Page 25 of Dirty Dealer
She grins, placing the last of the dishes into the cabinet. “Cool. I’ll head out sometime after eight. Nothing too extravagant. A little black dress, and well, I don’t have to help you with hair and makeup.” She laughs lightly. “My friend knows the bouncers for a few clubs, so we won’t have to pay cover.”
“Cool.” I force a natural smile.Crap. I didn’t even consider the expense. If I don’t book more work, I won’t have much in my bank account for a night out. Even if I do, it’ll be cutting it close. But I can’t turn her down. I am in desperate need of socialization and fun. I’ll eat beforehand, and I can sip on water instead of drinking. I need this. All work and no play makes me a very sad girl. I wipe down the counter and sink, then straighten the hand towel. “I’ll be ready. I’m working a shoot that day with Andrea, but we should be back way before that.”
“Awesome. Okay, well, I’m gonna memorize lines and turn in.” She claps and bounces on the balls of her feet.
I can’t help but grin. “Thanks again for dinner.”
“No problem, roomie. Just call me Chef Ramsey.” She flashes another smile and I see how much Hollywood is going to love her. She has one of those genuine smiles. A confidence that isn’t faked. Her energy is addictive.
I walk back to my room to grab my bathroom caddy. I should turn in as well. Attempt a few hours of sleep before the late-night crowd comes back from late shifts at their respective serving jobs. But I’ll wash my face and brush my teeth before collapsing in bed.
The buzz of an incoming phone notification catches my attention. By the rhythmic beat I can tell it’s a phone call and not a text. The only calls I ever receive are from potential clients or my family back home. I drop all my stuff without making a mess and dive across my bed before the call goes to voicemail. “Hello?” I say, slightly out of breath.
“Is this Rachel Delgado?”
“Speaking.”
“I’m Jake Ryan and I’m one of the production managers for Americana Studios,” he says, and I nod even though he can’t see. “I’m looking at your work right now. Very impressive. I also like your online presence.” He hums appreciatively.
My stomach flutters with anticipation. Is this a joke? I search my memory for a Jake Ryan but come up blank. Why is he calling, and more importantly, where did he get my number?
“You come highly recommended.”
Right.This is some sort of follow-up satisfaction survey. God, I hope I’m not in trouble for anything. I was very careful to follow all the rules in my contract, and used my pass and everything. My pass.Shit.I wasn’t supposed to let anyone on set, which I didn’t, but I did allow Jude to borrow my parking clearance pass to get inside the security gate. I swallow, hoping and praying this mistake doesn’t blacklist me from ever working on Americana’s lots for future projects. “Yes, I worked onThe Sentencing. We wrapped production today.” If need be, I am prepared to apologize, grovel, and beg for forgiveness.
“That’s right. Yes.” He clears his throat. “I’m gonna get down to the reason for my call. I’m short a makeup artist on one of our feature films. It’s a six-week contract, six days a week. Starts Monday. If you’re interested I can send over the contract.”
A job. My jaw falls open, as my mind repeats his words over again just to ensure I heard him right.A big job!I spring from my bed and do a little dance, resisting the urge to scream. Holy crap! A feature film makeup artist job! I school my features and force myself to play it cool and collected. “Yes, I’m very interested.”
“Great. Fantastic. This email address on your Instagram account still best?”
“Yes, that works perfect.”
“Good. Sending now,” he says, and my phone buzzes with an alert. I pull it away from my ear enough to see the incoming email. “You have any questions, or decide it’s not a good fit, please let me know by tomorrow at nine. Otherwise, the job’s yours.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ryan.” I want to ask him who referred me. I wonder if it was one of the techs, or if my work on set stood out to one of the producers. In this industry, it’s all about who you know, which is why I made a point to be friendly to everyone. Today’s struggling screenwriter could be tomorrow’s Spielberg.
“You have a good night.” He hangs up before I ask the question, though it doesn’t matter. Work is work, and I’m no longer looking at a month in the poor house.
Opening the email, I pull up the contract to scan the terms. The set—wow—my eyes bulge and I almost scream again. This is one of the larger ones usually reserved for films, and the pay—I blink to make sure I’m not mixing up the numbers. Holy . . . crap! Scrolling down to read the movie title, I plug it into a new web browser and when the articles populate showcasing Cora Bentley, one of the biggest female actors in Hollywood, I almost die. This gig isn’t just gonna pay my bills. This is going to be my big break.
A glimmer of hope breaks through the clouds and blooms with possibility. This is happening. All the struggle. All the doubt. The crappy days and hard work, it’ll all be worth it. My eyes sting with tears for the second time tonight. Things are finally happening. I squeal and jump off my bed to pump my fist. “Yes! Oh, my God! Yes!”
“Good news?” Jenni peeks her head in my open door.
“The best! I just got booked on a dream job.” I stop dancing but there’s no holding back the grin on my face. I swipe away a few happy tears. “Sorry!”
“Don’t apologize.” She laughs, skipping down the hallway to her bedroom. “Now we both have something to celebrate on Saturday.”
I slide onto my bed, my nightly beauty routine temporarily delayed. I’ve never been more delighted to read through the fine print of a contract. There’s no way I could sleep right now anyway. Hot damn. This week might’ve started out disastrous, but now the horizon is filled with promise.
On set: 8:00 AM.
Crap. My scrolling halts at that time. Not only because I’m not the biggest morning person. No, it’s because I need a ride, at least for a few days. Iron Maiden will still be in the shop by then, which means . . .
I have to ask Jude for a ride.
No. I could just Uber. I’ll be making good money on this job. I can afford it. But . . . I shake my head. I don’t have the freedom to throw cash around. At least not until I get my first paycheck. Maybe one of my roommates will take me? I cringe at the thought of asking anyone other than Jenni, and she has her own work to deal with.
