“She did great,” Ella praised, giving my hand a quick squeeze.
“You know what? I totally did. I looked at those pictures and I responded the way any ex-girlfriend would, all swoony and full of regret, but he’s hot and I couldn’t help it. But you know what the most important part of this story is?” I looked back and forth between Megan and Ella expectantly. “Huh?” I asked again, more insistently.
“What?” Megan asked, giving me what I wanted—audience participation.
“I didn’t cry. I didn’t cry and I didn’t have a woe-is-me pity party.” I said those words with such pride and satisfaction. It was, indeed, a milestone. Any girl would attest to the fact that the day you could look at pictures of your ex-boyfriend without a breakdown was a good day.
“Well, hot damn, chica. If we didn’t have a tiny baby with us, I’d take you to a bar and buy you a shot,” Megan said with a laugh.
A wave of confidence rolled through me; something I hadn’t felt in a while. For whatever reason, in that moment, I felt like I could take on the world. I could move forward with life and still be a productive member of society. I would miss Marcus forever, but being sad all the time would never bring him back. I had two choices: I could be sad forever, or I could try my hardest to be happy. I might not ever be as happy as I’d been in the last few months of his life, I might have hit my peak, but I could still lead a full and happy life. Or I could at least try.
That feeling lasted all of twenty-four hours.
Chapter Four
He’s Looking Down On You
Kalli
The next day, as I was leaving the studio of the theatre company I was working for, I got a call from my agent, Lucy.
“Kalli, I’ve got the best news for you. Are you sitting down? You need to be sitting down for this.”
“Okay, give me two seconds to get into my car,” I said with a slight laugh. Her excitement had my belly flipping over with nerves. I had no idea what she had to say, but it sounded like good news. “All right,” I said, right after closing the door. “I’m in my car. Lay it on me.”
“You have just been offered a permanent position as chief costume designer on a new sitcom which will begin filming in a month!”
“What?” There’s no way that was a true statement. I misheard her. Or she misspoke. Or I’d been drugged. I was high, obviously. “What did you say?”
“Full-time, long-term, permanent position as chief costume designer, Kalli. The holy grail of showbiz jobs. The triple crown. The giant belt thingy those wrestlers fake fight over.”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, breathing hard and rapidly.
“Holy shit is right, Kalli. You’ve been doing great work and the industry is noticing. If I were you, I’d try to negotiate the salary a little, but that’s up to you. I think they’ll budge a little.”
“What are the terms?”
“They’re offering full medical, pension, 401K, all that good stuff, $8,000 to cover relocation, and $100,000 a year salary. That $100,000 is contingent upon the show being picked up for a second season, and then in year two you’d be up for salary negotiations again. This is very common and straightforward. A good offer, Kal. But I think you can get one-twenty.”
“But, $100,000 is a lot of money.” Damn straight, it was a lot of money. I made a decent salary now. It was enough to cover the house and expenses. A trust Marcus had inherited when my parents died went a long way to cover the care Nancy provided, not all of it, but a good portion. Money had never been terribly tight. But $100,000 a year would be a vast pay increase. “Where is this job located?”
“LA.”
Fuck. Of course it was in LA. I’d avoided LA like the plague since Marcus passed. Even though LA is a huge town, show business made it smaller than it seemed. Sure, I could potentially go there and never see Riot, but the odds were against that.
“Oh, I don’t know about LA,” I said, my voice trailing off at the end.
“Kalli, you can’t avoid LA forever. Not with your job. Now, I believe in you and all that other supportive BS I’m supposed to say, but this is a job of a lifetime. If this show takes off, which it’s got a good chance of doing considering the cast, this could set you up for life, honey.”
I let her words sink in a little, thinking about how much my life would change if I moved to LA. I’d have to leave my friends behind, and that would suck, but there really wasn’t anything holding me back. The money would be great, obviously, but the job would be amazing. To be offered that job, without even so much as a conversation with the producers, was huge, and I couldn’t ignore the compliment. My agent was right; it could be the job that put me on the map. It could be the job that set me up for the rest of my life.
It could also be a huge flop—it was Hollywood after all.
But could I take all that goodness, all those pros, and weigh them against the con of possibly seeing Riot?