Three months later
Heather’s hand is plastered over her mouth, tears streaming down her face from how hard she’s been laughing. Shaking my head, I throw my apron down on the coffee table and pace.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Heather says, attempting to restrain a laugh. “Back up.”
“Fired,” I say. “From a restaurant. That video has ruined my life.”
“You’d think since you dyed your hair back to brown, people wouldn’t think Elsa anymore.”
“You’d think…”
“But…” she smiles from ear to ear, “for the love of all things holy. Tell me this story again, and I’m sorry, but I am going to laugh.”
Dragging my hands down my face, I groan. “More adults than you’d think watch that damn show—”
“Or, maybe that tape made more adults watch it.” She shrugs when I glare at her.
“Anyway, every-fucking-day, some smartass says something because they recognize me.”
“Yep. Got that.”
“And today it was just too much.”
“Um-hmm. Now, tell me again, what did he sing to you?”
Just thinking about the smirk on that dick’s face makes my blood boil all over again. “Do you want to suck a big dick…to the tune of Do You Want to Build a Snowman.”
Heather burst into laughter. “Amazing!”
“No, it’s not.”
“And you seriously dumped water on him?”
“The entire pitcher.”
She laughs even harder, and I can’t help but laugh as well.
“Oh. God. I love you,” she says, wiping tears from her face. “Me? I would have slapped him, you—” she shakes her head. “You just dump water on him.”
I shrug. “I’m not violent like you Heather.” I fall back onto the sofa and stare up at the ceiling. “So now what the fuck am I gonna do? I don’t have any money. I’ve gone through my savings, and you barely make enough to support your Sephora habit…”
Heather sighs and kicks her feet up onto the coffee table. “Well, isn’t going completely broke some rite of passage or some shit? Wouldn’t being homeless and panhandling for money teach us some deep, life lesson?”
“No.”
“Hmmm. Well, shit. I guess we’re fucked.”
We sit on the couch in silence for a few moments. David hasn’t had one call from a network. The family networks won’t touch me; the other networks think I don’t have the right look. I’m beyond fucked right now. Other than a few offers to do porn, the phone hasn’t rung. And I am not doing porn. I mean, to each their own, but showing my bleached asshole to the world is not something on my bucket list.
“Well,” Heather groans as she stands up and stretches. “There is only one thing to do when you are about to be broke as shit.”
I glare up at her. “Do I evenwant to know?”
She wriggles her eyebrows at me. “Go to the Lotus Club and get drunk.”
“Because spending the last bit of money I have on drinks is smart in what way?”
Heather shrugs. “I didn’t say it was smart. Just think of it as a final hurrah. And besides…” she reaches down, grabs my hand, and jerks me up. “Dress like a slut-faced hooker and you won’t be spending any money. Guys will buy our drinks, and we can get drunk and drown our sorrows.”
“Slut-faced hooker you say?”
“Yep, slut-faced hooker.”
I nod.
“Tonight…” she smiles. “…we ride.”
I wrinkle my brow. “That makes no sense.”
“It just made it sound more epic or something. Just go with it, Jemma.” She walks toward the hall. “Now, go wash the smell of fried food out of your hair and get dressed. T-minus five hours before we slut drop like it’s our job.”