Roommate Arrangement

Luckless

Jade

I don't hear from Perrie for the next two days apart from a few text messages asking how things are going. So she'll know they're alive, I send her pictures of Francesca and Tiny, with little thought bubbles proclaiming their love for me. Perrie thinks it's funny.

After that, the phone calls come almost nightly. Perrie has taken to calling me around dinnertime – well, dinnertime for me, but since she's across the ocean it's more like bedtime for her. Which I don't mind in the least. Especially since, two nights ago, she video called instead of voice called because she missed seeing Francesca. If I put Perrie on speakerphone while Francesca in the room she goes nuts, and I wanted Perrie to see how cute she is.

Both times we've video chatted she's been wearing a white T-shirt that is so thin I can see her bra through the fabric. I don't get to see what she's wearing from the waist down since we're clearly not staring at each other's crotches while we talk, but I like to picture her in boxer briefs that also hug all the good parts and outline her package nicely.

Dinner conversation usually starts with Perrie asking about Francesca and Tiny, then I ask her how her day was, she tells me all about things her brother does to drive her insane and I point out she does a lot of the same things.

When she asks how the job hunt is going for me, I tell her it's great. I've managed to line up two auditions for next week, but both of the roles are small, and not likely to be enough for me to come up with a down payment for any kind of apartment, let alone allow me to start paying down my debts.

Two days ago I secured part-time employment in a bar serving drinks. I had reservations about the place, partly because the manager hired me on the spot with barely a glance at my résumé. Apparently my "bad plan" radar was accurate.

I lasted all of one shift. Not because I'm incapable of serving drinks and bar food, but because being propositioned by the manager during my first shift did not bode well for the long term. I pocketed the $120 in tips and walked.

I'm trying to stay positive. I have the auditions. I still have time. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

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Over the next week, I take the job-hunting business seriously. When I'm not playing with Francesca, or letting Tiny crawl up and down my arm, I spend most of my days scouring the Internet for potential auditions and seeking agent representation or passing out my résumé at every damn place I can think of.

I bomb the first audition. Just choke. Like literally. I'm in the middle of my audition, singing my heart out when all of a sudden I'm choking on something. I double over coughing and spit out a giant housefly, covered in my saliva. It's everything I can do not to throw up on stage again.

The night before my second audition I get nervous. For good reason. I feel like I'm jinxed. I've been practicing my dance routine all afternoon and I have it down perfectly. I know every step, every word to the song. I can perform it in my sleep. I don't take any chances with food. I eat Cup-a-Soup and drink hot lemon water. Perrie tells me to break a leg. It's supposed to be good luck. But I go to sleep feeling uneasy anyway.

I wake up in the middle of night screaming bloody murder because I have a nightmare that I left the lid off Tiny's terrarium, and she escaped her habitat. In my dream I felt something crawling on me and I jumped out of bed stepping on something warm and squishy. In reality I do jump out of bed, but the warm and squishy thing is a wet washcloth I left on the floor after I'd given myself my nightly pre-bed Perrie-inspired orgasm. In my haste to get away from the terrifying washcloth I slipped on the floor and landed on my ass.