Page 7 of SNOB

There’s no use in being mad at Uncle Jake. He’s all I got. And after what happened to him and our shop, I can’t blame him for the state he’s in. Looking at the sketch of the woman on the page in my lap, I just wish things were different.

“Headed to a press conference?” Uncle Jake finally looks my way, the bags under his eyes as dark as my slacks. I held onto it from the old shop. It’s a few seasons old for where I’m headed but I’m hoping they don’t notice.

“Job interview,” I reply.

“Job? Who did you murder for that chance?” My head whips to him, red coils almost giving him a lash as my mind flashes back to that night.

Go. Now!

He gives me a weird look, my shoulders dropping. He’s talking about the state of The Valley and not my past. Jobs are as scarce as our sanity.

“I didn't murder anyone. Just got lucky.” Holding back the deets is for his good.

“What about college? You don’t have to do that, Emmy. Focus on getting into a good school."

“We can’t even afford groceries, how do you expect us to afford tuition?”

"What about scholarships? You're a good artist Emmy, your dad?—”

"I'll apply soon." I cut him off before he makes things more sentimental than I need right now. "I need this. We need this.” My fingers come to my locket.

“Ember, I’d never ask you to hustle."

“I know.” Rising from the sofa I look around the space that reminds me why I’m headed to the town I never thought I’d step foot in. “You’re not playing anytime soon.” Ever. “And aren’t you tired of sleeping on this couch?” Uncle Jake gave me the one room in our mobile home by the river, the only thing we have left after everything.

That and a never-ending nightmare.

Fuck that kid and his iron eyes, that chiselled jaw and that soul-sucking stare. My fingers wrap around my locket, tugging on it until the metal chain digs into the back of my neck. He’ll never understand what he took away from us.

“God dammit!” Jake’s response to the game rips me out of my flashback before I move towards the door. I’m not staying to watch him get more drunk by the whistle.

My Oxfords thud against the stripped wood, kicking bottles of pilsners out of the way. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Emmy,” he calls. “Good luck.”

I’ll sure as hell need it.

“I’m on another fucking planet,” I mutter, taking in my surroundings.

The ride from The Valley to The Hill’s pristine, paved roads didn’t prep me for this. Their grass is literally greener, framing manicured shrubs and ornate gates. They sit between sparkling window displays with luxury brands and galleries with red carpet entryways. But this, this is just … stupid.

Spit tickles my lip before I realize how open my jaw is, staring at the monster of the building in front of me. It looks like The Louvre, not that I’ve ever been. Romanesque arches blend with medieval columns. Baroque ornaments make it look as royal as you’d expect from these assholes.

Pulling my super old phone out of my tote, I’m only twenty minutes late after two hours and four busses. If it wasn’t for my sketches, I don’t know if my nerves would survive the trip.

The chill in the air gets colder as I move closer to the front door.

“You got this, Ember,” I whisper to myself, my eyes scanning the row of luxury cars in the parking lot. Bentleys. Lamborghinis. Ferraris. I only know them from the rap videos Angelo shows me. Gripping my locket, I remind myself why I’m here. “Let’s do this.”

A fairytale foyer greets me once I’m through the large golden doors and it wouldn’t surprise me if “Be My Guest” starts to play. Chandeliers hang from high dome ceilings decorated with intricate mouldings and oil-painted cherubs. The sunlight hitting the crystal makes the room sparkle. Polished golden fixtures shine throughout. Looking down at my outfit, I hope my willingness to work outshines my frumpy appearance.

I have to land this gig.

No one in The Valley pays as much as these guys. Dancing with these devils is what Uncle Jake and I need.

As I move further, a manicured hand comes to my chest, french tips glossed to perfection. “Are you lost?” A nasally voice brings my shoulders to my ears. “You’re at Sun House. Members only.” Looking to my side, a girl’s falsely lashed eyes roam my appearance, layered blonde hair framing her thin face.

Lifting my head high, I plaster on a smile. “I’m here for an interview with Charlotte Banks.”

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