CHAPTER FORTY
I was yawning in the utility room when Jarrod cornered me. "Let me help," Jarrod said, and he grabbed a towel from the dryer and folded it, and we both smiled at Yuki when she wandered past naked, on her way to the shower.
"Well?" Jarrod asked in an undertone. "How was the audition?"
I nodded at Yuki and tried not to grin. "I can't tell you what it was for," I said, taking another towel and moving aside so Shane could dump his bundle of soiled linen into the washing machine.
When Shane had left, Jarrod said, "How did it go? Were you happy with it?"
"I thought they'd be less than impressed with the weight I'm carrying," I said, keeping his voice low, dropping another folded towel onto the pile. "But they want someone beefy. And I thought I was kind of wooden, too nervous to relax into the role, but the casting director seemed cheerful. I should know, they seem to push a deadline."
"Do you know who else has been cast?" Jarrod asked. "Did they tell you anything?"
I could feel the smugness on my face, but I couldn't tell Jarrod, I'd risk losing any chance at the role if there was a leak traced back to me, so I said, "Big name, big budget."
Jarrod's eyes were wide, but he didn't hug me, and that was a good thing as a dripping wet Yuki chose that moment to throw the shower room door open and stalk out to snatch a towel out of my hands.
"For god’s sake, you're supposed to be working," she snarled before she stomped back into the shower.
Jarrod rolled his eyes, dropped the towel he'd been holding back onto the top of the dryer, and wandered off, and I buried my face into the warm towel, breathing in the recycled-air smell of the dryer and lemon tang of the detergent, just to hide the grin on my face. I was trying so hard not to let myself build up his hopes too much, but it wasn't working.
***
The words made little sense, not in my mind, and I peered down at the fax in my hands. There it was again, all those zeros. "What?" I said.
"It's industry standard contract, but if you've got a tame lawyer, it would be prudent to have it checked over, just to reassure yourself that there's nothing suspicious in it. That's too much money for you to take my word for it," Brittany said.
When I dragged my eyes away from the fax, Brittany was beaming at me. I felt... kind of empty and weak, suddenly, like all the blood had rushed to my feet, and I thought he might be about to cry or throw up.
I must have looked shattered because Brittany took a bottle of single malt out of the filing cabinet behind her, half-filled her empty coffee cup and pushed it across the desk to me.
"Here you go," she said, and I took a shuddering breath in, picked up the cup, and took a long gulp.
My eyes watered, and not from the whiskey, but I found I could make my voice work again. "Can you get an advance for me? How soon can I get money?" I asked. "I need to make a mortgage payment..."
Filling my fridge for the social worker had taken all of his money, and if he didn't get a large tip that night, my mortgage wouldn't get paid. This contract, this money, had come in time.
The thought made me press the heels of my hands against my eyes for a moment.
Brittany's hand rested on my shoulder for a moment and when I opened my eyes, she was sitting on the edge of her desk beside me. "How much do you need?" she asked.
"Two hundred," I said, and I was overlaid with disbelief and shame that I had yet again reached the point in my life where such a small amount of money stood between him the precipice.
Brittany said nothing, and I didn't look up at her face, just watched as she bent down in front of her safe and tapped at the keypad.
"Here," she said, a moment later, and she put a thick wad of bills in front of me still wrapped in the paper from a bank. "The agency will lend you cash, it's not like we don't know you'll be able to pay it back."
"Oh God," I said. "Thank you."
Now I was crying. There must be ten thousand sitting on the table in front of me, more than enough to stave off disaster, get both me and Jarrod out of the brothel, and with work lined up, Francine could get Billy back for him.
***
Francine looked at me in surprise, over the pile of paper in front of her on the conference table. "I want to pay for all the work you've done for me," I repeated. "It's only fair, and it means you can help the next pro-bono client you get."
"Do you have any idea what the hourly billable is?" she asked. "You can't afford to pay, I've seen your debt situation, it's in the social worker's report."
The social worker's report was on the top of the pile of papers, along with copies of the deluge of paperwork that they had inundated Daniela with. 'Clean, respectable, artistic and supportive,' the social worker had said.
"I got work," I said. "Real work, a role in a fantastic movie. I want you to look over my contract too."
Francine smiled at me. "That's wonderful," she said. "We'll get Billy back for you, get your life back."
***
Selene looked like she'd been sucking lemons when she let me in. "You're late," she hissed. "Eamon wants to kill you, then fire you."
I pushed past Selene, down the hallway and into bedlam in the kitchen. Eamon was shouting, trying to get the girls organized, there was a towel mountain exploding out of the utility room, Yuki was sobbing while Chloe comforted her, and the noise was deafening.
"You're fired!" Eamon roared at me as soon as I spotted him.
Jarrod appeared in the doorway to the TV room, mesh shirt, hipster jeans, and I walked over and took Jarrod's hand. "Let's go," I said.
The doorbell for the Club Jade rang, and a furious Eamon stormed off to answer it, and the noise in the kitchen faded.
"What?" Jarrod said, looking confused.
"Let's go," I said. "Out of here. You and me."
"This is my job, Sebastian,” Jarrod said, with the tone of someone who talks to a child.
There were at least ten sets of eyes fixed on us when I leaned forward and pressed my lips against Jarrod's.
"Not any longer," I said. "I got the part."
Jarrod's face lit up. "That's wonderful," he said, smiling to my eyes. "Let me get my stuff."
Jarrod emptied his locker into his bag, pulled a T-shirt on over his mesh shirt, stuffed his bare feet into sneakers while a hubbub of hookers crammed into the utility room, trampling over the towels on the floor, all asking questions and slapping my back.
I ignored them all, I only had eyes for Jarrod at that moment. Jarrod looked happy, at least to me. Soon, in a minute or two, we’d both walk out of the front door, and this part of our lives would be over forever.
Jarrod asked no questions, at least not until a glowering Selene had let us out of the front door, and we walked out into the overcast evening, Jarrod's hand held in mine.
"How much?" Jarrod asked as a customer pushed past them on the front steps to ring the bell, no doubt to receive a chilly reception from Selene. "Was it enough?"
Was it enough? I didn't think I could spend that much money in the rest of my life.
"Seven digits," I said, and I unlocked the passenger door of my car for Jarrod. "Seven digits."