I’m in a diner and I’m a nosy person. George waves me over. He either owns the Stars diner or works here enough to own it. He takes me to a booth adjacent to two men in an animated conversation.

The man I face snorts and Coke runs into his nose. He coughs, not bothering to cover his mouth, and bangs his fist against his chest. “I’m what in this role?”

I smile at George. I never explained to him what I looked for in a table, but he figured it out. When there are no worthwhile tables, I’ll chat with George by the bar. He talks about sports mostly, and I nod and agree with what he says. I don’t know the difference between a baseball and a base, but George doesn’t mind. He can talk for hours without me saying a word. I prefer that and George knows it.

I settle into the booth and spread the Wall Street Journal on the table. I found the paper in the garbage bin in the subway but I would never read it. It has too many words and only bad sketches. You’d think a paper as popular as this one would invest in photographs. I turn the pages by touching only the bottom corner. I know how runny the ink is and I don’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing my hands raw.

I’ve been in New York long enough to know that the man who spoke is an actor. I like actors because they’re not quiet people. Even during a loud lunch hour, I can hear them clearly. He is a large man for an actor, and wears a goatee with large expressive eyes. His talk is animated and he slouches. I always trust men who slouch.

“A cockroach,” the other man says. “It’s only a four-day shoot and you’ll be home before you know it. And they’re paying for the trip to Baltimore. I think you should take it, the experience will be good for you.”

“What about the money?” the actor asks.

“Think of it as an experience.”

The actor snorts again, but this time more carefully. “Is this why you agreed to meet today, to tell me about this bug business?”

I like the actor already. His speech is exact. He wears a button down shirt with his stomach resting on the table. As he talks, his thumbs run along his stomach in an alternating, massaging motion. I turn the page in the paper. George drops off coffee and I let it sit knowing it’s too hot for sipping.

“No, Will. I wanted to tell you in person that the casting agents are talking about you. They’re very impressed. All of them would hire you in a moment for the right part because they see great potential. You’re one of the best character actors they’ve seen in years.”

“I’m not a character actor. I want to lead.”

I slump lower into the green canvas bench and forget all pretences of reading the paper. I take out a pad and scribble notes. Here is an actor with principles, or at least a principle. The other man must be his agent. Either that or I’m a watermelon. I laugh at the thought of me as a watermelon. The actor looks at me strangely. I try to gauge if he sees me as a watermelon. He doesn’t take a double take, so I assume he doesn’t.

“I know, Will. But a person of your…special characteristics, you know what casting agents think when they see you.” Will is a large man especially for an actor. I tilt my head and measure him. There are no extra folds of skin under his chin, and his fingers are plump but not large. He scrunches his face in what I assume is mock anger because his face doesn’t turn red and his speech isn’t heated.

“I thought we were going to change the world. Isn’t that what you told me?”

He agent begins hawing. I’ve never seen an agent do anything but haw. They remind me of cows in that respect. They know the slaughterhouse is where they’ll end, and they never seem to bother trying to put off that ending.

Will starts speaking in a perfect mimicry of his agent’s New Jersey accent, even finding the same pitch, timber and cadence. I can’t see the agent, but if I did, I imagine his face would have the same expressions as Will is now depicting. “We’ll revolutionize the way directors and casting agents think about the leading man. We’re going to demolish the mold, Will. Me and you, just stick with me and forget the weight issue. It’s a non-issue with me.”

It’s hard to resist clapping. This guy’s amazing. I scribble furiously, afraid to look down for long because I might miss something.

Will drops the accent and sighs dramatically, “Tell me more about the bug spot.”

“It’s for a good company, Will. They’re the leading exterminator for the east coast—the leading one. You can’t work for better people, Will. These are good people.”

“They’re bug people.”

Bug people! I love Will. I chuckle and Will catches my eyes. I plead with him to say the right things. I hope he won’t disappoint me. George walks over but sees the intensity in my eyes and walks away.

“Everyone needs to make a buck, Will, even you. I know your feelings, but you can’t let all opportunities pass you by because of principles. They’ll stop knocking, and neither of us wants to see that.”

“I’m willing to undergo for my art. Isn’t that what we agreed?”

“You wear a rubber mask, Will. Nobody will know it’s you. Where’s the risk?”

I imagine Will wearing a rubber mask and parading around like a bug. It’s unnatural. Even without talking to him, I know he’s destined for better. I think about making a call but I’m afraid to miss something. I imagine Will on a precipice. He can go either way. His clothes don’t look too worn. He probably has a night job. All actors have night jobs.

“It’s not about other people knowing. I thought you understood: it’s about me knowing. I’m better than that. Speaking of better, what ever happened to my Broadway audition. I thought that went well.”

His agent pauses for a bit. Will doesn’t say anything. I peek over the top of his table and see that his coffee cup is empty. There’s a plate in front of his agent, but Will seems to be fasting. I respect that. When dealing with rats, you want to keep all your facilities about you, and food can drag even the most disciplined person into compliance. I sip my coffee. More time had passed than I thought, and the coffee was cooler than I expected.

“I told you on the phone, Will. They loved you—they always love you—but you didn’t fit the part. They offered you a spot in the chorus. It would have been work.”

“I would have worn a costume,” Will says wearing an affected affronted expression. He’s enjoying this conversation. I see that now. He knows it’s going to go nowhere, but he wants to make his agent see something. My heart jumps out to Will. Such a tough time he’s having, and he looks to the enjoyment of it.

“I thought you were an actor. Isn’t that what actors do, wear costumes?”

“The costume they wanted to provide hides my girth. I’ve been in choruses and I’ve paid my dues. The kids in the chorus are half my age. I deserve better.”

“Will, I’m beginning to think it’s more than your size you’re afraid of. You’re afraid to get out there.”

I want to stand and defend Will. How can his agent not understand what he’s talking about? I look down at my notes and see the lines of words go off in all directions. I turn the page and continue writing.

His agent excuses himself and heads to the bathroom. When he passes Will, Will reaches across and steals his French fries. Will looks at me, and I don’t return his gaze this time. I finish my sentence and signal George. I order a cheeseburger deluxe and ask him in a whisper if the actor ordered anything. George looks at Will and shakes his head. I nod and go back to my writing.

After five minutes, his agent returns to the table. His hands are not wet, and I have a good feeling that he didn’t need to use the bathroom. He was trying to sweat Will out. I smile because I know it didn’t work. Will is as cool as a pickle.

“Will, can I put you down for a yes for this job? It’ll be good for you to get out of town for a few days at the least. I need to have something on the books for you this year, Will. Otherwise. Well, you know what type of pressure I’m under in the agency.”

Oh, that’s an evil angle, a last gasp for the wicked. Will finishes munching on the fry and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it. Do you have anything planned for me for the next week? I was thinking of heading home for a bit. I haven’t visited my parents in a long time.”

I’m crestfallen. Will’s giving up. I shake my head no and will Will to take it back. He is so close. He can’t give up now. His agent opens a large, black appointment book and looks through it. George delivers my cheeseburger. I push it to the side of the table, having lost my hunger.

“You’re clear for the rest of the week, Will. Take a week, take a month, and think about what I said. There are a lot of parts I can get you: you’d be a whiz at voice-over work. If you’d play to your strengths, you’d be so busy you’d never get a chance to go home. Think it over Will.”

His agent closes the book, takes out a twenty-dollar bill and throws it on the table. He holds out his hand, but Will doesn’t take it. He shrugs and walks out the door. I don’t watch him leave. My eyeballs are riveted to Will. He pulls the agent’s half-eaten plate to him and starts eating the fries. He looks at me. I look at him.

“What are you looking at?” Will asks.

“Were you going to get a new agent, or are you really going home?”

Will doesn’t look surprised. “My parents don’t want to see me. I’ll hang around and go to open casting calls. My agent doesn’t even tell me about most interesting ones anyhow.”

I grin. “That’s good news, Will. You’re going to be something.” I pull my plate over and take a bite out of the cheeseburger. I don’t look away from Will.

“I don’t know who you are, man, but thanks.” Will eats the last fry, picks up the twenty, and walks over to the cash register. I close my book and munch away at the burger.

Will walks back to the table and puts two dollars on the table. He stops at my table. “You’re not one of those eccentric playwrights, by chance, looking for your next lead actor. You have the look.”

I finish chewing. “Not exactly, but it’s funny that you should ask.” I hand him my business card and he laughs. “Have a seat, Will. We should talk.”