“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…?
Subject: Your Shoes
Scarlett,
Upon getting my car detailed this afternoon, the specialist found a pair of stilettos under the passenger seat.
He also found further proof of your poor survival skills as you left a contact card with this email address on it as well…
Confirm your address is the one below (as I suspect you didn’t give me your real one), and I’ll have my assistant mail them to you Monday afternoon.
Jameson
He has an assistant?
There was no byline, nothing in his email address that pointed to where he worked. Just a simple kdbookonline.com
Subject: Re: Your Shoes
Jameson,
Thank you for letting me know.
I can come pick them up from you, or we can meet up.