Her shoulders slump. She was hoping for more. “Oh, well,” she says. “What was the place like? I've always wanted to go in there.”
I brighten things up when I tell her all about how fabulous Colton Rossi’s home is, and how grand it all was.
“The place was super contemporary and spotless,” I tell her. “Bright pops of color just hit you when you walk in, gorgeous artwork on white walls,” I go on, getting lost in memories of my time there. “I kind of wanted to stay there forever.”
She laughs, but her smiles fades as her gaze darts about my living room, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. Colton Rossi’s place must be a far cry from mine. I could probably do better, but it's our little corner of the world and I love it.
I reach for my glass of wine. “And then the receptionist asked me to take photos.”
“No way,” she says, not believing my words. “That should not be allowed.”
“Yep, I didn't expect that. She asked me to stand against the white wall, and I did as I was told. I guess it makes total sense. I was a little self-conscious as I smiled. As you know, I hate taking photos, but hopefully my smile didn't come off too fake because it definitely was. She also took a full body shot and a closer face shot, and she even asked for a profile shot, like I was some kind of criminal.”
Cassie is slack-jawed and speechless.
I shake my head, still not believing I subjected myself to that indignity. “I kind of wanted to kill you for roping me into this.”
She laughs. “Hey, I didn’t rope you into anything. It was just a suggestion.”
“I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get picked,” I tell her. “I got my two hundred dollars, and I'm pretty happy with that. Although another thousand would be great.”
“Yes, it would be,” she agrees. “ I just wish I could help you.”
I know Cassie would if she could. “Nah… you have the house you just bought, and you're finally making it all happen. You're killing it, girl, and I'm happy for you, and I don't want a single cent of your money.”
“I can't wait to see if you get picked.”
“Well, I won't be disappointed if I don’t,” I tell her honestly. “It’s just not meant to be if I don’t.”
We decide to watchLegally Blondebecause that's one of our go-to movies when we are a little bit drunk on wine. We settle in with cosy blankets and popcorn, and we watch not just the one movie, but alsoLegally Blonde 2.
When Cassie practically falls asleep on my sofa, I suggest we call it a night. She’s too tired to Uber back home, so she decides to crash at our place. I drag her to my bed, and help her get out of her jumper and slide under my sheets.
I stare at my reflection as I brush my teeth. There is no way I will be picked. This whole thing is crazy. I don't even want to be picked, but a part of me is curious.
With my plain long bob, my too-round face and my big brown doe eyes, I’ve always considered myself a bit funny looking. Cassie says I'm not, but she's my bestie, so of course she would say that. I'm short, and I am not in the least, as beautiful as Cassie or those tall blondes I imagine traipsing around at Colton Rossi's parties. But that’s perfectly okay. I have two hundred more dollars today than I did yesterday, and that's all I care about.
Heaven. That’s what Cassie said about the infamous parties he throws. Apparently the food is to die for, and the drinks are abundant. There are even edibles to enjoy. I've never had an edible, but I'd like to try them one day. The music is soft, and the women are flawless. She's just heard all this from a girl she works with, who apparently is gorgeous, and was lucky enough to attend. Cassie admitted wanting to try it out, just for the fun of it, and out of sheer curiosity. But she’s not as desperate as I am, and she's very happy to live vicariously through me at the moment.
I finally join Christian in his double bed. He’s sound asleep and doesn’t even stir when I slip under the covers. I’m exhausted as I lay down my head on the extra pillow. Despite all the whirling in my head, I’m out before too long.
* * *
The doorbell clangs loudly as Theresa, one of my regular customers, crashes through the door. It’s quiet today at the café. She smiles as she inches closer. She'll probably want her usual egg salad sandwich, a coffee and a cookie or a cupcake. Today I’ve made red velvet and lemon meringue. I love making cupcakes. It’s so relaxing and such an escape, and I often make them right here so it’s a win-win.
She peruses the offerings in the display window under the counter. “I think I'll have the egg salad today,” she says. Of course she will, but there's no way I'm giving her the one in the window. I'm making her a fresh one.
I reach into the refrigerator for the container of egg salad. “I’ll make you a fresh one.”
“Oh, thank you so much, Clara. You're such a doll,” she says as I get to work on her coffee. “Which cupcakes did you make today?”
It’s a rhetorical question. No need to answer her since the cupcakes are clearly labeled.
She brings her finger to her lips. “I believe I'm in a red velvet mood today… feeling a little naughty.”
I laugh. I’m feeling a bit naughty too as I recall the interview. I'm surprised to admit, but I want to get chosen. It's crazy, I know. I should be ashamed of myself, but it is what it is. The heart wants what it wants, as they say. As I busy myself spreading the egg salad on a multi grain slice of bread, my phone beeps. I quickly glance at it, and see that I have a notification, a new email from Martha St Clair.
God… it’s what I've been waiting for. I can't believe it. My heart pounds hard as I tap on it. I read the message so fast, I can barely take in all the words.
