Free She'll Take It by Mary Carter Page A

five auditions per week. That’s only one a day. I can do one a day. I’ll work it out so that it replaces my lunch hour. Temp agencies know that we’re all struggling actors, so they’ll just have to live with it or fire me. Otherwise I am going to die right here next to twelve boxes of expired lawsuits. Steve Beck is boring me to tears. He has allergies, and every few minutes he breaks the silence with a loud, crackly sniff. There is no chance of engaging him in mindless, witty banter. I suddenly yearn for Trina Wilcox, even if she does still hate me. When noon hits, I drop my box with a satisfying thud.

Chapter 6
    â€œT ime for lunch,” I say happily.
    â€œNot yours,” Steve says with a sniff.
    â€œPardon me?”
    â€œMy lunch is noon to one. Yours is one to one-thirty.”
    â€œOne to one-thirty? You’re saying I only get half an hour?”
    â€œThat’s correct.”
    â€œBut you get an hour?”
    â€œRight again.”
    â€œThat’s not fair,” I stammer.
    Steve shrugs. “You didn’t start until 9:30. So you get half an hour. Unless you want to stay until 6:30.”
    â€œSix-thirty? I go home at five.”
    â€œSix.”
    â€œFive.” I suddenly feel like I’m ten years old arguing with my brother, Zach, over Monopoly. I always thought that the money for any fines you incurred should go in the middle, giving people a fighting chance to win it all back if they land on the Free Parking square. Zach was a stickler that the fines went to the bank. He was a lawyer at thirteen—cheeky little bastard. Except Zach I loved/hated and this guy I hate/hate.
    â€œMy temp agency told me that I was to work from nine to five,” I say in the haughtiest tone I can muster. “I can deal with lunch at one. But I’ll be taking an hour and I’ll be leaving at five.” There. Take that file boy. Steve picks up a lunch sack and heads to the door while I turn back to my files. We both know I’ve won that round, so there’s no need to rub it in.
    â€œYou’ll have to take this up with Trina Wilcox,” he says from the doorway as he’s departing. “I believe you two know each other?” He meets my eyes, and when he sees the look of horror creep into them, he smiles for the first and only time all day.
    The minute he leaves I stop working and call Kim again. “Hi, Mel,” she says instead of hello. Fucking caller ID. “How did it go with Jane?”
    â€œDidn’t you get my message?” I say in a whisper just in case Steve is lurking in the hallway.
    â€œUm. I don’t think so,” she says.
    I roll my eyes. Kim handles questions like a politician up for re-election. “About Trina?”
    â€œTrina?”
    â€œWilcox,” I say. And then I wait. One never knows whether Kim is actually thinking about what you’ve said or merely parroting your words as a stalling tactic.
    â€œWhat about her?” she says finally.
    â€œShe hates me, doesn’t she?” I whine.
    â€œOh God,” Kim says. “You’ve seen the Web site.”
    Time stops. I have this nagging feeling that I do not want to know what Kim is talking about. I should just skip it. What do I care if Trina Wilcox hates me? I’m a good person. This isn’t about me, it’s about her. Sticks and stones. Don’t worry, Melanie, in the scheme of things, who really cares? You’re supposed to care about cancer and AIDS and terrorists. You’re supposed to do your best to be kind to children, animals and the elderly. If you hang up now, I bargain with myself, I’ll let you steal something on your lunch hour. It won’t count. You’ll still take back the scarf at five, but you can take a little something. It will make you feel better.
    â€œWhat Web site?” I demand. If Kim had been thinking she would have realized I was clueless and stopped there. But in addition to her