Visiting NYC today! 🍎

There was a time when I would have ignored Eugene's arrogance and taken him up on his implicit invitation. It wouldn't have really mattered what his personality was like, as long as he wasn't totally abhorrent, but I don't feel that way anymore. I've been in a committed relationship, and I don't think I can go back. I don't want to.

It's been six weeks since Alex broke up with me, and I've had time to think, time to come to the conclusion that I'm miserable without him and I need him back. If I need him, and if he really loves me more than I love him, it should be easy. I want to try, to go to his apartment, knock on his door, fall to my knees, beg him to take me back, kiss his feet, pour out apologies, and weep until he accepts me or until I can weep no longer.

I need a distraction before I actually try to pull something like that. "Eugene..." He's relating the whole saga of being in a live TV audience for a show he seems shocked and a little disdainful I've never heard of before. He doesn't answer. His name isn't Eugene. His name is Alex. "I have to take off." I leave the gym without awaiting his response.

I'm not sure it's wise for me to get in a car right now. There's no telling where I would end up driving. Instead, I make my way to Arbor Coffee on foot. When I realize half a mile into my journey that I need a shower and a fresh, non-sweaty set of clothes to be seen in public, I can't quite bring myself to care. Upon my arrival, Amelia, proprietress of this fine establishment, blends my strawberry banana smoothie and surrenders it to me for a mere $3.50. "How's it going, Mitch?"

"Good, you?"

"I hear a lot of unconvincing 'good's in my line of work, but I expected better from an actor."

"I'm off the clock, but ask again once I try my smoothie, and I won't have to act." As usual, it tastes divine.

"So, how's it goin' now?"

"Mmmmmm, better."

"'Better' isn't the same as 'good.'"

"I tell you 'good,' and you say you expect better. I tell you 'better,' and now it's not good enough? It's as good as I'll get."

"Get as much of it as you can, then."

"Easier said than done."

"If you don't get better, you get worse."

"I could just stay the same."

"If you pull that off, I'll be impressed."

I haven't done a great job of it so far. Am I getting better right now, or am I getting worse? Can I do both at the same time? Maybe that's possible, but either way, I'm getting worse. Still, between the exercise, the smoothie, and the reminder that I'm actually pretty amazing and I still have a lot to accomplish in my lifetime, I think today might actually qualify as a good day. Or my standards are just sinking. I avoid passing the gym when I return and make my way upstairs.

"Long time, no see." I jump not even a little bit gracefully out of my skin at the greeting. A short man with silver hair and a foreign accent is in the hall outside my apartment, returning his phone to his pocket and reaching to shake my hand. "Your agent said she'd pass on my message, but I figured I'd talk to you myself. Can I buy you a drink, Mitch?"

I want to say, "It's been ages," "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long," and, "Sure," all at the same time. All that comes out is "Baz!" Try again. "Absolutely. Come in! Gimme five? Baz, this is Wyatt Blue, my cat. Wyatt, this is Baz Luhrmann, world-famous director. Keep him entertained while I ditch the gym clothes. Can I get you some coffee? Tea? It's good to see you again!" Last we met was in New York at Barney's, where Pentatonix unveiled the new holiday display under his direction. Musically, he didn't really have the right idea, but he directed Great Gatsby, Romeo + Juliet, Moulin Rouge!, and Rust. I clean up, change into an easy all-black outfit, and apply rudimentary makeup in record time.

Baz wants me for Antonio in a film based roughly on The Merchant of Venice. It'll be shot on location in Italy, starting as soon as I'm available. Me. He's adamant on that point. I don't even need to audition. He'll make it worth my while. This is unreal. "Leo's excited to meet you after he saw you at Sundance," he says. Yeah, his old buddy Leonardo DiCaprio. I take another swig of my martini to steady myself.

"This is quite the pitch."

"Your agent said you might take some convincing."

"It's true. I'm not sure I should keep acting."

"That's like Shakespeare asking if he should keep writing."

"You flatter me. I've gotta get my life together, though."

"As someone who's been there, let me tell you, it's not the job."

He's right. I had a crazy schedule with Pentatonix, but I was happy. "How'd you fix it, then?"

"Oh, I tried everything, but ultimately I just had to wait."

"You just gave up, and it magically got better?"

"Oh, I wish I'd given up. I thought it was my fault, though. I don't know what's up with you, or whether that helps at all, but if there's anything you do need, just name it."

Alexander Kirk. But Baz can't help with that. Can he? He could fly Alex to Italy. I could cover the ticket myself, though, and it wouldn't do any good. Alex wants to keep working. What if Baz could get Alex a job? It could be like Pentatonix, where I was around the people I loved all the time. Maybe that's what we need.

Baz orders more drinks and produces a copy of the script. "This is yours. Read it over, think about it, and get back to me." He scribbles his number on the back, then drops the subject entirely. We swap old stories, and the more drunk he gets, the more he laughs. Forgot a line? Hilarious. Never read Merchant of Venice? Side-splitting. Eugene at the gym? Absolutely uproarious. His mood is contagious, and I grab my things far later than I planned, clutching the script and his own dog-eared copy of The Merchant to my chest and smiling.

"Imma hail uh Uber," he slurs.

"You can't hail an Uber, Baz. Bazman. I had bats on my hand. Na-na-na-na-na-na-na... bat-hand! I had a banana smoothie." Strawberry banana. The bartender asks for our phones and hails us Ubers or gets them or whatever. Good bartender.

I wave goodbye to Bazman and squeeze my limbs into my cab. Driver isn't friendly. Baz was friendly. I just don't know enough friendly people, that's my problem. We get home and I knock on the door because I don't really feel like unlocking it. Alex looks confused. Ooooooh, right, wrong home address. Whoops.

"Babe, I'm Italian."

"I know."

"No, but I'm Italy. Venice. Going to Venice. If you come. Come to Venice?"