“Well, I assumed he was gay. All my friends used to make fun of that commercial.”

“Well,” Hannah said, slouching on her stool, “I suppose he was gay in real life. Actually, if I remember correctly, all the guys who showed up for the Tripledog auditions were pretty effeminate. He might have been the straightest cowboy I could find in Manhattan on that day.”

“Wow,” Phil said, kicking Hannah’s legs softly with one of his own. “I’m sitting with the woman who cast the Tripledog gay-cowboy commercial. I should get your autograph.”

Hannah kicked his legs with one of hers, smiling. “You’re easily impressed.”

Phil grinned. “No, really, that’s a big deal. I remember a few years ago, on this fishing trip I take every year with my brother and his friends, we saw that commercial, and we all did impressions of it. My brother tried to lasso a Bud Light. He kept swinging his hips around as he did it. Who wants to cast a movie when you can cast the Tripledog Steak House commercial?”

“Well,” Hannah responded, suddenly wondering about her BlackBerry, “That’s what I want to do, cast movies that have a real audience. And I’m so close. I might be casting a movie with Natalie Portman. In fact, what time is it on the West Coast?”

“God, that sounds like a sweet job,” Phil replied, ignoring the question. He eyed their touching legs as he took the last swig of his beer.

“I guess it is pretty fun when it’s not competitive and stressful,” Hannah agreed. “Try it now.”

“What do you mean?” Phil asked, puzzled.

“Cast us. Cast this room. I do this all day. It keeps my skills strong. Cast us. Cast those guys over there.” Hannah not-so-subtly pointed to the old men across the room, who were now leaning forward in silence, trying to hear as much of the conversation as they could.

Phil smirked and glanced at the threesome. “You want me to cast them? Like, pick actors who would play those guys in a movie?”

“Exactly.”

Phil thought for a minute. “Who’s the guy in those old oatmeal commercials?”

“Wilford Brimley?”

“Right. That guy. He’d play all of them.”

“That’s cheating,” Hannah said. “He can only play one of them. Pick another actor.”

“Fine—who’s the guy who plays the butler in Batman? The British guy.”

“You mean Alfred?” Hannah asked, amused.

“Sure. The old guy.”

“Depends on which Batman. In Tim Burton’s Batman, Alfred is Michael Gough, who I’m pretty sure is dead. In the more recent Batman, Alfred is Michael Caine. If I were you, I’d go for Michael Caine, assuming you have the budget to afford him, Mr. Casting Director.”

“Fine,” Phil said. “I’ve run out of old guys. I think that’s all I can do.”

“What about us?” Hannah asked.

“What do you mean?” Phil responded, mimicking her sinister smile with one of his own.

“Cast us. Who would play us in this movie?”

Phil let a chuckle escape. “Had I known I was going to be in a movie today, I would have dry-cleaned my suit.”