Page 117 of The Failed Audition

But I strangely get it. A lot of the waitresses here are aspiring models. I’m just not the illusion this city wants to create. Nikolai wouldn’t tell me who he talked to or who he called, but he still has no potential leads.

So here I am.

At Phantom, dressed in black lingerie beneath my sweats.

I wait for Roger by the employee lockers, rocking on the balls of my feet, my nerves escalating. I exhale a measured breath. “You can do this,” I mutter. I probably look like the crazy girl, talking to herself.

My cliché pep talk is all I have right now. I can’t welch.

When I see the mop of red hair, my spirits simultaneously lift and fall. My feet glue to the ground.You can do this. Move forward.My soles are still cemented.

Roger approaches me, making it easy. He scrolls through his phone and says, “Looks like you’re off for the night. The client cancelled.”

“Cancelled?” My shoulders drop in relief.You can’t be relieved, Thora. You needed this money.My eyes begin to burn.

“Did I stutter?” he shoots back. “This happens sometimes.” My resting bitch face must be going strong because he holds up a hand. “Look, I can try to get you another gig in a couple days.”

A couple days…

This isn’t a salary-paying job. I don’t see a check unless I work.

His phone rings. “I have to take this. You’re done for the night.” He slides past me.

I check my phone. It’s still early, and Nikolai has a show. But now I have more time to research. For a better job than this one.

I sit at a penny slot,betting about twenty cents every two minutes. I’ve taken gambling to a whole new slow level. My excuse is my cellphone in hand. I scroll through job openings in Vegas, not picky on the exact location since I’ve become used to public transportation.

Unfortunately, most are dealers and bartenders.

I click into the Masquerade’s website and search for full-time jobs within the hotel.Assistant chef, baker for the pastry shop, master sushi cook, sous chef.In another life, I’m without a doubt becoming a chef.

I rub my temples the more I read. An elderly woman with a fanny pack scowls at me as she passes. I guess I’m not concentrating enough on the machine. Fine.

I hit the “bet” button. Lines start popping up on the screen, forming many zig-zags. Wait…

My heart lifts. I won something. Right? Fate is finally on my—

Fifty cents.

Fifty cents? I have to stare at the number for thirty full seconds to digest this. But there were so many damn lines. And that’s all I won. This is rigged. I don’t even know what the lines are pointing to or what they mean. I scan the machine for instructions.

Nothing.

Stupid machine. I focus back on my phone and notice another job position.Assistant housekeeper.It’s full-time. My shoulders rise with hope, only to be squashed with the words “one-year experience in housekeeping for large casino or hotel required.”

Apparently people don’t start their on-the-job training in places like The Masquerade.

When I accepted the private aerialist gig at Phantom, Roger told me that many girls want this job and even fewer are ever hired. So I should realize how lucky I am—that he’d even offer it to me. That he wouldn’t have if I didn’t work there before.

It puts things into perspective. Like how hard it may be to find something else.

My phone vibrates.

Call me when you can. I care about you, and I just thought they’d be able to help you. I’m really sorry.– Shay

I click out of the text, a pit in my stomach. He’s been trying to call since my parents flew back to Ohio. I think he expectedme to be on the plane with them. I haven’t had the courage to respond to his voicemails or messages. Not yet at least.

I know what Shay did wasn’t out of malice, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s still a knife wedged between my shoulder blades.

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