The Actress

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The velvet curtains parted, and Maddy watched Steven Weller step into the room, his girlfriend on his arm. Gracefully, he began to move through the crowd, laughing, clapping backs, kissing women. He was trim, though not tall, and blessed with a full and apparently natural hairline envied by millions of middle-aged men.

As she watched him glad-hand, she was surprised to feel her cheeks grow warm. In her job as a restaurant hostess in New York, she was never starstruck by the actors and baseball players who came in to eat, priding herself on being able to keep her cool. But here at the Mile’s End Film Festival, not thirty feet from Steven Weller, she felt jumpy and wowed.

“I thought the new one was Venezuelan,” said Sharoz, Maddy’s producer. “She doesn’t look Venezuelan.” The girlfriend, who had a few inches on Steven, stood just behind him, nodding faintly. She didn’t appear to be participating in the conversations so much as endorsing them.

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