“Send me the script,” Wes said. He could at least read it, right? That didn’t mean he was flying down to audition, right? Tracey squealed. “Give me your address, hon, and I’ll one-day express it up to you. Get back to me as soon as you can, so we can set up the audition.”
Why can't she e-mail a PDF version? Again, is this 1991?
