She’s dressed in a simple T-shirt and shorts, and her curly red hair is pulled up into a high bun that perfectly frames her face. I try to pick a flaw, any flaw, but because I am an artist, I can recognize true beauty in anything or anyone when I see it.

Ugh...

Dean looks over his shoulder at me and our eyes meet for the first time in weeks, but neither of us speak.

The girl looks at me and quickly turns back around. “Who is that?” she whispers as I step into the kitchen.

“No one” is Dean’s short reply.

“Be serious.” Beauty queen laughs, nudging him.

“She’s my roommate’s sister.” He relents. “Ignore her.”

“Okay, cool.” She laughs. “Will do.”

I set my stuff down on the counter and open the refrigerator, searching for the leftovers from the lunch I made yesterday. I push Eric’s protein shakes and health food crap to the side, but I can’t find the food I cooked. And I hid it in my usual, perfect place.

What the hell?  I know Eric couldn’t have eaten it, he just started some type of weird all fruit and juice diet.

I double check all the shelves in the refrigerator again, and then I spot it. My empty red Tupperware container is carefully tucked behind Eric’s array of new juices, and there’s a note on top. In Dean’s handwriting.

“It’s rude as fuck to only cook for yourself when you know I’m right across the hall from you...Next time, use less pepper. You’re welcome.”

I crumple the paper and hold back a loud scream.

Okay, asshole...Two can play this game...

Chapter 15

MIA

I refresh my screen for the umpteenth time today, staring at the influx of new emails in my inbox. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I know I need to find out if any of them are interview or job offers after all my hard work.

I cross my fingers and click on the first email.

Subject: Open position

Dear Mia Gray,

Thank you for your application for curator with Brooks Museum. Although we are impressed with your experience, we are unable to offer you employment at this time.

Thank you, for your interest.

Human Resources.

***

Subject AUTO-RESPONSE Curator application

Dear Applicant,

We have received your application for gallery manager at our Shady Oaks location. Unfortunately, you do not meet our requirements and your application will not go any further in the hiring process.

Best of luck in your search,

INT. Galleries

***

Subject: It’s not personal, but...

Hey, Mia, this is James. We met last week at Venture Gallery and me and my team were really impressed with you. However, and this is a HUGE “however,” my ex-wife’s name is Mia and I detest her very soul. Like, if I could get away with murder, I wouldn’t hesitate to show up to her house and set it afire so...Since I’m sure you’re not open to changing your name, and I’ll still know deep-down that your real name is “Mia” even if you did, I just can’t bring you aboard here.

I’m sorry.

James.

What the hell...

Groaning, I skim through the rest of the new emails. They’re all rejections. I don’t bother writing back a professional, “Thank you for your time anyway.” message for any of them. I delete my entire inbox and shut off my laptop. I decide to switch gears and check a couple new voicemails waiting on my cell phone instead.

I lay back across my bed as the first message plays.

“Hello?” a deep male voice says. “Hello? Oh, okay it’s voicemail.” He clears his throat. “This message is for Nancy – Oh, shit, wait... Is this taping?”

There’s a long pause and then the voice comes back on.

“My bad, this message is for Mia. Mia Gray. Thank you for coming in, but I don’t think you’re going to work for us. To be honest, you’re a little too something for us. Not sure what it is, but you have a little too much of it. So... Yeah, that’s it. Bye.”

I delete the message and go to the next.

“Hey, Mia, this is Michelle Henderson from The Hamilton Array. I really enjoyed meeting you and I’d love to meet with you one on one. It’s currently 1:36 p.m. on Thursday. I’m going to be in my office until 4:00 today. You can either call me back, or I’ll email you. But if you could make it in at any point today, that would be great.”

HELL YES!

I replay the message a few more times to make sure I’m hearing it properly, then I call her right back and agree to come in for a second interview before their office closes today. I quickly change into a professional outfit and leave the condo, walking the short distance to Eric’s tattoo shop.

After checking in with the receptionist, I head up to Eric’s floor. I almost yell across the room for his attention, but I see Dean sitting in his chair. I see him getting another addition to the sleeve on his right arm.

“What’s up, Mia?” Eric sets down the tattoo gun.

“I really need to borrow your car.”

“My car? Why?”

“I have an interview, but it’s not at the main gallery I’ve applied to. The manager wants me to meet her at her office that’s thirteen miles out.”

“Well, unless you’re going to figure out how to drive a stick in the next thirty minutes, I don’t see how that’s going to work.”

“Your car is a stick?”

“Yeah, it’s an Audi R8.  You can drive my old car though.”

“What’s your old car?”

“It’s a grey Honda Civic.” Dean says, looking me up and down.

“Okay, well can I drive that like now? I need all the extra time I can get.”

“Yeah, hold on, let me grab the keys from the back.” He stands up and heads to the back, leaving me and Dean alone.

Dean crosses his arms and leans back. “Any idea what happened to my five boxes of protein bars?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?” He raises his eyebrow. “I set them on the counter last night and they were gone this morning.”

“Depends. Do you know what happened to my rosemary chicken leftovers? What about my mashed potatoes and steak? Have any idea what happened to those?”

“No.” His eyes turn to slits. “Not a clue.”

Eric returns with a set of keys before I can say something else to Dean.

“Don’t fuck up my car, Mia,” Eric says. “It’s only two years old.”

“I won’t.” I start to ask him why he has more than one car, but then I realize he actually has three cars. The car we rode back in from dinner was a Lexus.

How much money does he make doing this?

“Mia?” Eric waves his hand in front of my face. “Why are you standing there talking to yourself?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking out loud.”

“I bet...” Dean mutters under his breath.

“Do you want one of us to come with you?” Eric asks. “I could probably get you there faster.”

“Not at all.” I hold up my smart phone and rush toward the door. “I have GPS. I’ll be fine.” I make my way to the parking garage next door and slide behind the wheel of the Civic.

I type in the address and am surprised that it’s a straight shot along the highway.

I take my time driving there, and go over all the potential questions in my head on the way over, hoping for the best.

***

The interview lasted all of fifteen minutes, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I felt like as soon as I sat down it was over, and outside of her asking to see pictures of my previous artwork on my phone, she didn’t ask anything that hadn’t been asked before.

Feeling slightly defeated, I try to replay the interview in my mind to see if I can gauge her facial expressions.

I’m crossing the threshold of the City limits when I suddenly see blue lights flashing in my rear view mirror. There’s a black squad car that’s rushing toward me, but I notice the red car at my left is going way faster than I am.