I start scrolling on my phone like everyone else in line.
After an appropriate amount of time, I gasp. “FUCK,” I say, like someone has just taken a melon baller and scooped a chunk of my heart out with it. I stomp my foot. Then, like I’m trying to pull myself together, I stand up straight, shoulders back, and shut my eyes. I’m wrapping up my emotions tightly.
A few girls look in my direction before they start talking again. I completely ignore them.
I’m not done yet, though. I hang my head and start crying a little, gently weeping. Redhead can’t ignore me anymore. “What is it?” she says.
“It’s just…It’s so silly. I’m embarrassed.”
“I’m sure it’s not silly. What is it?”
“I was supposed to have a date tomorrow night with Jules Spencer.” I look up to see if she knows him. “You know, the famous underwear guy?”
From the look on her face, I can tell she knows him.
“I can’t go. My boss just texted and said I have to work. I need that job.”
“Ohmygod. That’s like hashtag theworst.”
That’s like hashtag the dumbest sentence I’ve ever heard, but I nod. I shut my eyes like I’m trying to hold back tears. I let one leak out. It’s easy. All I have to do is think about my life. I wonder how many of these other bitches can cry ondemand. “A blind date with a millionaire—I mean, how often does that kind of opportunity come along?”
Redhead rests her hand on my forearm and looks appropriately upset for me. “I’m so sorry. Sometimes it just seems that no matter how hard you try, you can’t get ahead in life.”
“I don’t know if this is weird, but do you want to go? I mean, it’s a blind date. It should go to someone.”
Redhead’s hand flies to her heart. “For real?”
I shut my eyes like I’m on my deathbed and willing her my only child. “Someone should go. Better you than one of these other bitches.”
I tell her the time that she should meet Jules tomorrow and start to fill her in the details. I can’t lie. I’m starting to enjoy myself.
“Where is this place?” she asks. “What should I wear?”
A guy in glasses and schlubby clothes wanders over slowly, like he has all the time in the world, and interrupts Redhead’s questions. He starts clapping for me. “Congratulations, miss. Why don’t you come me with me?”
“Um…who are you?”
“I’m the director, and you just won a spot at the front of the line. Probably the role, even.”
“Why?” There’s no way I’m going with him. Talk about snake oil salesmen—he definitely looks like one.
“I saw your performance in line. It was brilliant.”
I glare at him.
“I think you have just the right energy. Your whole vibe.” He does a weird thing with his hands, like he’s feeling myaura. Fucking Hollywood loon. “And you dressed for the part,” he says. “All these other girls are just trying to look cute, but you’re…gritty.” He saysgrittywith a growl. “Are those staples?”
With the reminder, I run my fingers along the hard metal ridges. Dr. Patel said they had to stay in for ten days. It hasn’t even been a full four yet.
He gives me an admiring look. “You’re just who we need. I just want you to read for the camera and we need to see how you look without that dress on.”
I look at Redhead to see if she heard him. “Did you hear that? He wants me to undress! I don’t know if you got the memo, dude, but that kind of Harvey Weinstein bullshit is over.” I look at the crowd of second-string pretty girls for some support. “Amirite, ladies?”
I’m not getting any support, though.
“Miss,” the director says, “do you know what kind of movie you’re auditioning for?”
“Pretty Girl Number 2, medical drama.”
