I plop down at my desk and check my phone. Once it’s charged enough to make calls, I’ll get in touch with Sam and take whatever shift she hands me.
I click on the outdated PC at my desk and go to Internet Explorer to pull up a map.
The cursor moves across the map of the United States. “Hmm . . . where do I want to go from here?” As far away as possible. I close my eyes and skate the cursor around, then stop and open my eyes. “Alabama. What the hell is there to do in Alabama?” I close my eyes and repeat the process. “Oregon.” Yeah, I could do Oregon. Mountains, cool weather. “Put that on the list.” I close my eyes one last time, move the cursor, and . . . “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Arizona. No. “Okay, Oregon it is.”
Now that’s done. I lean back in my seat and stare at the ceiling.
My phone chimes that it’s powered up followed by the ping of an unread text.
Are you in for the shift tonight? You’re getting first dibs. Loreen seems to like you. ;)
It’s not like I have anything better to do on a Friday night, and after my last trip to Pistol Pete’s, I don’t think it’s smart to engage in any kind of social drinking. Lucas tolerated my skinny-dipping outside the river house before he really knew me. Something tells me if I showed up for a second swim, he’d be less courteous. I punch out a quick text telling her absolutely, I’ll be there tonight.
Perfect! 4:30 don’t be late.
If it’s a busy night, Sam assured me I could make a couple hundred dollars in tips. That’s two hundred steps closer to Oregon.
“Your good news is you got a job as a bar wench?” Trevor’s condescending laughter crawls across my skin like a rash. “I mean, you’re college educated for crying out loud. Couldn’t you at least snag Head Bar Wench? And who the hell is Sam?”
Why did I think calling him would be a good idea? Because you were hoping he’d say something sweet that would take your mind off Lucas. Gah!
“Sam, short for Samantha, was my best friend growing up. She went out of her way to hook me up with the job. The more money I make, the quicker I can get back to living my life.” I doodle on a piece of scrap paper, stick figures who’re stabbing each other and crying over their bloodied limbs. “And take it easy with the wench stuff.”
“Shy, I’m sorry, but . . .” He clears his throat, as if it helps him to avoid another fit of laughter. “You’re better than that. I mean, you have a job at your dad’s place. Why belittle yourself at some hillbilly bar with Sam?”
“Figure I’m going to be here, I want to spend every minute I can working toward getting out of here.” It’s not like I have a ton of friends banging down my door for shopping and girls’ night out. What else am I going to do?
“I may have a way to help you do that.”
I sit up tall and stare across the office, my ears perked. “How?” He has my attention.
“I got an inside word that Los Angeles is looking for people. They’re taking reels and going over them at the end of the month.”
Hope explodes in my chest. Trevor thinks I’m good enough for LA? I bite my lip against a high-pitched squeal.
“Trevor, that’s amazing!” I rip a fresh piece of paper from the printer and ready my pen. “Do you have the information? I could send my reel over today!”
“Oh no . . . That’s not what I meant.”
“What?”
He blows out a long breath. “I wasn’t talking about you, sweetie.”
Not talking about . . . His good news is that he’s going to be applying for a job in Los Angeles?
My shoulders slump. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I’m sending in my reel, and, well, I was thinking that if I get the job, get settled in, I could pull some strings to see if we can get you back into the field.”
Pull some strings. As in, I couldn’t get the job on my own merit. As in, I’m not good enough to overlook one stupid mistake.
He doesn’t believe in me at all.
“Right, yeah, that’s uh . . . that would be awesome.” One stick figure disembowels another with a big fat smile on its face.
He goes on to say more but I’m dead inside, far removed from whatever he’s squawking about to listen.
My good news is I’m working a shift in a cowboy bar.
His is he’s applying for a job at the second biggest media market in the country. Fuck my life.
“You know, you could send your reel in as well, but Los Angeles knows about the live newscast heard ’round the world.”
I bet they do, and why do I get the feeling Trevor’s the one who told them? God, how could I be so stupid? He probably sold himself by using that incident, probably bragged about how he saved the newscast and got me off the air immediately with his super producer skills.
Selfish prick.
Why am I even surprised?
“. . . and when I do, and you know I will, I’ll make sure to—”
“I’m sorry, I gotta run.”
I don’t wait for him to reply. Nothing he says will help at this point.