I decided to take the risk. Halfway through the cookie and cracker aisle, I was starting to feel safe.
Then, I heard his voice.
"Day off?" He sidled in front of me to grab a package of Ritz.
"Yes," I said. "Well, no. I went to an audition." I made an effort to arrange my face into something neutral.
"How'd it go?" He seemed genuinely interested - or at least, genuinely interested in me. So that was something. I tried very, very hard to remember my resolution from earlier, but with the taste of sour disappointment in my mouth, it was hard to remember his positive qualities.
I shrugged. "Pretty good. I'll hear back from them. But, you know, I don't hold my breath. Once it's over, I just try to move on and forget about it."
Lie upon lie upon lie. I wondered if it showed; Ben might be a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't an idiot.
"That's the healthiest way to go about it, for sure," he said, with a smile. "I'm just stepping away between conference calls to restock my secret snack drawer."
I snickered in spite of myself. "High-powered executives have secret snack drawers? How cute, they think they're people."
"What, CEOs can't stress-eat?" He tucked the box under his arm. "I know, I know, nothing compares to the exquisite pain of striving to be an actor. I won't even attempt to refute that. But sometimes, I need a box full of high-sodium travesty to get through the day. I just hope nobody spots me, because according to my recent profile in Forbes, I only eat non-GMO, gluten conscious sustainably sourced whole foods. Also, activated almonds."
"What the hell are activated almonds?" I'd almost forgotten why I was in a bad mood.
"I don't even know!" He threw up his hands. "I'm pretty sure my assistant fills those things out for me, maybe I forgot her birthday or something and that's her idea of revenge. Either that, or she actually thought it sounded good." He frowned. "Or, I got into my other secret drawer and hit the booze a little too hard before I answered that email. They're equally likely, I think."
"You need professional help," I informed him. "And for the record, no, I'm not one of those douches who thinks acting is the hardest job in the world. I'm sure you lose a lot of sleep while you're trying to relax in your Scrooge McDuck swimming pool filled with money."
It wasn't my best work, and it came out sounding a lot more bitter than I meant. Damn it. His face changed slightly, an expression I couldn't quite identify darting across his face. But he recovered quickly. "Nah, I gave up on that. Too many paper cuts.
***
"Well, this is awkward."
It was the only thing I could think to say. I cursed inwardly, hating myself for being so...well, awkward, when it came to Ben.
We were face to face, having just nearly collided with each other in the cold and flu aisle. Of course, I couldn't be buying cough drops or Carmex or anything like that.
Of course I was buying hemorrhoid cream.
Ben, meanwhile, was buying condoms. Of course he was.
"It's not awkward," he said, lightly. "I mean, maybe now it is, because you pointed it out."
I had the ridiculous urge to shove the box behind my back, but it was too late. I thought I'd be safe here. It was almost four full blocks away from our usual impromptu meeting spot, and I'd never seen him up this far.
I glared at him. He was so fucking carefree, so la dee da, and he didn't even understand what I was going through. I'd been up half the night staring at my head shots, trying to figure out what was wrong, and I finally realized that I looked like a crone compared to the fresh-faced ingenue who stared back at me with those doe eyes. In real life, I looked like I hadn't slept in a week. The stress was wearing down on me. I had to do something about it.
Years ago, I had a drama teacher who told us about the old trick - hemorrhoid cream gets rid of those pesky under-eye bags. Supposedly. I'd never had the occasion to test it, but now, I was starting to get desperate. I just wanted to look in the mirror and see some recognizable version of myself, not a Life Alert spokesperson.
Now was probably not the time to flirt with Ben. I was beginning to seriously question why I'd ever thought it was a good idea.
"Fine, it's not awkward," I said. "I live down the street, you work down the street, of course we shop at the same drugstore. Why does it need to be awkward?"
"You live up the street?" he repeated.
"Yeah, at Regal Arms." I made a vague gesture, unsure why the hell I was telling him where I lived. But it was too late to take it back now. "Got a date tonight?"
He glanced down at the box in his hand. "I just like to be prepared," he said. "Just so you know, I'm not going to sink to your level."
His voice was gently teasing, but I could hear a real level of stress behind it - couldn't be about me, of course, I wasn't that conceited. Either he was nervous about his date, or - and this seemed more likely, judging by the size of the box - the date was actually a foregone conclusion, and at least partially intended as a remedy for whatever stress he was otherwise going through.
I rolled my eyes. "Very noble of you."
"Fine." He gestured at what I was holding. "You know that doesn't work anymore, right? Not for the eyes. They changed the formula. Get witch hazel instead. They sell it next to all the homeopathic crap, but it actually works."
My face was burning. On the one hand, at least he knew why I was really buying it. On the other hand, was it that obvious?
"How the hell do you know this stuff?" I demanded, finally giving in to my stupid instinct to shove the box behind my back.
"I work a lot of late nights. 'Haggard' isn't a good look for meeting with the partners. My assistant taught me all the tricks." He half-smiled. "I mean, uh, not that you look tired or anything. I was just making a guess."
"Thanks," I muttered, willing my face to cool down. My tone said I hope you choke on your activated almonds, which I realized was horribly unfair. He hadn't actually done anything wrong, except commit the cardinal sin of implying that I didn't look perfect at all times. God, how much of a bitch was this whole situation turning me into?
"Seriously, you look great," he said, raising his eyebrows slightly. "Please don't continue attempting to murder me with your eyes."
"I'm sorry." I sighed. "It's just...this whole dog-eat-dog world out there. I've only got one nerve left, and it's frayed to hell."
His smile turned sympathetic. "I hear that. Well, maybe you could take a break for now. Work on something else. Acting will always be there, right? Give yourself a chance to get settled somewhere new. Just living here for the first time is enough to drive a lot of people crazy, and you're piling a lot of stress on top of that."