Maeve
Iblinked up at the ceiling of my bunk, longing for a bed without a roof. A real bed, where I could starfish in the middle and tangle the sheets around my legs.
And maybe invite Santiago.
My phone vibrated from where it was plugged in beside me. I picked it up, saw Haven was FaceTiming me, and pressed accept.
“Hello, lover.”
I smiled at how pretty and New York she looked. “Hey, sugar britches,” I whispered.
She perked up. “Is it quiet time?”
“Yeah. The boys are sleepin’, but I was staring at my ceiling. I’m so damn happy to see your gorgeous face.”
She smiled. “You look gorgeous too. How was your evening?”
“Oh, the usual. Performed in front of thousands of screamin’ fans, lived out my dreams, and discovered happiness can indeed come from the adoration of other people. How about you?”
She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “It’s no fun when you say real, amazing things.”
I laughed quietly. “Then tell me about all the real, amazing things goin’ on with you.”
Shoving her hand into her hair, she gave it a fluff. “I heard the play Scott Porter is in is having all sorts of problems. It might not even make it to Broadway. The financing is falling through and early previews had a terrible response.”
“You look mighty gleeful.”
“If I can’t gloat at my nemesis’s failures, what’s the use in having a nemesis?”
“Truer words have never been spoken. Any prospects on the horizon?”
She shifted, eyes sliding sideways, and shrugged.
“Haven, are you keepin’ something from me?”
Her lip curled, and she growled. “How do you read me like a book, woman?”
I giggled. “The shifty eyes were a pretty big clue. What’s up?”
“I auditioned for a commercial.” She said the words so fast, they were one long stream, but I heard “commercial” and perked up. Haven had refused to even take an audition for work in film since her starring role in an indie movie went up in smoke.
“What kind of commercial?”
“Shampoo. And...I kind of got it. It’s national.”
“Oh my Lord, are you going to have to color your hair?”
She laughed, fingering her blue strands. “Nope, they love the blue.”
“How much are they payin’ you?” Talking about money was gauche in normal circumstances, but Haven and I didn’t have any barriers like that.
When she said the number, I sat up so fast, I nearly knocked myself out when I bumped my head on the top of my bunk. Flopping back down, I rubbed my forehead. “Shit.”
The curtain of my bunk flew open, a bleary eyed Santiago on the other side. “Are you okay?” I heard something.”
“Maeve? Are you dead?” Haven called.
Santiago picked up the phone where I’d dropped it in my sheets. “Hey, Haven, she’s going to have to call you back.”