"—so it's a small role, but you'd have full creative control," the agent said, flipping through the tablet on her lap. "They want someone who can hold a scene without doing too much. Minimal dialogue. All presence."
Claire nodded, eyes on the marble table but not really seeing it. She murmured, "Sounds like a nice way to ease back into the scene."
"Exactly, you're gonna excel!" the agent said, not missing a beat. "And we're talking Paris Film Festival, Venice. These people know what they're doing. I'll send you the script tonight—"
Buzz.
Claire glanced down at her phone.
A text from Lucas: "Where are you?"
She stared at the message a second too long.
The agent smiled, leaned back in the café chair, and rubbed her eyes. "Sorry—I'm talking too much. I've been running around all week. My daughter's school called three times this morning alone. Someone's always sick. Someone's always screaming. I haven't slept in like, four days."
Claire typed quickly.
