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A few days passed before I heard anything from Orlando about the audition he wanted to do for me. I managed to get some writing done on my new book, but the casting for After Midnight was always in the back of my mind. I’d done some online research, and rented some of Orlando’s non-epic movies from Netflix, just to see if Olivia was right, and I found that, while stiff in some places, he had potential as an actor, not that I’d really be a good judge of that. I really worked him over in my mind as Jesse, trying to fit him to the character, but there was just something wrong.

The script arrived a few hours after I’d requested it, and though there were a few changes I wanted to make, for the most part, I felt the writers had done my novel justice. I made some notes and sent them to Olivia, for her to pass on to the studio, but when Orlando called to do his audition, there hadn’t yet been a re-write.

“Thanks again for letting me do this,” he said when I answered the phone. I’d almost said “Grant” when I picked it up, but the caller ID told me it was him, so I caught myself in time. He was calling from the number he’d given me at the end of our last call, but no name appeared.

“I’ve actually taken some time to watch some of your work,” I said, deciding to take the call in my bedroom, rather than the office or the living room, so that I could lay flat on my bed. My back had been bothering me all day, telling me there was rain hanging in the air, waiting to fall on the city.

“Oh really?” He sounded surprised, like he wouldn’t have expected me to look into his credentials a bit more.

“My agent gave me a few titles to check out, and I’ll admit, I didn’t give you enough credit last time we spoke,” I said, adjusting a pillow under my knees to keep my low back comfortable. Lingering back pain was just one more thing my accident had left me with. “But I’m still not sold on you as Jesse. I just want to be honest about that, right from the get-go.”

“I appreciate that you’ve taken the time to watch my work,” he said, and he sounded genuinely grateful. I got the feeling that he was a very sincere person, and not full of his own bullshit, like most Hollywood “It” boys were. “I was afraid you were only familiar with the big stuff.”

“Until yesterday, I was,” I said, chuckling. “But I’m glad I got to see the smaller films, too, because they’re really a closer fit, character-wise, to my book.”

“Definitely,” he agreed. “So is there a particular scene you’d like me to do, or would you like me to choose?” He was getting right to the point, and I appreciated that.

“How about you choose one first, and then I’ll pick one,” I suggested, figuring it’d be good to hear something he’d had time to prepare, but to also see how he did when he was shooting from the hip. I found I liked his voice and his silky accent more and more as I listened to it, and caught myself thinking that hearing him talk for long periods of time would not be a bad thing.

“Okay, that’s fair,” he said, and I could hear him flipping pages. “I’ve been working on a couple of different scenes, but I’d like to do Act I, Scene IV for you. I think it has some great emotional depth.”

I knew the scene he meant, and I liked it, mainly because they’d used a lot of my original dialogue.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I said, flipping to the right page. “I’ll do Lucy’s lines.”

“Thanks.”

We read the scene over, and it was a fairly long scene, right at the point where Jesse realizes he’s obsessed with Lucy. The emotions were high and very strong in that piece, and though I’m definitely not an actor, Orlando really didn’t seem to care. He responded to what I said as though I’d said it the way Lucy would, and I have to admit, I was impressed. Though his accent was a little rough, and it slipped from time to time, it was obvious he’d done a lot of work on the scene, and I was having trouble remembering why I didn’t want him as Jesse in the first place.

“Well?” he said when we were finished reading. “Was that okay, or would you like me to do it again?” He seemed so eager to please, I couldn’t help but smile.

“No, that was fine,” I said, trying to stay professional. The truth was, his passion and depth when he’d read the character had made my palms sweaty and my heart race. I’d never responded so much to someone, especially from just their voice on the phone.

“What scene would you like me to do now?” he asked, cutting into the fog in my head. The more I listened to him, the more I picked out the subtle inflections in his voice when he spoke, the more I was sure he could sound just like Jesse should.

“Um,” I stalled, flipping pages. I hadn’t actually thought I’d want to hear a second scene, so I was unprepared. I turned to the last scene, the climax of the piece, where Jesse finally gets to meet Lucy, right after Katie’s funeral, and he confronts her about what Logan has shown him regarding her involvement in Katie’s death. Jesse was emotionally distraught at this point, and pouring his heart out to this woman he trusted and who’d betrayed him, or so he thought at the time. I told Orlando what page, and heard paper rustling on his end.

“That’s a tough one,” he said, skimming through it. “But I think I can handle it.”

And boy, could he. We went through the scene, and by the time he was done, I felt tears sting the back of my eyes. He hadn’t held anything back, and he was panting when he finished. I heard him clear his throat and swallow several times before either of us spoke again.

“That was intense,” I said, amazed I could form a sentence around the lump in my throat. I mentally scolded myself for being so affected by an actor reading my words over the phone. He’d made me want to reach out and hug Jesse, to take his pain away, to make the world a better place for him, and that’s exactly what that particular scene was supposed to do. I couldn’t argue with it anymore; Orlando Bloom was the Jesse I’d been hoping for, it had just taken me awhile to realize it.

“Was that okay?” he asked when I hadn’t said anything after a minute or two. “You aren’t going to hang up on me, are you?” I could hear a teasing note in his voice, like he was finally getting comfortable enough to drop some of his professionalism.

I chuckled. “No, I’m not going to hang up,” I said, smiling to my empty room. He couldn’t see me, I knew that, but I felt like smiling anyway. It was an odd sensation. “To be honest, I’m impressed,” I admitted. “I hadn’t expected to feel the scene so much, especially over the phone, but you were right there, in the moment, and you brought me there, too. That’s what Jesse is all about. I think I’m ready to approve your casting, Mr. Bloom.”

“That’s wonderful,” he said, pure joy in his voice. “I was really nervous about this, since I’ve never done an audition over the phone before. “But surprisingly, you were really easy to talk to, Ms. Marceaux.”

His words gave me chills. No one ever said I was easy to talk to. In fact, most people said just the opposite, that my sarcasm made it hard to have a conversation with me sometimes. I did that on purpose most of the time, to avoid having drawn-out conversations with people I didn’t want to talk to. But I found that I actually wanted to stay on the phone with him, even though I knew the audition was over.

“As are you, Mr. Bloom,” I said finally, hoping there hadn’t been too long of a pause. “Well, I guess that’s everything I need to hear, then, so I’m going to get back to my writing.”

“Okay,” he said, and I don’t know if it was wishful thinking on my part or what, but he kind of sounded disappointed. “Thanks again, and I’m sure I’ll have some questions about Jesse that only you can answer, so we’ll speak another time.”

“I’d like that,” I said, almost dreamily, then shook myself and added, “It’ll be good for me to help you with the character, to keep him close to what I’d originally intended.” I felt my face heating up at what an idiot I’d been. I somehow doubted that once I’d hung up that phone I’d ever hear from him again. I actually felt a little bit saddened by that idea.

“So, uh, take care, then,” he said, somewhat awkwardly, like he didn’t want to hang up either. I rolled my eyes at my second bought of wishful thinking and re-adjusted the pillow under my knees.

“You too.” I hung up the phone and laid there for a moment, staring at my light blue ceiling. As I let our conversation sink in, I realized that I was definitely disappointed that I didn’t have more of an excuse to keep talking to him. Something about the way he understood my character, the way he just instinctively knew how my dialogue should be said, made him someone I really wanted to get to know better.

I sat up and shook my head at my own foolishness. He was a huge Hollywood star, he didn’t have time to sit on the phone with a reclusive author, let alone one who’d lied to him about her real name. I somewhat regretted letting him call me Dominique, and found myself wondering what my real name would sound like coming from him.

I let out a frustrated sigh at such a stupid idea, and went back into my office to work. I had to distract myself, and I finally thought I had something worthwhile to add to my new book.