‘Your what?’

‘I work for Jay … at the Saloon.’

I stared at her, waiting for her to tell me she was joking.

‘Yep, the big-shot make-up artist waits tables on the Strip – and that is the look I’ve been wanting to avoid.’

I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts. ‘Sorry … It’s not a bad thing, I am just – why didn’t you tell me? I don’t care, Jesus, it’s not like you’re topless table dancing or anything … you’re not, are you?’

‘Abby!’

‘I’m sorry, of course you’re not.’

‘I work on the Strip, I don’t do it.’ She half-laughed.

‘Okay,’ I said, kind of embarrassed. I’d heard enough about the Saloon Bar to know it wasn’t that sort of club.

‘It’s actually a really cool place; I mean, if I’m going to be a failure and have a plan B, it’s a pretty funky plan B.’

My shoulders slumped. ‘Billie, you are not a failure, you’re just taking a detour until you get to where you’re going, that’s all. I mean, you’re still here, surviving; that’s a success story.’

‘I’m just lucky in a lot of ways.’

‘That’s what everything is based on in this business – pure luck.’

‘You being here isn’t about luck – you worked for it. You are driven and talented, and I just know that you’re going to get what you want.’

Ziggy’s voice echoed in my head. I expect some serious groundwork done.

‘Maybe. Ziggy thinks I need acting lessons.’

Billie frowned. ‘I’m sure she meant that as a positive – you know, to hone your craft.’

Maybe that was what she meant, but there is always a part of you that believes you’re a natural, a regular Marlon Brando. I bet that Sienna hadn’t spent time clucking like a chicken or doing mime work to develop her acting diversity.

‘Yeah, well, whatever it takes, right?’ I sighed.

Billie nodded. ‘Whatever it takes.’

‘So now that we have all that sorted, can we make some house rules?’

‘Sure,’ said Billie, hesitantly.

‘No more secrets, okay? After all that I have left behind, the one thing I can’t stomach is people keeping secrets from me.’

Billie knew what I was referring to. I had told her about how things had gone down back home, knowing I wouldn’t be able to move forward unless I was open with her.

‘Oh, Abby, I’m sorry – of course, no more secrets.’ She nodded adamantly.

‘So if you are secretly waitressing topless in your spare time, speak now or forever hold your peace.’

Billie laughed, almost shoving me off the couch. ‘Shut up.’

We laughed, feeling the tension lift from us; there was a lot to be said for keeping it real between friends. I kind of wanted to ask her about Jay, if there was ever anything more between them than just neighbours and colleagues, but I figured we’d had enough drama for today.

‘So what about you – anything you want to tell me while we’re clearing the air?’

I bit my lip. I wanted to recoil from the vision that haunted me but, seeing as we were being honest, I thought it was better to come from me than Jay.

‘Well, speaking of being topless …’

I had thought Billie might offer me some comfort, some friendly reassurance to make me feel better, but instead she fell to the floor, flailing around in complete, hyperventilating hysterics.

‘Oh my God, I wish I could have seen his face,’ she breathed, wiping a tear from her eye.

‘Oh, shut up – I hope you get carpet burn,’ I said, making for the kitchen, hoping to soothe my sorrows with a microwaved burger, but Billie rolled over and grabbed at my ankles.

‘Wait, wait, tell me more,’ she giggled.

‘What’s there to say? I never want to speak of it again; in fact, is there any chance we can relocate to the Hills where we will never, ever run into Jay?’ I pulled my legs from her grasp.

Billie rolled over and rested her head on her hand. ‘Nope, no chance, sorry.’

‘Well, can you give me his work hours or something, so I can avoid him?’

‘Sorry, doesn’t work like that, especially for Jay; his hours are all over the place.’

‘So, he’s the manager?’ I asked, placing my plate of burger into the microwave and grimacing at how disgusting and soggy it was going to be.

‘Ah, owner-manager; he’s the “big” boss, remember?’

I was curious; Jay couldn’t have been any more than, what, thirty? How had he landed on his feet? What was his story? The microwave beeping pulled me out of my reverie.

‘He’s really great to work for, firm but fair. I can’t believe you two don’t get along.’

‘I wouldn’t say we don’t get along.’

Billie snorted. ‘Are you kidding me?’

I thought about our track record in the short time we had known one another; the foundation of our acquaintance was built on shoddy ground at best.

‘Well, the man has seen my nipple, which is the basis for all good friendships. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.’