J. Rusolo Ward

“Imitated on SNL!  This calls for a celebration!”  Lia walked into the room with a bottle of Prosecco and two flute glasses.

Jake sniffed.  “Real actors prefer the stage.”

“This actor prefers a paycheck.”

“I can’t believe that show has a following.  People want mindless trash.” Smiling in that condescending way of his, he added, “No offense, sweetie.”

She rolled her eyes.  “You’ve seen it?”

“No.  I don’t own a television.”

She poured them each a glass, then toasted herself.  She knew he wouldn’t.

She liked Prosecco, but hoped her recent success would see her drinking champagne.

“I prefer books and the theater.  I like my characters to have depth.”

She wondered why she tolerated him.  “What’re you reading?”

“I just finished a nonfiction book about Elizabeth, Philip, and the British monarchy.”

“Really?”  It surprised her that he was interested in something other than himself.

“I was cast in a play and was preparing for the role.”

“Cheers!”  She held up her glass.

“It’s called Elizabeth and Philip.  I’ll be playing King Philip.”

She wasn’t sure who wrote it, but assumed they would be shot on site if they entered the United Kingdom.  She said, “The playwrights should’ve done some research, too.”

“Excuse me?  I think their portrayal of King Philip was spot on.”

“You know it’s Prince Philip, right?”

“He’s married to Queen Elizabeth, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’s the king.”

“He’s prince consort to the queen.”

“I researched it.”

“Read this.”  She held up her mobile.

“What’s this?”

“An article, which consists of the titles of the members of the royal family, and an explanation of the titles bestowed on the royal spouses.”

“You just can’t be happy for me, can you?”  Jake stormed out.

She spitefully called out after him, “Going to call your playwright friends, sweetie?”