“I don’t know. I don’t watch much TV.” Emme continued working my feet, mindful to rub away the excess lotion between my toes.

Dani swooped down in front of her so that they were eye-to-eye. “I don’t know how you managed to worm your way into this shift, but I want to warn you that if you do anything improper, I’ll have you moved to another floor. Understand?”

Emme nodded and pressed her fingers into my arch a bit. Her cheeks had flushed pink. I longed to make my toes twitch back my support.

“Well, ring if you need anything,” Dani said ultra-pleasantly on her way out the door.

“Will do,” Emme called after her.

“I don’t like her one bit,” Emme whispered after she had gone. Then she pulled the covers over my feet, pumped fresh lotion into her palms, and took my cold hand into her plump, warm ones.

SLOW DISSOLVE TO:

INT. PEYSER AGENCY

DAY

1987

To Daddy’s disappointment, I decided against pursuing higher education. Not that I had a choice having flunked every class except P.E. my senior year.

So what if I didn’t know capitals or continents? If I couldn’t tell the proper usage of a comma over a colon? I had all the prerequisites for a career in show business—connections and an unquenchable thirst for attention.

Penny Peyser was a former child actress and gymnast who had opened her own agency. Though not hugely successful, like William Morris or ICM, she had forged a nice reputation for delivering fresh young faces with talent.

Her office was located in the Nine Thousand Building on Sunset. For my appointment, I’d chosen a summery dress that I hoped made me look fresh and ingénue-like. My hair was being extremely uncooperative. Though I’d blow-dried it straight that morning, frizz shot out and sprang sideways. Still, I felt fairly confident, at least from the neck down, and as I rode the elevator to the sixth floor, I felt like I was ascending into adulthood.

Penny met me at the door with a firm handshake. She was barely five feet tall, with blonde hair cut in a Dorothy Hamill wedge, a style likely leftover from her gymnast days. She motioned me to sit.

“So, you’re Sid’s kid,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Oy, Jackie Jackie.”

This was not the greeting I was hoping for. “What’s wrong?”

Penny pulled up a chair next to me. She picked up a roll of peppermint Lifesavers and popped one in her mouth. She held it between her front teeth and exhaled.

“Jackie, dear,” she said through the O, “no offense, you are a very attractive young lady and it would be one thing if you could sing like Streisand. But if you want to be an actress, you’re gonna have to go for rhinoplasty.”

“Rhinoplasty? You mean…?”