And all I have to do is sleep with this guy.
I don’t love the idea, of course. But in the process of preparing for this callback, I’ve fallen in love with Lisa. With Reflections. It’s a fantastic show, and I know I’d be great in this role. I know I could make a difference, touch hearts, inspire others to lead better lives, by playing her.
I’d hardly be the first starlet to sleep with an executive. It happens all the time. And no one would need to know.
This show could lead to a real career. One where I’m performing full time, where I no longer have to starve myself for a week to pay for headshots.
It’s all right there, with only one small caveat.
Fuck it.
I’ll do it.
I hate when I think about Mr. Shippe.
I can never take back what I did. All the showers in the world can’t wash his stink off me.
Every time I perform, I bring a small part of him with me.
Even when I’m singing a set at Aces, a gig I didn’t sleep with a man to get…
He’s with me.
Always.
His half-limp dick, his sweaty and bloated body, his bad breath…
I got through it.
God, what a whore I was.
Still am, when I think about it.
From that day, I was desensitized to the act of selling my body.
I started doing it at Aces. I didn’t need the money—Rouge pays me pretty well—but men were willing to pay top dollar. I’d already done it before, so I figured it made very little difference.
Sometimes I hate myself.
Most of the time I just feel numb about it.
I was so ready to sell myself for the chance of a role of a lifetime.
Just for it all to crash and burn.
Come to think of it, I did the same thing with Harrison.
The second anyone gives me attention—the smallest kernel of it—I give myself to him.
Harrison turned out to be a decent man, but if he hadn’t… It wouldn’t have been the first time.
I’d have brushed myself off and moved on to the next one. And the next.
Next.
Next.
It’s like I’m Mr. Shippe, hearing one auditioner after another for a part none of them will ever play.
