“Come on,” Hannah said. “Play the game. Everything is a movie. Wilford Brimley, Michael Caine…maybe Ed Asner for the guy on the left. And now, tell me, who would play us?”

“It’s weird,” Phil said, almost to himself. “All the action stars I like, the actors who are in my favorite movies, they’re all way too short to play me. Why do only short guys play action heroes?”

“Because everyone’s short in Hollywood—little bodies, big heads, and under five foot nine,” Hannah answered. “I think it’s rather revealing that you’d want to be played by an action hero. Are you an FBI agent or something? A Secret Service man—one who has a bookie?”

Phil thought of himself in his Camden Yards security gear. “Something like that,” he laughed. “I do provide a secret service.”

Phil gave Hannah a closer look as he considered what actresses might play her in their fake movie. The famous women he thought of late at night—Winona Ryder; the actress from House who reminded him of Elizabeth; and, for whatever reason, Heather Locklear—they just weren’t right.

Phil examined Hannah’s blue eyes, her top-heavy but athletic stature, and her pale skin. Her lips looked puffy. There were tiny lines around her eyes, the faint beginnings of the aging process, but he liked the look of them. The small crevices became more pronounced when she smiled.

“I got it,” Phil said, suddenly leaning into Hannah, who was accepting a new glass of white wine from the bartender. “You’re the girl from Titanic, and I’m Larry Bird.” Phil grinned.

“Larry Bird?”

“Boston Celtics. Larry Bird. He’d play me in the movie. I played basketball in college, and I want to be played by a basketball player. I want to be played by Larry Bird—but Larry Bird from 1984.”

“Wait,” Hannah said, switching from her wine to the Diet Coke again. “That’s cheating. You can’t cast from back in time. The movie happens now. If Larry Bird plays you in the movie, it’s the present-day Larry Bird. Can he act? Is he even still alive?”

“I can’t believe you just asked that,” Phil said. “Of course he’s alive. Jesus Christ.”

“Fine. Then you’re played by an old basketball player, and I’m Kate Winslet,” Hannah said. “That’s ridiculous, by the way. Can you imagine a sex scene with those two people? Disgusting.”

Phil flashed a victorious smile. “So in the movie about us, about tonight, we have sex?”

Hannah put her glass down, embarrassed. “I—I just meant there’s always a sex scene. Larry Bird can have sex with whomever he wants.”

Phil felt himself blush. Before he could think of what to say, Hannah spoke again. She took swigs of wine and Diet Coke in rapid succession and then asked, pointedly, “Since we’re getting personal, who would you cast as the love of your life? In the movie of your life. Who plays your soul mate?”

“What? Like, the actress I most want to sleep with?”

“No. More than that. You’re can pick any actress in the world to play Mrs. Larry Bird. Who would it be?”