Call Me Cat (Call Me Cat Trilogy #1)(5)

"Do you have a minute?" I pointed to his sign, which said he still had two hours left.

"Right, of course, come in. I was just going for some coffee, but it can wait."

I handed him the spare cup Lucky had made, and he smiled and inhaled deeply, escorting me in.

His tiny office would have felt more spacious if not for the wall-to-wall bookshelves housing hundreds of first and rare editions of his favorite books.

I sat across from him, fidgeting with my bag as I explained about my tuition and my roommate, and how I needed more work to make it.

The clock in his office ticked away loudly in the silence. I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat, wondering if he'd forgotten what I'd asked.

After another moment he looked up with heavy eyelids, his blue eyes still alert despite his slightly eccentric behavior. "I wish I could, but we've all felt the budget cuts of late, and I have no more money for assistants. As it is, I'm paying part of your hours from my own pocket, because I knowyou need them."

"Oh. I didn't know. I feel bad for asking now." I stood to leave, not wanting him to see my hopelessness.

He patted my hand. "I'll keep my ears open and let you know if something comes up."

I left his office knowing nothing would come up, that I was on my own and if I wanted to stay in school and become a lawyer, I would have to do things I never thought I'd do.

Hunger gnawed at my gut when I got home that night. A search through the kitchen revealed some old ketchup, a half eaten yogurt, two olives and a few cans of tuna. I gave the tuna to the cat, ate the yogurt and olives myself and stared longingly at the ketchup, but decided I couldn't ingest it and set it aside in lieu of drinking a lot of water. When I logged online to check my bank account balance in hopes of finding a few extra dollars for the dollar menu at a fast food joint, I discovered my account was overdrawn by $70.75. I'd gone over my balance by 75 cents when I'd bought lunch the other day, and my bank had charged me two $35 overdraft fees as a penalty. They would keep charging these fees until I brought the account current.

All for 75 goddamn cents. I slammed my computer shut, tears burning my eyes as despair and anger warred in me. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to punch a wall or cry myself to sleep.

But my parents' portrait stopped me. Ithadhung on the wall in every place I'd ever lived, sometimes in a frame, sometimes not, but it was one of the few memories I'd been allowed to keep. I was a child in the picture, and we all looked so happy. My mother with the same dark looks I had and eyes that seemed to sparkle, and my father with his short blond hair and warm brown eyes that crinkled in the corners when he smiled. If they were alive right now, I could be living with them while I went to school. My mom would make me a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup on a bad day and tell me that things would look better in the morning, but she'd be wrong, things wouldn't look better in the morning. In the morning I'd still be broke, hungrier than I was right now, and I'd be one day closer to eviction.

I fell asleep on the living room floor, staring at the portrait, tears poolingontothe carpet. In the morning I could scarcely open my eyes from the swelling.

After splashing water on my face and changing my clothes, I walked over to the chair and picked up the notepad with the phone number of The Pleasure Palace.

"This is Donna at The Pleasure Palace, how may I help you?"

"Hi, this is Catelyn Travis. We spoke a few days ago about the job as an… actress. How soon can I start?"





Chapter Four


Shit Happens


"A PHONE SEX operator? Are you freaking kidding me?" Bridgette had said the same thing three times as her blue eyes got wider and wider. She was starting to look like an anime character. "Isn't that like a prostitute? Is it even legal? Catelyn, you're going into law, you can't break the law to get there."

The teakettle screamed from the kitchen, and I used the excuse to get away from her scrutinizing eyes. "You want Earl Grey or English Breakfast?" I asked. She'd shown up with a bag of groceries an hour ago, and the cat and I had nearly cried as our bellies rumbled their thanks.

"Earl Grey."

She waited on my shabby chic (with emphasis on shabby) couch while I made our tea. "It's totally legal," I said. "Obviously I wouldn't do it if it wasn't. And it's not prostitution. I'm not actually sleeping with the guys, Brig. They'll never know who I am or where I live. They'll never know anything real about me at all. It's an acting job. You always said I should go into acting."

I balanced the teacups on a tray and placed it in between us on the coffee table.

She dumped half the sugar bowl into her drink and added milk, then sipped. "I was thinking more along the lines of Broadway theater or Hollywood movies, not getting gross pervs off on the phone. Besides, you haven't even—"

"Brig, you know I don't like to talk about that."

She rolled her eyes. "If you can't even talk about the fact you've never had sex with your best friend, how are you going to talk about the act of sex with strangers?"

"That I've never had sex with my best friend? Why, Bridgette, I didn't know you felt that way about me." I winked at her over my teacup.

"Shut it. You know what I mean, Miss Grammar Police."