Betty stops brushing her hair. “Are you kidding?” She lets out a loud laugh. “That entitled prick couldn’t act his way out of a wet paper bag. Joshua wanted his social media audience to come to the show and make him relevant.”

“I have three thousand followers,” I brag.

“Not bad, but Chris Caesar had three million. Joshua needs a miracle to keep his career alive after the past two failures. Everyone knows that. Especially Joshua. You can feel the pressure building inside him. Bet he doesn’t sleep, just paces around his apartment all night chewing on toothpicks.”

It feels good to talk to Betty. Chris Caesar wasn’t an amazing actor—just a big draw for tickets. I can’t match him there, but I can act myself out of a paper bag.

“Honey,” Betty says. I turn around and look at her. She scoots over close to me. “You have a tough scene coming up. Very emotional. And Joshua isn’t going to make it easy on you. Reminds me of a show I did last year called Tough Broads. In the final scene, my character murders her boyfriend after years of domestic abuse. My scene partner—his name was Ronny—would hug me before and after we did the scene.”

“Why?” I ask.

“He wanted to make sure I knew it was just acting, the feelings weren’t real, and that I was safe. Would you like to do that with me?”

“I would,” I say, feeling those tears coming.

She pats my knee. “Good. It’s done, then. Keep that chin up and stay strong.”

I wipe away a tear.

“And do not cry in front of that man; tears are his power pellets. Don’t feed the beast.”

“Places,” Brady announces over the intercom.

I’m the first one onstage. Joshua is typing on his phone at the director’s table in the audience with his feet up. The reading lamp lights up his face—his beard shaggy, and a messy mop of curls on his head. He’s got an aura of gross around him. He looks up and sees me, smiles, and goes back to his phone. Hope he’s ready. I’m going to show him that I’m a star.

After the cast is out onstage, Joshua puts his phone down, picks up the mic, and says, “August, are you ready to run your scene?”

“I’m ready.”

“Fantastic,” he says. “Betty and August, why don’t you run the scene and we’ll work out the blocking after. Other actors, find a seat in the audience.”

“You got this, August,” an actor yells as I head into the wings with Betty. The cast claps, and someone whistles. No matter what, actors support each other.

I stand backstage and wait for Betty. My hands shake and my eyes have trouble focusing. My mouth feels dry. I need water. There’s no time.