“It’s probably why you’re so good at what you do now,” she said. “You had some time and space to figure out what you really wanted to do.” He raised his glass to her. “Thanks for the compliment, Ms. Gardiner. Is that also why you’re so good at what you do?” Oh, he was very smooth. Usually, men like that felt fake, but Ben had this crinkle in his eyes that said he didn’t take himself too seriously. She grinned at him. “Funny, I never thought of that, but I think that’s part of it. I wanted to be an actress when I was a kid, of course—in that way all theater kids do when they get onstage and get a taste of an audience—but I forgot about that dream after a while. Probably because I saw how hard it was for people who looked like me to get anywhere.” Ben sat back and smiled at the waitress as she put their wings in front of them. Everyone else at the table had clearly had the same idea, except for a few people who had gotten nachos. “Why didn’t you tell me there were nachos?” she asked as she picked up a wing. He shook his head. “They’re terrible, that’s why. I was doing you a favor.” She took a very tentative bite. “Oh, this is actually good!” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You didn’t trust me, I see. I promise you this: Ben Stephens never lies about chicken.” She laughed out loud, more at the serious look on his face than his words. “I’ll remember that.” His smile peeked out from behind his unnatural frown. “What happened to change things?” he asked. “I mean, about what you were saying—to change your mind about acting?” Huh, he’d actually been listening to her. How refreshing. “I suppose I saw how hard it was for people who looked like me—women who looked like me—anywhere, not just in Hollywood. I’d been working as an agent, so I saw how shitty Hollywood was, but my friends were all over corporate America, and it wasn’t any better there. So after a while, when I saw a role I wanted, I just said fuck it and decided to go for it.” Why was she telling him all of this? Granted, it wasn’t much more than what she’d said when she told her origin story to reporters, but it was a much more honest version of it. Maybe it was the beer on an empty stomach. No, that wasn’t it; she was too savvy these days for a little alcohol to give her loose lips. Was she just that starved for male attention that she’d open up to any handsome face with good listening eyes? No, she got plenty of male attention. She just felt like she could relax around Ben. That in itself was strange; she hadn’t felt like relaxing around someone new in a long time. Ben interrupted her thoughts. “So was that all it took? You said fuck it and suddenly the roles came flying to you?” Anna laughed. Wouldn’t that have been nice. “My God, if only. No, it took years for me to break through, which was enough time for me to get demoralized and discouraged and give up about fifty times, but somehow I always went back out there. And then, somehow, things started going my way.” She let herself have a rare moment of pride. At how hard she’d worked, how determined she’d been, at everything she’d fought through. “Well,” he said, “I’m glad you kept trying; you do incredible work. You should have won that Oscar.” She picked up another wing and grinned at him. “Thanks, I think so, too.” Shit. She never said that out loud. She shook the wing at him. “If you ever quote me on that, you’re dead to me.” He put his hand to his heart. “I, Ben Stephens, swear on this chicken I will never tell.” They both cracked up.
Four