was only what you could scrounge for yourself and yours, through putting up with Myra Townsend and Waverly Balter-Wells. Through yearning for someone not interested in her. Through muscles knotted by tension and a heart clenched against humiliation.
Through not knowing when the next scenario would come.
Eleven
F RIDAY
ON FRIDAY, SHE and Violet sat at a table by themselves. Instantly Lynn Demaris stood by the table. “Myra says we have to all lunch together over there.” She pointed to the table where Cai and Tommy already sat.
Violet said, “She didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, she told me. So come on.” Lynn stalked off.
Amy said, “What’s her problem? She wasn’t like that at lunch yesterday. In fact, she hardly said a word.”
Violet shrugged. “Probably screwed up something and is taking it out on us. Stay here, One Two Three, I want to talk to you. How about a shopping expedition sometime after you get paid? No offense, but I think you could use some Violet help with your wardrobe.”
Amy smiled. There was no attack mode in Violet’s speech, and as always, her exuberance lifted Amy’s spirits. With Gran weak, Kaylie often sullen, and Amy’s job boring when it wasn’t terrifying, Violet was like a bracing wind. It didn’t even embarrass her to answer Violet in the way she must.
“Violet, I haven’t got any money for clothes. I mean, none. I support my grandmother, who’s old and sick, and my little sister. I’m hoping to scrounge enough from this paycheck to get a TV from the pawnshop so I can see our show on Saturday. God, that sounds weird—I can’t believe I’d ever be saying a sentence like that!”
“Yeah, I know. But about the clothes—I’m not talking couture. Just, you know, jeans that fit, which yours don’t because it looks like you’ve dropped weight, and tops that don’t date from the early Jurassic.”
Amy blushed and looked down at her soup. She didn’t want it anymore.
“Listen, One Two Three,” Violet said gently, “I think you’re a saint, taking care of your family like that.”
Amy winced, hearing Kaylie’s sarcastic
Saint Amy
.
“But this is television and you gotta look as good as you can to keep this job. Now, you probably think this top is expensive—”
“A Carolina Herrera knockoff, three-ply cashmere although the original was six-ply.” Violet stared at her. Amy smiled faintly, feeling a little better. “I have an eye, just no money.”
Violet hooted. “Who knew? But I’ll tell you what, you don’t need much money for what I have in mind. You think dancers have money? We’re the poorest of the poor. So we all know the thrift shops where rich women donate their castoffs and we all cultivate the shop clerks like we’re Farmer Jones and they’re prize pumpkins. Cathy at Jeu d’Esprit sets aside things for me. For you we’ll try to snag a—oh, hell, here come the spoilers.”
Lynn, Cai, Tommy, and Waverly carried their trays to Amy’s table and plopped them down. Lynn said, “I told you Myra said that we lunch together! You should listen to me!”
Cai said apologetically, “Myra called our cells.”
Violet said, “She didn’t call mine,” just as it rang. Violet answered, listened, scowled, and moved her chair to make room for Tommy.
Amy hadn’t had a cell when she’d interviewed, and she hadn’t told Myra that she had one now. She had to save her precious minutes for her family. Tommy sat down beside Violet, with Lynn on her other side. Cai sat between Amy and Waverly.
Instantly every part of her was aware of him: his nearness, his scent, the heat of his body. He gave her a friendly smile, which she found herself incapable of returning. She could drown in the blue of his eyes. To say something, she blurted out, “Where’s Rafe?”
“Rafe!” Lynn cried, so loud that a table of adults turned to look. “Rafe isn’t here! I’ll find him!” She jumped up and shot off.
“What’s her issue?” Waverly said. “She
Through not knowing when the next scenario would come.
Eleven
F RIDAY
ON FRIDAY, SHE and Violet sat at a table by themselves. Instantly Lynn Demaris stood by the table. “Myra says we have to all lunch together over there.” She pointed to the table where Cai and Tommy already sat.
Violet said, “She didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, she told me. So come on.” Lynn stalked off.
Amy said, “What’s her problem? She wasn’t like that at lunch yesterday. In fact, she hardly said a word.”
Violet shrugged. “Probably screwed up something and is taking it out on us. Stay here, One Two Three, I want to talk to you. How about a shopping expedition sometime after you get paid? No offense, but I think you could use some Violet help with your wardrobe.”
Amy smiled. There was no attack mode in Violet’s speech, and as always, her exuberance lifted Amy’s spirits. With Gran weak, Kaylie often sullen, and Amy’s job boring when it wasn’t terrifying, Violet was like a bracing wind. It didn’t even embarrass her to answer Violet in the way she must.
“Violet, I haven’t got any money for clothes. I mean, none. I support my grandmother, who’s old and sick, and my little sister. I’m hoping to scrounge enough from this paycheck to get a TV from the pawnshop so I can see our show on Saturday. God, that sounds weird—I can’t believe I’d ever be saying a sentence like that!”
“Yeah, I know. But about the clothes—I’m not talking couture. Just, you know, jeans that fit, which yours don’t because it looks like you’ve dropped weight, and tops that don’t date from the early Jurassic.”
Amy blushed and looked down at her soup. She didn’t want it anymore.
“Listen, One Two Three,” Violet said gently, “I think you’re a saint, taking care of your family like that.”
Amy winced, hearing Kaylie’s sarcastic
Saint Amy
.
“But this is television and you gotta look as good as you can to keep this job. Now, you probably think this top is expensive—”
“A Carolina Herrera knockoff, three-ply cashmere although the original was six-ply.” Violet stared at her. Amy smiled faintly, feeling a little better. “I have an eye, just no money.”
Violet hooted. “Who knew? But I’ll tell you what, you don’t need much money for what I have in mind. You think dancers have money? We’re the poorest of the poor. So we all know the thrift shops where rich women donate their castoffs and we all cultivate the shop clerks like we’re Farmer Jones and they’re prize pumpkins. Cathy at Jeu d’Esprit sets aside things for me. For you we’ll try to snag a—oh, hell, here come the spoilers.”
Lynn, Cai, Tommy, and Waverly carried their trays to Amy’s table and plopped them down. Lynn said, “I told you Myra said that we lunch together! You should listen to me!”
Cai said apologetically, “Myra called our cells.”
Violet said, “She didn’t call mine,” just as it rang. Violet answered, listened, scowled, and moved her chair to make room for Tommy.
Amy hadn’t had a cell when she’d interviewed, and she hadn’t told Myra that she had one now. She had to save her precious minutes for her family. Tommy sat down beside Violet, with Lynn on her other side. Cai sat between Amy and Waverly.
Instantly every part of her was aware of him: his nearness, his scent, the heat of his body. He gave her a friendly smile, which she found herself incapable of returning. She could drown in the blue of his eyes. To say something, she blurted out, “Where’s Rafe?”
“Rafe!” Lynn cried, so loud that a table of adults turned to look. “Rafe isn’t here! I’ll find him!” She jumped up and shot off.
“What’s her issue?” Waverly said. “She
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