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Blowing it would suck.
$300. Shouldn’t be more than four hours here.
That’s a really good hourly rate. My eyebrows go up, my mouth goes down, and my brain calculates what my bank balance will be if I get three hundred dollars in there.
$293.11. Sad math. Math is always sad, but it’s even sadder with dollar figures attached.
My dollars.
And you don’t need a contract. Just show up. Be here in an hour and we’ll get it done.
I stare at the screen, body flushed with adrenaline.
An hour?
Yeah. We’re in Anderhill.
That’s where I live. What are the odds? I stare dumbly at the screen. Is this a joke? Or, worse, a trap? What if I’m being lured into some sex-slave human-trafficking thing?
What’s the address? I type.
He names it. I quickly map it.
I know where that is. Maplecure Street is where all the super-well-off kids lived when I was in school. I wasn’t friends with any of them. They were the country club crowd, the kids who went to Aspen for winter break and Martinique for spring break. I was friendly with the ones in band or theater, but not best friends. Not close enough to be invited to that side of town.
It’s not exactly a den of criminal activity.
The only road in town with even more wealth is Concordian Road, and that’s where the richie-riches live. Harmony Hills High School combines the towns of Anderhill and Stoneleigh, and while I live in Anderhill, I don’t live in this part. I know all about Concordian Road, though. Used to drive past it almost daily in high school.
But I’m not going to think about that.
Especially not when I am so broke.
You still there? the guy asks. I assume it’s a guy. Maybe it’s a woman. I don’t know why I’m assuming it’s a man, because most real estate agents I’ve worked with are women. Something about that attagirl.
And yet, beggars can’t be choosers. Three hundred bucks cash for four hours and the potential for more work is pretty much a slam dunk.
I’ll be there in an hour. Perfect. What’s your name?
Spatula.
I laugh out loud, the glow of the small screen casting a surreal feel on the moment.
That’s a unique name. What do you do on set?
I’m the creampie specialist.
Oh! A cooking show! Now this is all making so much more sense. I’m about to ask for specifics when Spatula writes back and says:
See you in an hour.
And… I have my first freelance staging job.
Life is good after all.
Chapter Two
On the drive to the new job, I call my best friend. Perky answers immediately.
