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  I grab her hand across the table and squeeze it. “I am so happy for you. And you deserve this. I know that you never believed you were worth it thanks to all those dirty, rotten men, but I hope now you realize that you are.”

  “Thank you,” she says, squeezing my hand back.

  I tell her about my spur of the moment Chloe Dillon decision.

  “Isn’t it one of those silly modeling schools? I’ve seen the tacky infomercials. Tell me you aren’t doing any of those weird modeling and acting classes.”

  I recoil at her words but what was I expecting? I had the same thoughts before I signed up.

  “It’s a personal growth course and I thought the same thing, but I’m pleasantly surprised by how much I’m learning and it’s only been two weeks.”

  Her face remains impassive, skeptical.

  “No really, it’s so good! So far, we’ve focused on goal setting and personal growth. We’re learning to identify strengths and weaknesses to build self-esteem, and how simply improving our overall attitude will help us to become a better, more confident person. I’m learning that a lot of what we don’t do in life has more to do with what’s going on internally rather than our actual life circumstances.”

  She shakes her head. “But I don’t understand why it costs thousands of dollars for someone to stand there and tell you this. What’s the point? How much did you pay?”

  “Our teacher won Miss USA. I think she knows what she’s talking about,” I continue, taking out my copy of Fundamentals of Personal Growth that I’ve taken to carrying with me in my purse. I skim it until I find the chapter I’m looking it for.

  “This is the part that talks about how being a better person makes you feel like a better person. This of course makes you happier, which allows you to have a better outlook on life. And a better outlook can lead to more success...and did you know failure can actually be a good thing? This part talks about how to use it to your advantage to learn and grow from it.”

  I look at her expectantly, not sure who I’m trying to convince, her or myself.

  “I haven’t seen you this excited about anything in well...ever, so whatever you’re getting out of this, if it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.”

  “Well, you know, not everyone is a natural at life,” I retort, annoyed that she won’t share my excitement.

  “It sounds a little like being back in school.”

  “Kind of. We have two and a half hours in class and there’s more homework than I thought, but I don’t mind doing it,” I say, licking the last of the ice cream off of my spoon as the waiter comes by.

  Sarah insisted on paying the check in full. I give her a big hug outside the restaurant before we head to our cars. “Thank you so much! I really had a great birthday.”

  “You are so welcome. Oh, I almost forgot,” she says and reaches into her purse, handing me a small white box.

  “You know you didn’t have to get me anything!” I say, feeling slightly guilty about being annoyed with her earlier. She’s a good friend.

  “Hush. It’s nothing,” she says, thrusting the small box into my hands. “I just happened to see it when I was out shopping and thought about you. Open it when you get home.”

  By the time I get home, it’s almost 10:00 p.m. Inside the white box lies a beautiful sterling silver id bracelet I would’ve picked out for myself; elegant but durable enough for me to wear every day. I finagle it onto my left wrist and hold out my arm to admire it. I kick off my shoes and flop down on my bed, taking in my surroundings with a fresh perspective. Just a month ago, if anyone told me I’d actually like this apartment, I wouldn’t have believed it, but I think it’s growing on me. It hasn’t transformed into a chic downtown high rise, and remains the same slightly drab but furnished with care apartment, but it’s me who has changed and for the first time, I can see this place more for what it offers and less for what it doesn’t. The glass is starting to look half full.

  Chapter 12

  I’m off early today due to an optometrist appointment, and it didn’t make sense to go back to work afterwards. Not that anyone but me will see them or anything, but my cheap bras haven’t held up well in the wash so I’m using the extra time for a trip to the mall.

  I park at the back side of Bloomingdale’s because it’s the best place to park without having to stalk someone for their parking space. The heavy double doors sweep open automatically. The merchandise artfully displayed on tables placed center aisle in your face to maximize temptation immediately draw my eyes. I haven’t been inside a mall in so long. The odor of a million scents coming from the fragrance department mixed with bright signs, crowds and pulsating music are intoxicating. The sweater set on the table springs to life with a pair of cut off denim shorts on a tastefully made up mannequin. I wouldn’t think of it myself, but on the mannequin the pairing is so obvious, I desperately want the entire outfit in my closet. Fingering the beautifully woven pink knit of the softest sweater I’ve ever touched, my hand hovers over the matching rhinestone embellished tank but quickly withdraws when the number on the price tag flicks into view. That tank must be spun with silk and gold for that price.

  I make a beeline for the interior exit, ignoring every possible temptation, and run right past the Apple store, filled with throngs of people clamoring around brightly lit display tables eyeing the latest in iTechnology. I glance longingly at the MacBook display, but keep my attention ahead until the fresh clean scent of brand new books permeates my nostrils. My head swivels to the right and zeroes in on Barnes and Noble. The paper like, woodsy, manufactured aroma reminds me of spending day after day happily reading my childhood summers away; every title a new tale waiting to unfold.

  I wasn’t thinking about $100 tank tops, or MacBooks for that matter, but something about being in the mall makes me want everything. It’s exactly why I avoid the place, and as a result I have almost managed to forget this world of consumerism; this incredible world of things I can’t have. I make a beeline for Victoria’s Secret.

  “Hello, welcome to Victoria’s Secret. Would you like to be sized today?”

  “Sure.” I follow the black clad girl with a pink tape measure around her neck to a fitting room. She declares me a thirty-four B when all this time I’ve been buying a thirty-six B.

  I stick with the basics; nude and black. The girl is good and they fit perfectly. I eye an adorable pink pajama set on the way to the register, but keep walking. These bras are my Birthday present to myself. Nothing else.

  “$104.34 is your total.” I cringe handing over my credit card because I spent $350 on new glasses and contacts an hour ago. I take my bag and head back to Bloomingdale’s.

  I’m early, so I stop in the shoe section and check out the clearance rack advertising seventy percent off shoes, and can’t resist picking up a pair and flipping them over to check the price.

  “Shopping?” I hear someone say behind me. I turn around and spot Sabrina ensconced in an array of shoe boxes scrutinizing her image in a full length mirror.

  “Hey! Well, not here. Definitely just looking but I did get some new bras at Victoria’s Secret.”

  “So what do you think?” she asks looking down at the round toed red flats bearing a gold emblem on her feet.

  “I love ‘em. And most importantly, they look comfortable.”

  “They are. I love her shoes.”

  Her? I eye the box on the floor next to her feet. Tory Birch. Hmmm...I’ve never heard of her.

  “Well, my only thing is that I’d probably get black or brown. Don’t you think it’s more practical? That way you can wear them with everything?”

  Sabrina eyes me quizzically. “You’d be surprised how many things you can wear red with. Everyone should have at least two pairs of red shoes. It’s the perfect pop of color.”

  I think of the sea of black and brown shoes in my closet.

  She decides to get them. The sales guy rings up her purchase and says, “Your total is $253.21.” My eyes widen. I gl
ance at Sabrina out of the corner of my eye, trying not to look horrified.

  “Hey, since we’re already here, you wanna just go to Fifty-ninth & Lex instead of that weird sandwich place you suggested?” She knows I normally kill time after work so she suggested we meet for dinner before class since I’d be extra early today.

  “Where’s that?” I ask suspiciously. It sounds expensive.

  “Here. In Bloomingdale’s,” she replies with a tone suggesting I should know.

  If I can’t afford to shop in Bloomingdale’s why would I eat here? “I don’t know,” I stammer. “I’ve never been there before.”

  “It’s really good, they have the best tomato soup—you’ll love it,” she says, smiling, and grabs my arm, propelling me forward. I don’t even bother to tell her I don’t like tomato soup. Instead, I allow her to pull me along.

  I breathe in the aroma of the place and take in the simplistic black and white decor. Sabrina leads us to a table. A waitress comes over to give us menus and my eyes immediately zero in on the prices. I order the least expensive sandwich, and Sabrina orders a salad with the tomato soup.

  “Get the soup, get the soup!” she exclaims. I shake my head and start to say no, but she insists, “You have to try it,” and tells the waitress to add another one onto her order.

  “Fine, fine,” I say, laughing as if I ever had a choice in the matter to begin with. There’s something about Sabrina. Her infectious energy comes across as demanding but not totally overbearing, and the sly way she goes about making you want to do whatever she wants you to do without you even realizing what’s happening keeps things interesting.

  “I can’t wait to see Tessa’s monologue today. When I left on Thursday, I overheard her telling Earl she isn’t going to be using one of the options he gave us. It’s something original,” Sabrina says, mimicking Tessa’s haughty way of saying everything. “She’s a piece of work, that girl.”

  I’m sure Tessa the Great thought she’d sail through acting, but even she hasn’t escaped an Earl Warren tongue lashing.

  “Are you ready for yours?” I ask.

  “Uh huh,” she says as the server brings our orders. “The good thing about it is that if we mess up, no one really has to know. We don’t have to do it word for word. As long as we stay in character, we’re good.”

  That’s what I’m banking on. I have mine memorized but knowing that it doesn’t have to be verbatim takes the pressure off. I can focus less on the lines and more on trying to really get into it.

  “So, have you figured out what you want to do with your life yet?” I ask.

  “I’m getting there. It’s been really hard because my dad wants me to be a lawyer. He’s a lawyer and his father was a lawyer, but that’s not what I want and it’s not my fault he didn’t have a son who also wants to follow in his glorified footsteps. I’ve been putting off law school testing and applications. I told my dad I needed a year off to relax and clear my head.”

  “Well, what do you really want to do?”

  “I’m more the ‘creative’ type but he doesn’t get it. I’d love to go to fashion design school instead, but I know he’d have a fit.” She shakes her head. “As long as I’m doing what he wants me to do, things are fine, but the minute I decide to start thinking for myself, he threatens to cut me off. He helps me out a lot financially.” She adds more salad dressing to her salad and takes another bite.

  Sabrina doesn’t work, so I imagine a lot means he probably paid for those Tory Burch flats. “Well what about your mom? Does she have any input on the whole thing?”

  “My dad is an eternal bachelor. It’s really just been my dad and me since I was in high school, and whoever he was dating at the time. He’s not really the settling down type. My mom got tired of waiting around for him. I think he expected her to put up with his lack of commitment because he has money but she got tired of him making promises he never kept. She lives in Texas and I don’t think she ever forgave me for choosing my dad over her. We’re not really that close. I’m not close to extended family either. Whatever.”

  She waves her hand in the air as if to dismiss the very notion of a mom and her estranged family. I get a good look at the tattoo on her wrist. I can barely make out that it says “plrg” in tiny script letters.

  “So, how do you like the soup?” she asks with an expectant look on her face.

  I lap up another spoonful and consider the flavor. “It’s delicious. I’ve never actually eaten tomato soup before. I don’t like tomatoes so I never thought I’d even like it, but it’s really good.”

  “Told ya so,” she says smugly and takes another spoonful of hers. “It’s the best. I love this place. It’s my little hidden gem.”

  We finish up our meals then exit the mall.

  “See ya at Chloe’s,” she says before getting into her little Audi and driving away.

  Chapter 13

  When Sabrina and I walk into class, a thick blanket of tension seems to have taken over the room. The only sound is that of shuffling paper as everyone intently studies their monologues in silence. Mindy and Molly retreat to different corners of the room, lips moving silently as they run their lines. They are so joined at the hip, this is the furthest apart I’ve ever seen them.

  It’s week three of session two and I’m thriving on the challenge of acting so much, it would be accurate to say I love it. When I took drama in high school, insecurities got the better of me. I worried too much about what the popular kids would think of me to get anything out of it, but it feels different this time around.

  Cold reading went okay. Last week, just when I thought my performances showed improvement, I bombed out on my TV commercial. I love food, so it seemed logical that I’d be most convincing at getting people to buy Mama Mia’s Pizza from the frozen food aisle of their nearest grocery store. I think all that crazy improvisation stuff we did in the beginning got the jitters out so I didn’t feel nervous. Earl told us we should pretend like we’re talking to a friend, so I pictured Sarah in my head and told her about this amazing pizza that comes from the freezer section but tastes like homemade.

  He didn’t say anything at first. He rubbed his chin between his thumb and index finger with his right hand while his left hand sat on his hip the way he does, and just when I thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all, he yelled, “No, no, no! It’s all wrong. How do you expect me to believe you when you bob your head around like a nervous chicken? I’m supposed to believe in you. Make me believe in you or else don’t even bother to get up on stage.”

  Apparently monologues are super important for actors. Every actor should have one or two in their back pocket, ready to use at any time for an audition, especially when trying to land an agent. We haven’t gotten into the business side yet, but monologues are so important for kick starting an acting career, it’s sort of like our final exam. We have five excruciating minutes to tell a story with dialogue, facial expression, tone of voice, and body language. How excruciating probably depends on how hard Earl is staring us down, and nobody wants to make a fool of themselves in front of him. He’s a local casting director here in San Diego, and he knows talent when he sees it.

  Speak of the Devil, Earl walks in a few minutes later and stalks to the front of the room with a look of anticipation in his eyes. Everything he says is either very loud or very quiet. He’s so intense, Janine panicked and wanted to quit after our first class, but we convinced her to stick it out.

  “I’m just here for personal enrichment,” she said to Earl, but you can’t tell him you don’t want to be a famous actor in Hollywood.

  If you’re in his class, then you’re there to become an actor and you will be treated accordingly. Everyone takes their seats as he stands silently, arms crossed, one hand stroking his chin, staring us down like a caged animal hopped up on energy drinks. We’re his prey, and he’s chomping at the bit to see what we came up with—ready to pounce all over it.

  He clasps his hands together and asks for voluntee
rs to go first. Everyone looks around the room discreetly out of the corner of their eyes, hoping someone else will be brave. “If no one volunteers, I’ll have to volunteer someone myself.” There are no takers and I hold my breath as Earl announces who will go first. “Mindy, front and center,” he says and takes a seat in the front row. Her eyes go round and she slowly uncrosses her long lean legs, reluctantly standing up. “No, no, no. We do not use our sides,” Earl yells, shaking his head at her. “You are all better than that now!”

  She turns around, leaving her script on the chair. Molly, ever the supportive friend regardless of her second fiddle status, gives her an encouraging smile. Molly works twice as hard as Mindy for equal or better results, and it’s very clear that Mindy expects to succeed while Molly hopes to keep up. They insist they are the best of friends and want nothing more than to see the other succeed, but I don’t see how their friendship could avoid conflict, even if just a tiny bit, when they’ve been competing against each other for dance titles since they were six; especially when one of them always wins out over the other.

  Mindy stands in the center of the stage on the big white X in the center of the spotlight and transforms herself into another person as she launches into her monologue. I’m totally drawn in by her performance and only silence fills the room when she’s finished. I can’t believe this is her first acting class. I take a deep breath, praying I’m not next. Who wants to follow a performance like that? Mindy waits for feedback. We swivel our heads towards Earl, wondering if he could possibly find fault with that incredible performance. If he does, we already know we’re doomed.

  He narrows his eyes for a moment before speaking, quietly this time so Mindy has to strain to hear him. “Your sense of movement and body language was right on. I need you to project a little bit more from your eyes. Get more feeling behind those words and the emotion will burst through your eyes and out of your pores. Good job.” Mindy smiles and a small sigh escapes her lips. No yelling. She’s basically knocked it out of the park, and is on her way to being a triple threat. Almost as if realizing he forgot to yell, he bellows, “But you can do better,” as Mindy exits the stage. My heart skips a beat when he announces without warning that I’m next.