in the game. After all, you’re a soon-to-be celebrity.”

“I don’t know, Trent. I’ve already missed so many days of work. It’s one thing for Chuck to let me do the screen test but to miss a workday for a date—”

“I’ve got an idea. Just tell Chuck you’re going to the All-Star Game to talk up Sisters Sportswear. Execs from every major league team will be there. It wouldn’t be a total lie—”

“But what do I wear? I’ve got a very limited wardrobe. I’ll look like a fangirl who snuck into the stadium to stalk you.”

“I thought of that. I talked Peg into putting together a few outfits for you to wear. After all, you’re going to represent GlobalNet when they see you in Seattle. They already leaked your casting to the trades—”

“I hope the New York Post didn’t pick that up. They’re always taking things out of context and spreading unfounded rumors—”

“There’s no such thing as bad publicity, Evie. Anyway, go see Peg on Saturday morning. She sounded really enthusiastic about it when she agreed to do it.”

“Well, it’d be a thrill to go to the All-Star Game. And I’ve always wanted to visit Seattle…”

“Is spending a couple of days with me only third on your list?”

I must have blushed because Trent gently laughed and touched my cheek. My God, he does have the most expressive eyes. A girl could get lost in them.

“Now, go and sign those autographs and take those selfies. After you’re done, come by my office and you can take me out to a proper lunch. I’m up for sushi. Let’s go to Yumami.”

“That’s in Lincoln Heights.”

“Well, hurry up then. I’ve got to be back in the office by 2.”

“Do I get a kiss at least?”

I smiled and pointed to my cheek. Trent kissed me smack on the lips instead, holding my head securely. The girls hooted and hollered. I left the lunchroom and caught a last glimpse of a horde of squealing women swarming poor Trent.

Peg rushed forward and hugged me the second I walked through the door. She was wearing her usual gypsy-cum-hippie ensemble and looked like a middle-aged Stevie Nicks performing at Woodstock. We did the obligatory “faire la bise” and then she held me at arm’s length.

“Evie Rivers, you angel! Congratulations. You’re going to be the biggest star! Just you wait and see.”

“Peg, this is my sister, Debbie and her friend Otis.” They nodded at Peg and she gave them both a little wave of her hand. “Otis was nice enough to drive us over here.”

“I’ve got the cutest outfits ready for you, Evie. Try them on.” She pointed to the rack behind her. “Do we want Otis to see the unveiling, as it were?”

Debbie pushed Otis toward the door. “Babe, go sit in the van. This won’t take long.”

“Peg, have you given any thought to office plants like Dracaenas or Philodendrons? Green is good! I can give you a free consultation—” Debbie slammed the door shut.

“Try this on first, Evie. Debbie, help your sister.”

“I’ll show you how to tape yourself up for the halter top. But I went with summer whites mostly and a little nautical theme because it’s Seattle. You can keep the accessories too, honey. Trent told me it’s all covered in his contract under expenses. By the way, how long do you think you can keep Trent from discovering your…your—”

“Fringe benefits?” interjected Debbie.

“Well, I insisted we get separate hotel rooms in Seattle.”

“Just keep an eye on your alcohol consumption, sweetie. Resistance is futile once you knock back a few of those girly cocktails.”

“Evie’s got the liver of a champion,” Debbie snorted.

“That’s not the organ I’m most concerned about,” Peg pointed out, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose as she straightened the flared bottoms of my slacks.

Sunday evening in Seattle. The celebrity softball game was on Monday afternoon just before the home run contest. The All-Star Game itself was on Tuesday night. Trent had booked us on a 10PM flight back to Los Angeles on Monday night. I was a little disappointed. I’d never seen an All-Star Game live on site. Just on TV. But I’d promised Chuck I would return to the office on Tuesday. We were pitching The Lakers on Wednesday and we needed to run through the presentation at least two or three times.

We landed at SEA Airport in the mid-afternoon on Sunday, picked up our car rental, and drove into Seattle to check into our downtown hotel. We went to our separate rooms and freshened up for an early dinner in the Capitol Hill section of the city. I showered and changed into my halter-top outfit with the flared bottom pants. I think Trent just took a nap and a dump, in what order I’m not sure.

Chophouse Row is a mixed-use development established in 2015. The site was previously an automobile repair shop. Now, it houses approximately 15 businesses amidst apartments and office spaces. Since it was still bright outside at barely 6PM, we decided to have dinner at one of the restaurants with a patio at the far end of the Row.

Since the Row was only a few blocks from our hotel, we walked. I was very self-conscious about my boobs, or lack thereof, in my halter-top. Even with the light jacket covering most of my top, I felt ridiculously exposed. I must have been absent-mindedly fidgeting with my artfully manipulated “breasts” because Trent noticed.

“Are you pleasuring yourself in public?” laughed Trent as he slurped his oysters.

“What? Oh, no. It’s this halter top. I’m not used to wearing tops like this.”

“Can’t be that much different from a bikini—”

“I’ve never worn a bikini.”

“You’re kidding. I don’t believe you. Come on! Well, you’re going to be in bikinis a lot in the series. A lot. Newport? It’s a beach, literally.”

“I’m going to have to go to the ladies’ room and adjust myself. Excuse me, Trent.” Flustered, I jumped off my chair and went to look for the ladies’ room. Trent’s confused expression was cute but, finally, he shook his head and returned to slurping his oysters.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I found the ladies’ room devoid of ladies. My reflection in the mirror was not a reflection of how I felt. Apparently, the halter top looked to be perfectly tidy and configured correctly. I checked the athletic tape that was pushing my breasts together and it was secure. So, I told myself to calm down. I needed to stop fussing about it. After a final pat or two around the sides of my top, I freshened up my lipstick and washed my hands.

“Back out there for the second act, girl,” I told my reflection in the mirror. Two young women entered, laughing. They came to a dead stop when they spotted me by the sink.

“Look, Natalie, it’s that girl with Trent Foster!”

“Are you an actress or a model?” asked the other girl.

“Neither at the moment. I’m in sportswear—”

“You’re trippin’, girl. That’s a Valentino pantsuit if I know my haute couture…and I do, right, Natalie?”

“So, how did you meet Trent?”

“I screen tested for his new series on GlobalNet.”

“Tell us. Is he really packing down there?”

I stood there, my mouth agape, as they waited with expectant expressions.

“Really, girls, that’s such a gross thing to ask—”

“Oh, Natalie, he must be huge! You’re a lucky girl! Are you into group stuff?”

“Excuse me? What about your dates. You had guys at your table. I saw you.”

“We can lose those clowns if you’d like. Where are you guys staying?”

“We can meet up at your hotel later tonight.”

I bolted for the door and didn’t look back.

It was two hours later that evening. Trent had insisted we return to our hotel after dinner. On the walk back, he divulged his plans for the night. There was a ‘70s disco night at Neumos, the leading music venue in the city. It was a one-night-only theme show that tours North America year-round, presenting disco dancefloor bangers of the decade from ABBA, The Bee Gees, KC & The Sunshine Band, Donna Summer, Cher, Elton John, Queen, and others. Not surprisingly, these well-attended events inspire a lot of people to show up replete in ‘70s fashions and hairstyles. Which is why Trent presented me with a garment bag that contained my “costume” for the night, including a Little Orphan Annie wig. His costume reeked of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. At least it got me out of my uncomfortable halter top outfit. On the other hand, we got some odd stares from passersby all the way up Pike Street on the way to Neumos.

My initial trepidation over the security guy scanning my Driver’s License (which clearly denoted my gender as male) was assuaged when he waved me in almost immediately.

“Boy, these guys don’t scrutinize IDs very carefully. I mean, suppose someone was pretending to be a different gender—”

Laughing, Trent ushered me onto the vast dance floor. “They don’t give a fuck about that. Half the people here tonight are probably cross-dressers. It’s Seattle. It’s Capitol Hill. They’ve got LGBTQ+ colors painted on the crosswalks. As long as you’re legal drinking age, they really couldn’t care less.”

“What do you think of cross-dressers or…or trans people, Trent?”

“I’ve never met one…that I know of. Have you?”

“Generally speaking though. Do you have an opinion about them?”

“Never given it much thought. Hey, look, the show’s about to start. Get down and boogie, Evie!”

We danced the night away. Although most of the music was unfamiliar to my ears, I found myself enjoying the sensuality of it all, the physical abandon that it engendered. Trent knew all the dance moves. When everyone tried to form lines to do the Hustle, I lost one of my shoes. In fact, I just missed conking a guy on the back of his head by a few inches. Trent had to wade through the crowd to retrieve it. Then, when I bent down to put the shoe back on, someone behind me bumped into my butt and I started a chain reaction like a stack of dominoes. When I got to my feet, they were arguing over who the clumsy idiot was that started the cascade in the first place. Trent figured it was a good time to take a break and get a drink. Remembering Peg’s warning, I stayed with the well drinks like rum and coke while Trent guzzled vodka martinis. I sipped my drink slowly, catching my breath between forays onto the dance floor. Around 11:30PM, the crowd started to thin out and the DJ was signaling the closing of the show. I decided we shouldn’t tempt fate by walking back to our hotel, so I ordered an Uber, as if Trent was in any condition to weave his way back anyway.

I helped Trent into his room and halfway carried him to the bed. Taking off his shoes and sunglasses, I pulled the blanket over his snoring mouth and turned on his air conditioner. It was an uncharacteristically hot July night in the Great Northwest. I made my way back to my own room, removed my makeup with a cotton ball and baby oil, changed into my extra-large Titans t-shirt, and slipped into bed, falling fast asleep almost immediately.

When Trent and I arrived at T-Mobile Park in the SoDo section of Seattle (South of Downtown), the celebrity softball game was a mere 15 minutes from starting and Trent was nursing one heck of a hangover. He had difficulty changing into the uniform they handed out to all the celebrity players and was the last one to emerge from the clubhouse out onto the field. Kevin Hart and Jake Gyllenhaal flanked Trent in centerfield, periodically glancing at him with worried looks. Trent’s sunglasses were more to conceal his bloodshot eyes than to shield them from the afternoon sun. The one ball hit toward him in the first inning eluded his dive and he lay motionless on the grass for a full minute while Kevin and Jake called time out and got him to his feet. At the end of the inning, Trent had a brief confab with his team’s manager, Jimmy Fallon, and came over to where I was sitting in the front row of the stands.

“Babe, you gotta go in for me. Jimmy said it was okay. I’m going to go and sleep this off in the clubhouse. Let’s see if they have a uni that can fit you. Oh, my head hurts.”

After seeing that Trent was comfortably asleep on the couch in the trainer’s room, I changed into a uniform and made my way through the corridor leading to the visiting team’s dugout when I heard someone approaching from behind. I turned to look.

It was Richie Morrow. I had paid so little attention to baseball in the last two months that I didn’t expect Richie to be selected to the All-Star squad. Rookies rarely are but he was having a great season. We last exchanged texts over a month ago. I just assumed he’d forgotten all about me.

“Evie, what are you doing here? How did you get into the celebrity game?”

“Richie. Long time no see. It’s a long story. I’m subbing for Trent Foster.”

“Trent Foster? Yeah, he’s three sheets to the wind if you ask me. But how is he connected to you that you’re subbing for him?”

“I came to Seattle with him. He asked me to.”

“Oh, I…I didn’t know. Evie, I’ve been really negligent about keeping in touch—”

“Richie. I’m in centerfield. They’re waiting for me.”

“Sorry.” He stepped aside. “We’ll talk after the game. Okay?”

I waved in reply but started to run. I was excited to be back on a ballfield. Even if it was just a silly celebrity softball game.