The next evening found Morthisal in his room with a pile of laundry following an intense acting lesson with Rex. The session had forced him to confront an uncomfortable truth: learning to portray genuine empathy was proving far more difficult than he'd anticipated. Playing a dark lord required no effort. He simply drew upon centuries of lived experience. But this? This demanded he access emotions he'd spent lifetimes suppressing, feelings he wasn't certain he had ever possessed.

  They had gone over pages of scripts, with Rex alternating between coaxing reactions from Morthisal, cutting him off with terse commands, and, at one point, yelling to get his shit together. Morthisal's reaction had been to shout back. Rex had smiled and said, "Now we're getting somewhere. That's some emotional range, kid."

  Morthisal's phone vibrated in his pocket. He withdrew it, smiled, and answered. "Good evening, Yvette."

  "Is it? Because I've been jerked around all day. How was your day?"

  "It was," he paused. "Adequate."

  "I couldn't wait to see you again. I'll be there this weekend. My flight has already been chartered. Apologies, but I'll be arriving later on Friday night. If you can't see me until Saturday, I understand."

  Morthisal chuckled. "The time matters not to me. I will be there to meet you. I have missed you very much as well."

  "I haven't thought of much else but you for the past few days." She lowered her voice. "Well, you and a problem I'm having trouble dealing with.

  "Oh? Tell me of this problem."

  "Listen, Vince. I'm not going to lie. I might need your special, um, skill, if you know what I mean. A few weeks ago, a distant relative surfaced. This asshole is challenging my father's will. Claims it was invalid or that he was unduly influenced when he wrote it, which he was not. My father was a lot of things before cancer took his life, but he was never confused."

  Morthisal frowned. "What manner of relative?"

  "My father's half-brother. Hadn't spoken to the family in twenty years, then suddenly appears with lawyers." Yvette's voice sharpened, "The problem is, there's just enough legitimacy to his claim that it can't be dismissed outright. A court battle would drag on for months, maybe years."

  "The cost is too high?"

  "To my reputation, yeah. The board would lose confidence, and competitors would circle like vultures. It could come down to parts of my company being carved out and given to him. I'm afraid another board meeting wouldn't save me. As far as I'm concerned, this man is a parasite."

  Morthisal considered the implications. "And you wish me to persuade this man to…what was his name?"

  "Philip Brennan."

  "Philip," Morthisal murmured. He had many times tasted the names of his enemies. "His identity is legitimate?"

  "I had him checked out. Thoroughly. Look, if you don't feel comfortable with this, I might be able to buy him out. It will be costly, but I might be able to pull it off-"

  "It would please me greatly to meet this Philip, and help him understand the errors of his ways," Morthisal said, irritated that this stranger would appear and threaten Yvette in such a way.

  Yvette laughed. "Is that right? The error of his ways?"

  Morthisal chuckled.

  "Okay. We can discuss the details when I'm there this weekend. And thank you for your help. I'm going to make this a weekend you won't forget any time soon."

  Morthisal closed his eyes. Images of Yvette, in his bed, fluttered through his mind. How he wished she were here right now. "I cannot wait."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "But we're staying in a nice hotel," she said. "I appreciate the Hacienda's charm, but not really. Do you regularly check for bed bugs?"

  Morthisal scratched his head at that. He quickly put Yvette on speaker and searched for the term.

  "There are none of these little devils in my room. I assure you."

  "That's good. They'd have to burn the whole place down. Maybe put in something a little more modern, like from the eighties." Yvette laughed at her own joke. Morthisal blinked and looked the eighties up as well.

  "We will secure accommodations befitting a woman of your stature."

  "You're such a dork."

  "Stature and beauty," Morthisal put in.

  "It's already taken care of. I'll send you the deets tomorrow. It's nice, you know. Talking on the phone. Most people want to text all the time."

  Morthisal smiled. "I could talk with you for hours, sweet Yvette. Your voice alone is captivating."

  "Well, aren't you smooth tonight?"

  "Am I? Or do my words—" Morthisal trailed off.

  "Are you still there?"

  Morthisal nodded, deep in thought, before coming back to himself. "Apologies, Yvette. My mind drifted."

  "You must be as tired as me. My personal trainer will be here in a few minutes. I should go before she arrives."

  "And my laundry cannot wait a moment more for me. We have much in common tonight."

  Yvette laughed. "I'll message you later. Have fun with your dirty clothes."

  Morthisal bid Yvette farewell and put his phone on the bed. He stared at it for a moment and realized he had learned something from tonight's conversation. His empathy for Yvette's situation with this Philip Brennan had surfaced. So it was there after all.

  After the call ended, Morthisal gathered his dirty clothes. He needed to use the first-floor washroom. Earlier that day, he had run into Kristol near the pool. She mentioned doing laundry tonight as well.

  Perfect. He could watch her operate the machines and avoid embarrassment.

  Morthisal stuffed shirts and pants into a pillowcase. He had no proper laundry bag. The pillowcase would suffice. He grabbed the tokens he purchased from Jazz earlier and headed for the door.

  His phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

  Morthisal studied the screenand the local area code before answering. "Hello?"

  "That you, Vince?" A woman's voice. Warm. Confident. With that slight southern accent, he recognized.

  "Serena?"

  "The one and only." She laughed. "I hope I'm not calling too late."

  "Not at all. I was about to do laundry."

  "How domestic." Another laugh. "Listen, I wanted to follow up about our conversation. I spoke with my agent today. She suggested someone who's looking for a new client. She watched the Dark Realms trailer."

  Morthisal set down the pillowcase. "And?"

  "And she's interested. Her name is Jordan Park. She discovered Marcus Chen before he did The Infinite Loop. She also found Ellen Fitzgerald before her breakout role in Silent Waters." Serena's voice carried genuine enthusiasm. "She's young and hungry for fresh talent."

  Morthisal smiled. "Thank you, Serna. This is greatly appreciated."

  "Don't thank me yet. Jordan's tough. She'll want to see your range. I hope you're up for it. "

  "I will be." He hoped he would.

  "Look, I can't talk long. I'm heading to a party in the Hills. Producer's birthday. Mandatory appearance." Her voice dropped. "What are you doing tonight?"

  "As I mentioned, laundry."

  "Oh, right." Serena sighed. A pause stretched between them. When she spoke again, her tone had shifted. Less professional. More personal.

  "That sounds like the most boring evening imaginable."

  "It is a necessary task."

  "Sure, but..." Another pause. "How about I rescue you from that fate?"

  Morthisal perked up. "Rescue me?"

  "The party I'm going to. It's at Levi Blackwood's place. He produces mid-budget films. Good ones. The kind that win awards and make money. Lots of industry people will be there. Could be useful for you. Jordan will be there. I can introduce you."

  "You are inviting me to accompany you?"

  Serena laughed. "I'm inviting you to network. Make connections. Meet people who can help your career." She laughed softly. "Plus, you seem like you could use a night out. All work and no play makes Vince a dull boy."

  Morthisal glanced at the pillowcase full of dirty laundry. Then, at his reflection in the mirror. He wore sweatpants and an old T-shirt.

  "I would need to change."

  "Sure. Wear something nice but not too formal. Think upscale casual. Do you have a blazer?"

  "I do not."

  "Okay. Dark jeans and a button-down will work. Nothing with patterns. Solid colors only."

  Morthisal slid his closet door open and peered inside. He had nothing that matched her suggestion, but he had something else in mind.

  "I can manage that."

  "Perfect." Serena rattled off an address in the Hollywood Hills. Morthisal cast about, quickly grabbed a pen from his desk, and jotted down the address on a yellowing Hollywood Hacienda notepad. "Be there by nine. Text this number when you get there. It's not my number, just one of my burners. Don't expect to be able to reach me here all the time. If my real number got out, it would be a nightmare."

  "I will not abuse it, Serena, and I appreciate this opportunity."

  "Don't get too excited. These parties can be tedious. But they're also where deals happen. Where casting directors spot their next lead. Where directors meet actors they didn't know they needed." She paused. "Oh, and Vince? Remember the agent's name. Jordan Park."

  "I shall." The line went dead.

  Morthisal stared at his phone. Then at the laundry. Then back at his phone.

  He pulled clothing from his meager supply and changed.

  The laundry could wait.