All for 75 goddamn cents. I slammed my computer shut, tears burning my eyes as despair and anger warred in me. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to punch a wall or cry myself to sleep.
But my parents' portrait stopped me. Ithadhung on the wall in every place I'd ever lived, sometimes in a frame, sometimes not, but it was one of the few memories I'd been allowed to keep. I was a child in the picture, and we all looked so happy. My mother with the same dark looks I had and eyes that seemed to sparkle, and my father with his short blond hair and warm brown eyes that crinkled in the corners when he smiled. If they were alive right now, I could be living with them while I went to school. My mom would make me a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup on a bad day and tell me that things would look better in the morning, but she'd be wrong, things wouldn't look better in the morning. In the morning I'd still be broke, hungrier than I was right now, and I'd be one day closer to eviction.
I fell asleep on the living room floor, staring at the portrait, tears poolingontothe carpet. In the morning I could scarcely open my eyes from the swelling.
After splashing water on my face and changing my clothes, I walked over to the chair and picked up the notepad with the phone number of The Pleasure Palace.
"This is Donna at The Pleasure Palace, how may I help you?"
"Hi, this is Catelyn Travis. We spoke a few days ago about the job as an… actress. How soon can I start?"
Chapter Four
Shit Happens
"A PHONE SEX operator? Are you freaking kidding me?" Bridgette had said the same thing three times as her blue eyes got wider and wider. She was starting to look like an anime character. "Isn't that like a prostitute? Is it even legal? Catelyn, you're going into law, you can't break the law to get there."
The teakettle screamed from the kitchen, and I used the excuse to get away from her scrutinizing eyes. "You want Earl Grey or English Breakfast?" I asked. She'd shown up with a bag of groceries an hour ago, and the cat and I had nearly cried as our bellies rumbled their thanks.
"Earl Grey."
She waited on my shabby chic (with emphasis on shabby) couch while I made our tea. "It's totally legal," I said. "Obviously I wouldn't do it if it wasn't. And it's not prostitution. I'm not actually sleeping with the guys, Brig. They'll never know who I am or where I live. They'll never know anything real about me at all. It's an acting job. You always said I should go into acting."
I balanced the teacups on a tray and placed it in between us on the coffee table.
She dumped half the sugar bowl into her drink and added milk, then sipped. "I was thinking more along the lines of Broadway theater or Hollywood movies, not getting gross pervs off on the phone. Besides, you haven't even—"
"Brig, you know I don't like to talk about that."
She rolled her eyes. "If you can't even talk about the fact you've never had sex with your best friend, how are you going to talk about the act of sex with strangers?"
"That I've never had sex with my best friend? Why, Bridgette, I didn't know you felt that way about me." I winked at her over my teacup.
"Shut it. You know what I mean, Miss Grammar Police."
"You know why I haven't… done it." I shifted on my chair, pulling my legs under me as I hid behind my tea.
"God, you can't even say the word. This is crazy, Catelyn." She placed her cup on the tray and leaned in, giving me that look she had that always made me feel like I'd been sent to the principal's office. "There's got to be something else you can do to make ends meet."
"Really? Then tell me." I stood, spilling my tea as I slammed it onto the tray next to hers. "What else is there? Where else can I find the money? I don't have rich parents like you. I don't have any parents at all. That asshole took everything from me when he killed them. He stole my life and now I have nothing but what I can do on my own. So tell me, what else is there? Because if you have a solution, I'm all ears."
She stood to face me, her jaw set. "It's not my fault. I'm just trying to help. I didn't kill your parents." Bridgette grabbed her purse and stormed from the apartment, leaving me shaking.
I picked up my teacup and threw it across the room, relishing the violence as it exploded into a million pieces right under my parents' portrait, a brown stain dripping down the wall. "Why? Why did you leave me? I can't do this alone. I'm not strong enough. I'm just not!"
I screamed my rage at them, but they maintained their eternal smile at my younger self, the girl who didn't know loss or pain or fear. The girl who hadn't yet been forced to make awful decisions to survive. I wished more than anything I could be that girl again, but she'd died with her parents.