Juliet Cassidy (310) 555-2396.
I picked up the phone and dialed.
She answered on the third ring. "Ms. Cassidy?"
"Yeah?"
"My name is Mike Orlando. Joe from New York gave me your number."
Long pause. "Oh, right, right. Joe said you might be calling. I saw you dance in Seattle a few years ago. You weren't half bad."
"Thanks."
"Joe said you were interested...in a job teaching or something?"
"I'd really like to work on my dancing."
"If you want to use my studio, you have to work for me as a teacher. Is that a problem?"
"Uh...no."
"Good. Be here in an hour."
I looked at my face in the mirror. "I can't."
"If you want the job you'll be here. If not, it was nice talking to you. Good bye."
She hung up. Either she was very busy or an LA power bitch. I decided to get up when I realized every part of me hurt. I glanced over at the night stand to my prescribed pain killers. Suddenly, my body wanted-- no, needed-- me to take a handful of the pills. It would be so easy to make myself feel better.
"Go to hell." I mumbled to myself, grimacing in pain as I walked towards my coat. I was going to this interview. I was going to get a new life. I was going straight.
