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CONNECTING OBSESSIONS | 17

Sam shook his head slightly, but smiled. Then he noticed his wife in the kitchen area, trying not to show she had heard the exchange, and his smile changed to a grin.

He and Annie had somehow drifted into the role of surrogate parents to those in their employ, especially the young women, doing what they could to keep their feet on the ground and to ensure they were safe. Eventually, they would leave, often saddened, but hopefully not too disillusioned.

Annie asked him once, “Why do we worry so much about them?” “Because, after nine years of marriage, the third for both of us and no kids, your mothering instinct needs something to do,” he told her, gruffly.

She simply laughed and then retorted, “Of course, and you’re never just an old softie with them, are you?”

She was right, of course. They had employed a fair number of starry-eyed youngsters since taking over the Hollywood eatery seven years ago, in 2005. Most were young women, hoping against hope to succeed in the movies. Unsurprisingly, none did so; it was a cut-throat business.

However, he sensed that Rachel Starr might be different. At least, she’d been through acting school and, let’s face it, she did have the most appropriate surname. Perhaps she would be the exception.

The sound of the door opening again caught his attention. That guy from the corner table was leaving, and in a bit of a rush. He’d been there long enough. Why do people never leave themselves enough time? Sam shook his head again as he watched the figure scurry off in the same direction that Rachel had taken.

* * *

Rachel walked into the hall, glanced around, and sighed. All casting sessions seemed to operate to the same dreary standards.

Find the drabbest hall you can. It should, if possible, have a small stage area, decked with an uneven surface in which there are also numerous small holes. These two attributes must guarantee that anyone walking upon it will trip up—or trap their heels in the case of the women.

Place the most rickety folding table you have to one side, at which those attending can register their interest but on which they should never place their purses, or bags, for fear of collapsing the darned thing. Finally, sprinkle a handful of equally rickety folding chairs around the hall ensuring, of course, that there are nowhere near enough for all those who are likely to attend.