Page 69 of Don't Quit the Day Job

"I can help you get into better shape if you want me to."

"Max." She turns back to look at me. There's a glitter in her eyes. "You are incorrigible."

"Well, I like to think that I turn incorrigible into encourage-able."

She groans at my bad joke. "Come on."

We walk up a flight of stairs for what feels like hours until we finally get off at a landing and walk toward a door. The corridor we walk down is dark and dingy and there may or may not be wet spots on the ground. I try not to think about where they may have come from.

"Remember, don't expect much," she says, turning to me with a small smile.

"I'm not."

She opens the door and we step inside. My jaw drops as I look around. The apartment is empty save for a blow-up mattress pressed against one wall, a black bag full of clothes that's sitting on the ground, and two paper plates on a countertop.

"Have you been robbed? Do we need to call the police? Is this what…"

"No, silly. I haven't been robbed."

"But where's your furniture and?—"

"I don't have any," she says. "You're judging me, aren't you?"

"No," I say, but I am worried for her. "Why do you live in an apartment with no furniture?"

"I was living with my best friend and her sister and her niece and nephew, and we all kind of just decided to go our own ways. Oh, that sounds way worse than it is," she says. "My best friend ended up dating this amazing guy and moved in with him and then her sister and niece and nephew moved back to Florida to live with her parents. So we gave up the place and well, here I am."

"Here you are with no furniture."

"I have a blow-up mattress," she says, her hands on her hips. "And it's my own place. Do you know how much it cost for me to get this?"

"It's a studio in a not great part of town, but a lot?"

She giggles slightly and I'm glad she hasn't taken offense at my words. "It might not be a great part of town to you, but I love it and it's my own studio. The only place I've ever lived by myself, so yeah, I don't have furniture, but I'm going to get some as soon as I have the money."

I lean against the countertop for a couple of seconds and strum my fingers across the laminate and try not to flinch as I see some black drops in the corner. Does she have mice? I hope she doesn't have mice. I'm not going to say anything.

"What is it? Why do you look like that?" she asks.

"Nothing." And then, suddenly, it hits me. "That's why you didn't go to the audition that day, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" she says as she heads over to the fridge and opens it. "So, about that nightcap?"

"Yeah," I say.

"I have water, apple juice, milk, and two beers. I'm guessing you want one of the beers?"

"That would be nice, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," she says. "Do you want a glass or..."

"That's okay," I say, shaking my head as I step forward.

She hands me the Corona and takes the other one out for herself.

"Cheers to being my first guest," she says.

"Well, I like the sound of that."

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