SCARLETT
The following morning
My little treasure chest of lies is almost too heavy to carry for another day.
Depending on who I’m talking to or where I am, I have to mentally draft a map to determine what they know and what they don’t. Rather, what I want them to know, and what I don’t.
Worse, I have to spend the first hour of the morning preparing for everyone I might see, just in case.
And today, I missed that much-needed hour because I overslept.
All thanks to “Mr. Generous,” Jameson.
Instead of going to sleep and forgetting all about his existence, I’d lain awake in bed, sliding my fingers inside my pussy and fantasizing about all the ways our night could’ve ended differently.
In a perfect, much better world, he’d forced me into the back of his car and yanked off my panties. Then he flipped me on all fours and pulled me back by my hair, fucking me hard and fast until I apologized for derailing his night.
“I’m not interested in making you feel any pain…outside the bedroom anyway.”
Brushing away the thoughts of him—for now, I walk over to my mirror.
I make sure there are no flyaways and commit to today’s memory card, which is one of the most truthful in my possession.
Dropped out of a stuffy boring college to study at a better arts one here in New York.
I live for the stage, for the drama.
My family believes in me so much that they’re covering all the costs of my dreams.
“They are covering it...” I mutter over my makeup. “They just don’t know it.”
Okay, let’s go.
I grab my backpack and rush out of my dorm, racing down several blocks until I reach Gershwin Theater.
Wicked is casting for a few minor and supporting characters due to injuries, and I’m willing to take the role of a munchkin or a flying monkey.
If I can land anything that pays better than the temp agency, I’ll consider that a win.
By the time I arrive at the glittering entrance, a security guard is locking the doors.
“Please let me in!” I yell as I near him. “Please!”
He shakes his head at me, but he opens the door.
“You’re late, lady,” he warns. “Take a seat in the back left so no one will notice.”
“Thank you so much.” I move past him and take a quick twirl around the lobby.
I shut my eyes and envision signing autographs here after a show someday, or maybe?—
“Which part of you’re late didn’t you understand, lady?” The guard interrupts my thoughts.
“Right, sorry.” I follow his instructions and slip inside the back of the theater.
Grabbing a check-in card, I scribble my name on the back and resist the urge to roll my eyes at the question at the top:
Why do you want to be a Broadway actor/actress?
I write the same answer I always give—a simple “I’ve always loved performing,” but only because the truth is far worse.
And it doesn’t fit on one line.
“I’ve spent my entire life slithering into fictional characters’ skin, so I don’t have to face what comes with sliding around in my own…”
Taking my seat, I watch audition after audition, feeling my confidence drop with each one.
“Actor sixty-seven-eleven!” The guide’s voice echoes off the theater’s walls after an hour. “Sixty-seven-eleven?”
“That’s me.” I stand up from my seat. “I’m here.”
“Well, hurry up and take your place backstage,” he says. “Do you need a miniature version of the script?”
“No, I have Wicked memorized like the back of my hand. Thank you.”
“Today’s auditions require warm readings from various Shakespeare texts, miss.”
Oh. “Well, I have most of those memorized, too.” I shrug and move forward.
Dropping my card at the judges’ table, I take my place onstage and wait for the stage director to hand me a sheet.
Juliet’s monologue
Act 2, scene 2
Romeo & Juliet
Ugh… I try not to groan as I stare at it.
“Actor sixty-seven-eleven, you may begin when the lights dim…”
I nod, taking a deep breath as the house lights fall away.
“You can step into the spotlight and start now…” the actor across from me whispers.
I move and open my mouth, but no words fall from my lips.
I can’t even clear my throat or cough.
Romeo, where art thou Romeo? I attempt to will the words from my brain to my lips, but it’s no use...
I’m choking…
Just like the last audition and the twenty-one before it, my dreams slowly slide off the stage and run the hell away from me.
They know there’s a reason they can’t come true, that chasing them under my circumstances is pointless, and they’re just waiting for me to realize it.
“Romeo, where art thou, Romeo?” the guy whispers from behind.
“I…” I swallow and look right into the spotlight. “I…”
“Is there a problem with her mic?” someone in the theater asks.
“Is she in the right place?”
“Yo…” the guy behind me coughs. “You alright?”
“No.” My voice cracks. “No, I’m not alright. Thank you.”
I rush offstage and grab my purse, heading straight for the back exit.
Stepping outside, I’m met with an afternoon drizzle and no umbrella.
I walk to the closest awning and silently thank the raindrops for masking my tears.
Pulling out my phone to call the temp job agency, I notice a new email. From Jameson.
How…?