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move. (It was such a trademark of hers that it was actually cited in one of those How to Get a Guy and Keep Him books as a flirting technique.) “You’re so sweet to say that,” she laughed.
    I was confused. What, exactly, had he said?
    “You know, I used to watch your show all the time my senior year.” Billy winked. “When I was supposed to be studying.”
    Ouch. He may have been hot, but obviously he had not downloaded any sort of How to Talk to Older Women Without Making Them Feel Old e-book.
    Mom’s smile flickered. “Well, thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that. I think.”
    “Although now that I’m standing in front of you, it’s obvious that you were like, twelve , when you shot that,” he laughed.
    His save made Mom turn the smile back up to full wattage.
    “But seriously. You’re, like, an idol of mine,” he said. “Your comic timing in that show was genius .”
    I cringed. Putting emphasis on words like that—that was definitely a kind of flirting, wasn’t it?
    “You know, I did a guest role on Two and a Half Men ,” he said, “so I know how tough sitcoms can be.”
    That was, like, the nicest compliment Mom had gotten in the last few months, other than when the homeless guy we passed on Ocean Avenue a few nights earlier had told her she had killer knockers. “You’re so sweet to say that,” she said again.
    The way his eyes kept drifting down toward those knockers, I wasn’t sure sweet was the word for Billy Barrett at that moment. According to the blogs, he was a bit of a commitmentphobe. He had an on-again, off-again thing with a screenwriter named Skye, who was known as much for her habit of dressing like a 1940s movie star as she was for her ironic indie comedies. Skye did not have a last name. Well, she did—Bernstein—but after being nominated for her second Academy Award, she decided to chuck it, and Hollywood decided to let her. She broke up with Billy every other week because of the photos that popped up with him thisclose to other girls, and then overshared about the whole thing on her blog and Twitter.
    “And the fact that you just walked away from a hit series to pursue your art?” he asked Mom. Huh. Billy Barrett was a reader—at least of feature articles in People and US Weekly . “Talk about inspiring.”
    Pursuing her art. It hadn’t exactly panned out that way, seeing as how barely any offers for roles in any films had come in, let alone for ones in arty, indie films.
    “Do you realize the guts it takes to do something like that?” He shook his head. “Wow. Wow .”
    Okay, we were definitely in flirting territory. Why couldn’t we have run into him in Target instead of Whole Foods? At least if we were in Target, I could have excused myself and gone and bought some Play-Doh and ducked into the bathroom for a quick huff.
    He grabbed her arm. “Do you know who Joseph Campbell is?” he asked, as if the fate of the universe hung on her answer to the question.
    Mom gasped. “Omigod—I love Joseph Campbell!”
    There was a book by this Campbell guy in Mom’s bathroom, which was where she did a lot of her self-help reading.
    “Oh, me, too,” Billy said. “The makeup woman on my last movie gave me one of his books to read before I went to Costa Rica last year—we weren’t involved or anything, just friends,” he added quickly and a little guiltily. “I have to say, the dude just nailed it, you know? Totally blew me away.”
    “Meee, tooo,” Mom agreed, clutching at his arm. “Absolutely genius.”
    “Right?” Billy said. “Now that I have this production deal at Universal, I’ve been thinking about developing a biopic about him. You know, for me to star in?”
    “I love that idea!” Mom exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a picture of him, but I bet you’d be perfect!”
    “Who is he?” I asked. I was somewhat intrigued because of the way they were gushing, but also a little annoyed. Mom clearly forgot there were other people around. Like, say,