Hollywood Star shifts came in three types: the morning shift covered breakfast and lunch, with the option to switch shifts after lunch; the afternoon shift covered lunch and dinner; and the evening shift covered dinner and late-night snacks. Since tips were more likely during lunch and dinner, Jenny usually chose the afternoon shift. But to have dinner with Dave, she deliberately switched to the morning shift the next day.
Perhaps due to shyness, Dave didn't show up at the café that day. He even arrived two minutes late for their date, apologizing profusely but unable to offer a convincing reason.
Jenny Jane didn't need his explanation. One glance at his ill-fitting suit and his hair, clearly combed repeatedly, told her exactly why he was late. As a casting director who'd been grinding it out in the entertainment industry for years, Dave's awkwardness astonished her.
"The restaurant you picked is classy enough that you don't need to apologize," she said half-jokingly. "Getting a reservation at Scarpetta earns you a kiss from me."
Scarpetta, the restaurant's name, was Italian for "scraping the plate clean." Run by a celebrity chef in Beverly Hills, a single meal could easily cost two days' wages for Jenny Jane—and more if paired with fine wine. As a renowned high-end establishment, securing a reservation was no simple feat, let alone a coveted window seat without connections.
Jenny's praise clearly lifted Dave's spirits. He carried himself with newfound confidence, though his nature remained unchanged. He didn't take credit for himself but honestly told Jenny, "Actually, a good friend made the call for me."
Jenny laughed. "Wow, your friend is quite the connector—and you're even more impressive for having such a friend."
As she spoke, she inwardly rolled her eyes: That flattery was a bit too obvious.
But just as she'd anticipated, for Dave—severely lacking in confidence, awkward in both manner and speech—this approach was precisely what he needed to build his confidence quickly. After Jenny dished out two compliments in a row, he relaxed enough to joke, "Well, if someone as capable as me is treating you to dinner, it seems you're the one at the top of the power chain." "
Jenny burst out laughing immediately, and Dave joined her in the laughter. In this relaxed atmosphere, they began ordering.
Jenny hadn't had a proper meal in ages. To say the aroma of the food around her held no appeal would be a lie. But looking at the foie gras, desserts, and sauces in the set menu, then calculating the hours of exercise needed to burn off those calories...
She ordered a salad and dessert. Dave ordered more than her and added a bottle of red wine.
"You should eat more. Even for a girl who wants to be on camera, you're a bit too thin," Dave said, pushing the pre-meal bread toward Jenny.
"My spare cash only allows me to pay for this much," Jenny offered as an excuse.
Dave's expression shifted, but Jenny spoke before he could react. "I know you want to treat me, but that should be a decision we make together, right? If I felt like it... I'd let you treat me."
She didn't elaborate, but Dave's face flushed. Jenny found it odd. "Do you rarely go on dates?"
"The last time I dated regularly was seventeen years ago," Dave said. What followed was the familiar tale of a high school sweetheart weathering storms, clashing personalities, and ultimately divorce. Dave and his ex had no children; she kept the dog. After three or four months of healing, he'd recently begun considering dating again.
Nothing unusual—she'd guessed most details from the ring scar on his ring finger. "Wow, so as your first date in seventeen years, I should feel honored."
"You're not the first date," Dave said, his expression gentle as he looked at her. "But you're the first one who feels... really great."
"What happened before?" Jenny asked, silently rehearsing: Went out with an audition girl... It went badly.
"I probably never told you, but I'm a bit of an assistant director for actors," Dave said. "Back in New York, I went out with a few audition girls, and it all went terribly."
Bingo. The perfect explanation for why he'd never mentioned his job. If she hadn't insisted on AA as her bottom line—never accepting free meals—Dave might never have brought it up.
Jenny smiled sympathetically. "Not many people keep their personal and professional lives separate, huh?"
Dave snorted. "Lots of people think sleeping with the director gets you roles, but in Hollywood, it's not that simple. If you only know how to open doors for those who've served you, you won't last long as an assistant director."
He had a nerdy vibe—focused solely on work after marriage, an honest guy who'd never succumbed to temptations from all kinds of beautiful women. He was highly professional and took pride in it.
Decent character, too.
"People always think Hollywood is too simple." "Jenny changed the subject. "Tell me about your dog. I've wanted one since I was a kid, but my foster homes always had too many children—no room for a dog."
Dave's interest was clearly piqued, and he seemed a bit surprised. "I didn't expect—I mean, sorry. You seem like a happy girl from a happy family."
They talked about Dave's dog, Dave's childhood (middle class, strict and distant parents, the bullied third child in a large family), Jenny's childhood (a broken home, a life of moving from foster home to foster home), Dave's marriage, and Jenny's dreams versus reality.
Throughout the meal, Jenny hadn't asked about Dave's work, but over dessert, Dave volunteered the full story of how he got into the industry (his interest in film, attending USC, realizing he lacked much talent, landing an internship at Warner Bros. through connections, working hard to impress, securing a job, and now becoming a senior assistant director at Warner).
They chatted happily, Dave's eyes sparkling the entire time. —Which is precisely why Jenny ordered dessert; dessert time is the most relaxed period for casual conversation during a meal.
When it came time to pay, Dave insisted on covering the bill. Jenny considered for five seconds, then smiled and nodded.
Dave nearly cheered at this—his reaction was undeniably obvious.
After dinner, they strolled back, discussing some of the films Dave had worked on—some Jenny hadn't seen either—and they agreed to watch them together sometime.
It was fifteen blocks from Jenny's place, and they ended up walking right to her apartment building. Dave felt a bit reluctant to say goodbye, but Jenny smiled and told him, "I'm not the kind of girl who invites someone up for coffee on the first date."
Truth be told, she'd never even given a guy an excuse to chat before, let alone invited one up for coffee. Back in China, where subtlety and grace were valued, girls simply dressed nicely and waited. If you were too forward, people thought you weren't worth it. But in America, such taboos barely existed. If you were too reserved, no one would approach you—no matter how beautiful you were. Chen Zhen couldn't change her environment, so she had to change herself, quietly adapting to the social rules of the Western world.
"Yes, you're not," Dave said gently. He held out his hand, and Jenny shook it. He took an uncomfortably long time to release it. "See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow," Jenny replied, waving as she turned to ascend the stairs, mentally calculating how much workout time she'd just wasted.
Reaching the second-floor landing, she noticed Dave still watching her from below, his gaze fixed on her retreating figure.
His smile was so genuine, so full of hope—a look that had never graced his face before this dinner.
Jenny felt a sudden pang of guilt, but she smiled back and waved again.
The next day, Dave came in for coffee, but the shop was busy, and Jenny didn't have much time to chat. At checkout, she told him, "Just leave a 3% tip. That covers the others."
It was an unwritten rule that 3% of restaurant tips went to kitchen help and busboys, with the remainder going to the waitresses. Dave visibly hesitated. "But—"
Jenny said, "Friends don't tip each other."
She flashed Dave a smile, and he stammered with excitement, "But—I—"
He called Jenny again that evening. After checking her schedule, she agreed to go out with him the night after tomorrow.
It was Dave's last night in LA and their second date. Jenny dressed up a bit more than usual, sprayed on perfume, and they still had a great conversation. —Of course, she still didn't mention a word about the audition.
"You know, I'm heading back to New York tomorrow." After dinner, Dave walked her home, his tone a bit subdued.
Jenny let her voice carry a hint of regret. "But you'll be back in LA eventually, right?"
"Yeah, probably in about two months. The production team will likely be shooting in groups around then," Dave replied, trying to sound upbeat. "See you in two months?"
Jenny slipped her arm through his. "See you in two months."
This time, Dave lingered longer at the farewell, but still couldn't break through to Jenny's bedroom. Clearly, she wasn't the type to sleep with someone on the second date.
The next day, Dave didn't show up at Hollywood Star. Johnny made a comment about it, but Jenny just laughed it off.
She kept dieting, kept waiting, neither anxious nor overly hopeful—even if nothing more came of it, she'd had two pleasant evenings, good dinners, fine wine, engaging conversation, and a decent date. Truthfully, aside from lacking flashy looks, Dave wasn't much different from those boastful actors, and Jenny was past the age of judging by appearances.
A month later, Jenny slipped into Dress Size 2. She began researching Los Angeles theaters and theater companies—since the former Jenny Jane had never imagined she'd come from a theater background, her knowledge in this area was severely lacking.
A month and a half later, her phone rang. Jenny fished it out from under her apron.
Dave was panting on the other end. "Listen, Jenny, I need your resume and photos. Now. Right now. Do you have an email address? Send me an email immediately."