“No. I don’t need my mother to go with me. That’s bizarre. Go shop or something. I’ll call you when I’m done.” Chase didn’t wait for her mother to answer. Instead she grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car. She looked down at the plain manila folder in her bag and almost smiled. When she’d looked at the casting director’s email about headshots, she’d found a copy of Tinseltown Tattler with her picture from some awards show plastered across the front and had been tempted to submit it. She’d been wearing a light-pink, fluffy gown and looked to be impersonating a junkie ballerina. Seemed appropriate. But she’d not done it and found some dated headshots instead.

She pushed into the office door and checked in with the receptionist, then settled onto an uncomfortable chair with about five other women, none of whom she recognized.

But they recognized her.

And that made her super embarrassed.

Because they knew she’d screwed up her life so badly that she couldn’t be trusted based on her name and past work alone. These actors were still striving to make it to where she’d been, and they probably resented like hell that she’d squandered away her good fortune. Perhaps they even resented the fact that they had to compete with someone who was such a train wreck.

But not anymore, Chase. You’ve changed, and you have to accept your past and the scrutiny it brings. Actions bring reactions.

“Miss London?” a harried-looking assistant said from the open doorway.

Chase stood and offered a genuine smile while batting away the giant flamingos flitting around her stomach. Wait. Flamingos didn’t flit. But those wings thrashing around were bigger than butterfly wings, that was for damn sure.

“Thank you,” she said, sliding past the woman who held the door ajar.

In the audition room she found the casting director, who she recognized from the picture on the email she’d sent with the directions and call time, a camera guy, and a woman who looked sour. The assistant holding the door handed the manila folder with her headshot and résumé to the sourpuss while Chase set her purse on the floor beside her, grabbed her sides, and gave those assembled a nod of greeting. “Hello, everyone.”

The casting director looked up and smiled. “Hello, Miss London, it’s nice to see you. Thank you for taking the time to come in today.”

“I was under the impression it was pretty much required.” Chase gave a self-deprecating laugh, showing that she wasn’t being whiny, just acknowledging that she hadn’t had an option.