“I’ve been in London shooting a TV series.” Anna set her beer on the counter. “Honestly, I’ve got no useful connections, not anymore.”

“I don’t care about your connections.”

Anna stared at him as if she couldn’t believe his audacity. “How old are you, actually?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

She picked up her beer and took a sip. “Twenty-seven.”

“I don’t see what my age has to do with anything.” John was used to being underestimated because of his looks, but not because of his age. The industry skewed so young, he’d been told he should’ve moved to LA after high school to get his start.

“That’s the arrogance of youth.”

“Christ, you’re thirty-five. You’re not that old. Joan Crawford was forty-one when she won an Oscar.”

“Yes, but—” She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know my age?”

“You shouldn’t talk so loud on your phone,” he admonished. “That’s what old people do.”

She threw her head back and laughed, as if surprised by the joy it brought, like she was out of practice. John couldn’t help smiling back. It was a good look on her.

“I didn’t think anyone knew who Joan Crawford was anymore.”

“Are you kidding me? She was the best actress of her generation.”

“Have you not heard of Bette Davis?”

Anna continued to make an argument for Bette Davis, talking about Whatever Happened to Baby Jane and Jezebel. She gestured with her hands, raised her voice, and spoke with the kind of passion only a few in the industry showed. Most of the directors he’d met in Los Angeles were worried about their next star vehicle or how much their last picture had grossed. Anna talked about her favorite films with a reverence that he hadn’t heard in a long time. John easily pictured her behind the camera, leading a movie set. She reminded him of those whip-smart comediennes in a 1930s screwball comedy, like Carole Lombard and Claudette Colbert.

John sat down at the bar next to her, and she made no objection. He had nothing waiting for him, except the necessary, yet stalled, rewrites on his script.

Linda brought him a beer on the house. John scowled, but Linda winked back. She liked to tell John that he spent too much time behind his laptop and not enough time talking to girls.

John wasn’t going to complain, though. He liked talking to Anna. It was nice to talk to someone who actually listened to his opinion. She didn’t hesitate to tell him when she disagreed with it either. As the evening patrons entered, a crowd formed around the bar. By mutual unspoken agreement, John and Anna moved to a back booth and continued their conversation.