Shacking Up(102)

I put on my brightest, friendliest smile. "There are open auditions here today?"

Her eyes widen when she sees me. "There are," she says with some hesitation.

I look down at my outfit. I'm a bit of a mess. My shirt is smudged with dirt and my jeans have holes in them. I'm far from put together. Oh well, I'm here now. "Okay. Great. I'd like to audition then."

She gives me a patronizing smile and slides a form over. "Fill this out, please."

I scribble my way through the basic paperwork and pass it back, exchanging it for a script. "They'll call you in shortly. You're the last audition before they break for the afternoon."

"Thank you." Well, that's fortunate. I follow her directions to the theater, scanning the script.

The scene they've chosen is one with high emotion. The female lead is angry, frustrated, and explosive. I'm feeling all of these things. If nothing else, auditioning for this role will be cathartic.

I cry real tears during my audition. Ones born of true frustration, for my own predicament, for the role I want. I may take it a touch too far into melodrama, but it's definitely therapeutic.

I leave the theater feeling less angry and really damn hungry. I find a pizza place and scarf down two slices. Then I return to my new, temporary home, shower, and get ready for work.

Tomorrow I need to find an apartment. I won't put Amie out like this for longer than I have to. More than anything, I just want to be able to manage life on my own, without having to rely on anyone else for support-at least the financial kind. While this situation sucks, at least my current job will afford me money for rent and the basics. I don't need or want luxury if it comes with this kind of emotional price tag.

Work feels different tonight. I keep expecting to see Bancroft standing at the back of the club, looking angry. But he's not, because he's in another country. As angry as I am, I'm also sad. He'd become a friend. Someone who didn't judge me and accepted me for who I was.

In the morning I'm disappointed all over again by the lack of communication from him. I guess that tells me clearly where we stand.

I drive his truck back to his condo and allow the valet to park it. I'm surprised I've managed to return it with no damage, apart from the latte I spilled in the center console. I didn't try very hard to clean it up. I hope by the time he gets back it smells like sour milk in there. It's vindictive, but I'm not feeling all that nice on account of his hypocrisy.



       
         
       
        

I spend an hour playing with Francesca and make sure Tiny is okay-she won't require feeding until the weekend and I'm assuming Bancroft will be home by then. I hope so. Coming back here just hurts. Leaving Francesca is its own kind of painful.

I rub her belly as she rolls around on the floor. "I'm going to miss you so much."

She curls around my hand and nips at my fingers, then she climbs into my lap, sticking her head under my shirt. Stretching up on her hind legs her head pops out of the neck of my top, between my boobs. I laugh, and then start to cry.

She butts my chin with her nose and rubs her little face on my neck. I cuddle with her, letting my ridiculous tears fall until she gets squirmy and tries to wriggle out of my hold. I never expected to become so attached to her, or Tiny, or Bancroft.

I need a distraction, so my mission for the rest of the day becomes apartment hunting. I don't imagine it's going to be easy to find something reasonably priced and available immediately. I don't want to go back to a diet that consists primarily of ramen noodles, but I will if it means being able to pursue this dream I'm not willing to let die.

I'm almost back to Amie's apartment when I get a call from an unfamiliar number. It's local, so it can't be Bancroft. I answer on the third ring.

"Hello, may I please speak with Ruby Scott?"

It's an unfamiliar male voice. Oh God. I hope it's not a collection agency. I've been really good about paying down my loans and credit card. "That's me."

"This is Jack Russell. You auditioned for me yesterday."

My heart jumps up in my throat. I cross my fingers. "Yes. Yes I did."

"We were all very impressed with your audition."

"Thank you so much."

"Unfortunately, the role you've auditioned for has been filled," he says.

Of course it has. Because I have terrible luck. Because I suck. Because I can't do this on my own. Because I'm destined to be a corporate drone, dealing in penis-hardening stimulants for the rest of my life. Or a prison bitch for murdering my whore-mother when I'm forced to work with her, because that's the direction my life is going in.