“I am,” she insists. “I’m a crier. I can’t help it. I cry when I’m happy. I cry when I’m sad. I cry when I’m angry. I understand it’s annoying. It was too much for Harry to deal with. Hence the barista.”

“It’s not annoying. And as for Harry, that’s not an excuse. If he couldn’t deal, then he should have broken it off with you before the barista.”

“That might be true.” She nods and pats at her face again.

Queen Bee and Fifi want to go out for drinks to celebrate, and they attempt to cajole us to come out with them. But Dolly’s not in the mood and I don’t want to leave her alone, so we drive back to Emeryville together.

We go back to the apartment, mostly in silence, each consumed in our own thoughts.

We part ways and say goodnight. Dolly’s eyes are sad.

Later that night, when I crawl into bed, once again the sobs leak through the wall.

There has to be something I can do. I can make this day better. If not for me, then for someone else.

Chapter Fifteen

I make plans for Hugo.

Maybe I shouldn’t bother. Maybe this is just me, doing what I do, avoiding my own problems and instead obsessing over something else, a futile attempt to regain control of the uncontrollable, but it’s better than obsessing over Alex, or my dozens of failed attempts to keep my crappy day job.

Perhaps getting Hugo to stop crying won’t make the date tick over to the eighth, but at least someone can end this day with joy, even if it’s not me. So I go back to Hugo’s and the new goal is to find a way to make Hugo happy. I have all the time in the world to figure this out, right? So I think and stew and plan and come up with something to help Dolly.

“What if Dolly had one of those, like, half-man, half-woman costumes? Then she could do both parts, right?” I ask Queen Bee when she comes out and sits next to me during the audition.

“I saw Glamamore do a performance like that once and it was fantastic. But baby, Dolly would need an appropriate costume and she’s six seven. That means finding a seamstress three weeks ago. There’s no way to craft one in ten minutes unless you’ve got some magic fingers.”

No magic fingers, but I do have a magic closet. I stew on it until Hugo appears later and I throw the same question at him.

He shakes his head sadly. “It’s too late for all that.”

“What if you could go back in time and have the perfect outfit to perform the song alone? Would you consider it?”