She was so close to getting one of those gigs. Hannah had been checking her phone obsessively for much of the morning, hoping she would hear something, anything, from Natalie Portman’s agent, who today held Hannah’s professional fate in her hands.

Hannah had spent weeks lobbying for the actress to take a role in an independent film that made up for its low budget with, in Hannah’s opinion, an Oscar-worthy script. If Natalie signed on to the film, Hannah’s career would undoubtedly change. The movie—and Hannah—would get national attention. New investors would throw the director some much-needed cash. Natalie Portman could turn this movie into a Rachel Getting Married, a cheap, good film with big returns.

And there was reason to believe Natalie would say yes. Her agent had been optimistic; Natalie had read the script and enjoyed it. The actress liked that the project would be directed by a woman. Natalie had even called the dialogue “enchanting” in an e-mail that her agent had forwarded to Hannah. But there was the matter of scheduling.

“She’s booked for four solid months, to film that sequel,” the agent’s young assistant had explained two days before Hannah hopped the Acela to Baltimore to get to Bee’s wedding. The agent’s assistant, who had fielded all of Hannah’s pestering phone calls, had become her spy, sending her quick text messages whenever she overheard her boss talking about the project.

“I only need her for twenty days,” Hannah had pleaded with the assistant, as if she had any say in the matter. “She has to have twenty nonworking days during that shoot. I mean, her character is on another planet for half of the movie, right? Isn’t there any downtime?”

Hannah resented the mediocre, big-budget superhero movie that was not only getting a sequel but ruining her own small, quality film.

“Listen, she really wants to do it, and I know they’re trying to work something out,” the assistant had said.

“When do you think I’ll get a definite answer?” was Hannah’s reply, as she balled up four pairs of underwear and tucked them into the side pocket of her suitcase for the wedding weekend.

“You won’t get a final answer until next week, but I’ll probably know something on Saturday. There’s this big agency party at my boss’s house on Saturday, and if Natalie is doing this film, my boss will be bragging about it to everyone. I suppose I could text you if I hear anything.”

“Oh, my God, thank you! I’m going to a wedding on Saturday, and if I’ve cast Natalie Portman in a film, I want to be able to tell all my friends. And maybe an ex-boyfriend or two.”

“I completely understand,” the assistant had said, sounding almost too empathetic.

It was now late Saturday afternoon and no one had texted. Not even Hannah’s best friend, Vicki, who had promised to check in as soon as she arrived in Annapolis.