Roommates (Soulmates #1) (20 page)

Chapter 39: Jenny

I'd never seen so many skinny girls and moody looking boys.

It was the first time in my life I felt like I should've colored
in my eyebrows and worn Spanx.

"Jennifer Layne?" A woman at the front of the waiting
room stared down at her clipboard. How her thin frames stayed on her nose was
beyond me.

I stood up and lifted a palm towards her as two dozen eyes
watched me like the hungry cast of a perfume commercial.

The woman led me down a narrow hallway which was lined with
black and white headshots of glamourous people with bedroom eyes. Then she
opened a door at the end of the hall and nodded for me to enter.

A man with a sizeable pot belly concealed under his blue button
down sat behind the cherry wood desk along the far wall.

I heard the door close behind me.

"Jennifer-" He looked from me to a paper on his desk.
"Layne, is it?"

I nodded.

"I was expecting you to be more butch."

I raised my eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"My nephew was under the impression that you were bald. And
gay."

My lips fell apart.

"Not that there's anything wrong with either of those
things, but I wasn't expecting a full head of hair."

I tilted an ear towards him. "I'm not gay either."

He squinted at me. "Not even a little bit?" he asked.
"Cause there's a huge demand for-"

"I'm not a homophobe or anything," I said. "I
would take a gay role if that's what you're asking. If it was tasteful. I have
gay frien-"

"Forget it," he said, standing and walking around his
desk with a swagger that suggested heavy shoes. "It's obviously a
misunderstanding."

I swallowed and took a step forward. The room was beige and bare
apart from a few movie posters on the walls between the windows.

"Ira," he said, sticking out a chubby hand.

I took it. "Thanks for agreeing to meet me on such short
notice."

"No problem." He nodded at the manila folder in my
hand. "Is that for me?"

I handed to him. “It is.”

"Great. Have a seat, Jenny, and we'll get right down to
it."

I bent my legs and balanced on the edge of the chair, suddenly conscious
of my posture after seeing all the swan necks in the waiting room.

He sat down with such force that his chair rolled back several inches.
"So I take it you're from a small town in the middle of the country that
no one's ever heard of and you want to be a star."

I scrunched my face. "Would you prefer if I made up a more
original story?"

"Not at all," he said. "Everyone loves that one,
but I appreciate you offering." He laid the folder down in front of him
and flipped it open.

I pursed my lips, watched his dark eyes scan the stack of
pictures accompanying my resume, and listened to his heavy breathing as I
prayed he’d be able to help me.

"What's your dream role?" he asked, lifting his eyes.
"If I could snap my fingers and have you cast in something tomorrow."

"Norma in Sunset Boulevard."

He nodded and stuck his lower lip out. "So you're a
confident singer?"

"Very."

He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach,
and nodded.

I raised my eyebrows. "You want me to sing something?"

"Well, I can't send you somewhere to sing with my
recommendation if I haven't heard you, now can I?" He shook his head.
"No offense, but you wouldn't believe the shit people lie to me about-
that they tap dance, that they do their own stunts, that they'll take their
clothes off when they won't, that their sex change is complete-"

"I understand."

“Great.” He nodded. "When you're ready."

I took a deep breath.

"That means now."

I started singing Norma's big song from Sunset Boulevard with
all the feeling I could. And it was easy. I’d cried to “With One Look” a
thousand times.

He kept his eyes on me and let me sing the first four stanzas,
raising his hand to stop me after I sang the part about making the whole world
cry.

"Good."

I smiled, relieved to have sung out some of my nervous energy.

"In forty years, you'll be a great Norma."

"Thank you."

"But let's see if we can get you something more age
appropriate in the meantime."

I raised my eyebrows.

"There are auditions next week for Chicago. A few of the
main parts are already spoken for, but in my opinion, what you need is some
exposure so people with pull start to recognize your name. At this stage, even
snagging a role as a stand in would be a worthwhile victory for you."

"I completely agree," I said. "I'm not so naive that
I think I'm going to be Elphaba by next summer. I'm open to anything and
willing to put in all the hard work it takes."

"Is this all your updated contact information?" he
asked, pointing at the page in front of him.

I nodded.

"Great," he said. "Now, before you get your hopes
up, I can't promise you anything."

"I know."

"But I'll do what I can to make sure a few people see you
in the next few weeks as a favor to my nephew."

"Sure."

"And if people like you and you get some work, we can draw
up something official."

"Something official?"

He waved his hands in the air. “Yeah. Something that says it's
my job to lose sleep over making sure you get jobs in this city."

I smiled. "That sounds good."

"I thought it might."

"What should I do in the meantime?"

"Wait by the phone," he said. "I'll be in touch
in the next forty eight hours."

"Great."

"Other than that, just make sure you don't get fat or
injured or lose your voice, and we won't have any problems."

I pursed my lips and nodded.

"You can see yourself out?" he asked, raising his
eyebrows.   

"Yes, thank you. It was very nice to meet you."

"You, too, Jennifer. Happy to help."

I stepped out of the room and let out an exhale so big I was
surprised I didn’t deflate entirely. Then I did a little happy dance, shaking
my hips back and forth silently for a second to help me calm down.

But I still couldn't even get close to keeping a straight face
as I walked out of the office, my head held high and my chest bursting with
pride.

After all, I was finally starting to feel like this city was
beginning to love me back.

And there were so many people that I needed to thank for
encouraging me to keep going after my dream.

But there was one person in particular that I couldn't wait to
share the good news with.

Chapter 40: Ethan

Ben walked across the empty club with his keys in hand.

By the time he sat down at the bar, I'd made two Dirty Shirley’s.

"I feel good about how that meeting went," he said.

I nodded. "So does everyone else, Boss."

He shrugged. "The bonuses had to happen. Things are going
so well. I couldn't not incentivize people, could I?"

"You could," I said, hopping over the bar and taking a
seat beside him. "But then you'd be like every other prick with a club on
this street."

"You'd know."

"Sure would," I said, sliding my drink towards me.
"Worked for half of 'em."

"Everything cool with your sister?" he asked.
"After the other day?"

I swallowed.

"And your two nights off work?"

“Stepsister.”

“Whatever.”

I glanced down at my drink. "Gretchen seemed bummed that I showed
up for the team meeting."

"Gretchen wants your job."

I raised my eyebrows. "I hope you told her she couldn't
have it."

He shrugged. "I'm going to create a position for her. She’s
the closest thing to your equal we've got."

"As long as it isn't my position."

"So?" he asked, using his straw to scoop one of his
cherries up from the bottom of his glass.

"So things have been better."

He furrowed his brow. "Why's that? Demons from your greedy
margarita night still catching up with you?"

I shook my head. "More like I'm having the kind of problem
you had with Carrie a year ago."

He craned his neck forward. "You in love or
something?"

"That would be admitting the problem."

He smacked me on the arm. "Holy shit, man. Who's the lucky
girl?"

"Promise you won't judge me or fire me or tell
Christophe?"

He cocked his head. "Why? Is it that girl who dances at the
Pussy Cat Lounge?"

I furrowed my brow. "No, Jesus. That was a one time
thing."

"Gotcha."

"And I only went there cause she had that crazy tongue
piercing-"

"Ribbed for your pleasure, if my memory serves."

I wrapped my hand around my forehead.

"So who is it?" he asked.

"You know how I've been entertaining a visitor this week?"

"Your sister?"

"She's my stepsister, Christ. She's as much my fucking
sister as Ella is your mom."

He leaned back. "Whoa, okay. So not your sister all."

"No."

"Zero blood relation."

I gripped my glass. "Zilch."

"How long have you guys-"

I sighed. "What?"

"Not been related?"

I rolled my eyes. "I was sixteen when our parents got
married. And I got shipped off to boarding school the next year."

"For being an asshole?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "But I liked her before
that."

"Wow."

"I just couldn't do anything about it before."

"And now you can? Because…?"

I pointed at him. "Exactly. That fucking ‘because dot dot
dot’ is what's doing my head in."

"I guess I can see how your parents wouldn't be thrilled,
but it seems to me there's only two things to consider."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Is this just about your dick wanting what it
shouldn't?"

"Right."

He smiled. "You deviant you."

"Fuck off."

"Cause if that's what's plaguing you, man, you should
probably kick her the fuck out and not go there."

"I know."

"Nobody wants a messy night of sex following them around
for the rest of their life. I mean, can you imagine planning your wedding and turning
to your fiancée, like, 'I won't invite anyone I've fucked raw, baby, except for
my stepsister. She's cool.’"

I swiveled my stool away from him and faced forwards.

"You get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah. Don't worry. You're not that subtle."

"But there's always that second possibility," he said.

"Which is?"

"Which is that the reason the itch in your pants for this
girl hasn't gone away after all this time is because she really means something
to you."

I clenched my jaw.

"In which case, I'd say this sounds like one of those times
it's probably better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission."

I furrowed my brow. "I'm listening."

"That's all. I just wouldn't even waste my breath asking
for my dad's blessing or my mom's or whatever the situation is-"

"Her mom and my dad."

"Right. I just wouldn't mention it until I felt like I
could go to them and say, ‘I fucking love this girl and it doesn't concern you.’"

“Mmm.”

"As opposed to, 'I know she's my stepsister, but I just
want to dip my dick in for a second to see if it fit-"

"Ben! Fuck!"

He laughed. "Sorry. I just started to picture it in my head,
and it was so funny I couldn't help but-"

"Enough.”

He drank some of his drink and licked his lips. "You really
want to know what I think?"

"I don't know. Do I? It's been pretty scary so far."

"I think this is the first time I've ever seen you like
this."

I glared at him. "Seen me like what?"

"Sprung? Confused? Sick in love?"

"I do feel fucking dreadful."

"Not a good sign you're coming out of this single,
buddy."

I swiveled back towards him. "Did you feel sick when you
first got with Carrie?"

He nodded. "I thought I was dying."

"Jesus. That's awful."

"Yeah, it was."

I raised my eyebrows. "How long did it last?"

"Until she was mine."

"What do you mean until she was yours?"

"I mean as soon as I knew she wanted me just as bad as I
wanted her and that we weren't going to have to play any more games or waste
any more time guessing what the other person was thinking, I started to feel
better."

"Started?!"

"And once we moved in together, things got even
better."  

"That helped?"

"Are you kidding?" he asked. "As far as I'm
concerned that's like the ultimate show of loyalty."

I squinted at him.

"It's like… not only am I thinking about you all the
fucking time, but I’m so crazy about you that I don’t even want personal space
anymore."

"That's the cheesiest thing I've ever heard. What about all
the toilet seat stuff and the hairs in the bathtub crap most couples bitch
about?"

He shrugged. "I can't speak for other couples. I just know
how I feel, and that's a whole lot better when my woman is around."

I scrunched my face. "Do you have to call her your woman? Like
you're fucking James Brown?"

"Would now be a bad time to sing sex machine?"

"Yes," I said, putting my head in my hands.

He slapped me across the back. "I think this is good,
Ethan. I think you'll get through this."

I swiveled around and leaned my back against the bar. "How
do you figure?"

"Cause if you didn't care about this girl, you wouldn't be
doing this to yourself."

"Perhaps."

"And if she didn't care about you, you wouldn't be doing
this to yourself."

"No?"

He shook his head. "You're too vain and comfortable being
single. If you didn't think she had the potential to ruin all that for you, you
wouldn't give it a second thought."

"And you're saying this sick feeling in my guts- this black
knot of anxiety- that I feel growing inside me is a good thing?"

He smiled. "I'm saying that if you give it a chance to
grow, it might just be the best thing that ever happened to you."