Lifting my long skirt, I hurry as quickly as I can to the ladies’ room. There are only two women in there, chatting and touching up their make-up. As I walk past, one of them smiles at me and compliments me on my dress. I thank her distractedly and go quickly toward the last stall.

I try the door and find it is locked. I knock softly and Tamara opens it instantly. Glaring at me, she yanks me in and closes the door. She is dressed exactly like me and her hair is done up like mine too. The only differences are her breasts are bigger and her waist is smaller. Selena told me that she had had a rib taken out to achieve that look. The only way Lars won’t notice is if she gets him really drunk. Or maybe he won’t care. Maybe he will prefer her narrower body and bigger breasts.

“What took you so long?” she whispers fiercely. “I’ve been stuck in this smelly toilet for nearly an hour.”

“Ms. Moore called me less than three minutes ago,” I say.

“Whatever,” she huffs. “So, where is he?”

“By the pillar on the left-hand side of the main room.”

“What’s he wearing?”

“A white shirt, black tux, black pants, and a black mask.”

She wriggles her shoulders and pushes her chest out. “How do I look?”

“Great.”

“Better than you, anyway,” she says nastily and fits her mask over her face. She giggles. “This is such fun.”

I don’t say anything.

“Is he good in bed?”

I look at her coldly and refuse to answer.

“Never mind, I’ll find out myself tonight. I might send you a little video of us doing it.”

“Why would you want to do that?” I ask her.

“Because I want you to watch the man you love fuck me.”

“Why would you do this to me?” I ask.

“It’s hard to find entertainment in show business,” she says with a shrug.

I know she is lying. “That’s not why you’re doing it, is it?”

Her eyes flash with temper. “Because even though you brown nose me all the time, I know you think you’re somehow better than me.” She jabs me in the chest. “Well, Miss Holier Than Thou, you’re not. You’re nothing but dirt at the bottom of my shoe. And I can take your man any time I want. I’ll take him, I’ll suck him dry, then I’ll kick him to the curb.”

I stare at her in astonishment. She is horribly jealous of me. I have no money, or fame, or celebrity status. I don’t get to experience the high life the way she does. Why would she be jealous of me?

“You hurt your leg. Which one?” she asks, suddenly changing the subject.

“Right ankle.”

“What did you do? Sprain it?”

For a second, I don’t answer. Then my mouth opens and out it comes, the lie that I hope trips her up and gets her into trouble. “I fractured it,” I say.

Her brow furrows. “Is that like a break?”

“Exactly. I’ve broken my leg. Make sure you hobble up to him and complain a lot about the pain.”

“Hobble?”

“Uh…huh. Like this,” I say, making an exaggerated hobbling movement in the confined space.

She doesn’t look happy about it. I’ve earned this small satisfaction. This is my pathetic little revenge for all the times she has woken me up in the early morning hours for no reason at all, for when she pushed me to the ground, and for taking the man I love and rubbing it in my face. As many times as I have cursed her, let me give her a reason to curse me instead.

“Oh, and I guess I might as well give you my bandage too. Otherwise, he’ll see that your leg is not swollen.”

“Hurry up,” she urges impatiently.

I quickly remove my bandage and give it to her.

She lifts her skirt. “Put it on me,” she orders.

I crouch down next to the toilet and quickly wrap her ankle. “It’s done,”

“There’s the window. Now get through it.”

I look at the small window, my eyes widening. “You want me to go through that window?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I’ll fit.”

“Of course you will. If you get stuck, I’ll give you a shove from this end.”

“Why can’t I just walk out. Nobody will notice.”

She puts her hand on her hip. “And if someone does?”

I look again at the window. Maybe I can squeeze through it. “Where do I go once I get out?”

“There a car waiting for you outside.”

“A car?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, go already.”

I take a deep breath. The sooner I get out of her presence the better for me. I slip my shoes off, put my good foot on the toilet seat, and climb on to it. The window is not locked, so I push it open and put my head through. The ground is not too far away, it is grassy, and there is nobody around.

“Watch that your fat ass doesn’t get stuck,” Tamara chides.

I get the first half of me through easily, but the skirt of the dress is big and I struggle to free my hip. I give a good tug and hear a loud tearing sound, but my hips are through.

“Hurry up,” Tamara says impatiently.

I drop to the ground and feel a sharp pain in my ankle. I stand up. The skirt of my dress has been ripped away and is still caught in the window. Only the tulle underneath is still attached to the bodice of the dress. Tamara throws the torn skirt after me.

“Pass me my shoes,” I whisper, holding my hands up to the window. Instead of giving them to me, she flings them out. What a bitch! I find one but can’t find the other, and my ankle has started to throb with pain. I see a long black limo waiting by the curb. Someone opens the back door from the inside. My carriage awaits.

Fifteen minutes ago, I was the princess in a fairytale. It is clear now that there is no happily ever after to my story.

Oh, what the hell, I don’t need that shoe anyway. Holding my one shoe and my torn skirt clutched against my body, I limp toward the car. I duck my head and look through the open door.

Ms. Moore is in the car. I get in, and close the door.

“Well done. You just earned yourself $30,000.00,” she says.