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Authors: Fiona Wilde
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in high school or college, but I was kind of wondering if you'd ever consider stage work. I mean, you are so darn pretty. So fresh-faced pretty. If I referred you it could be good for both of us financially."
"You mean I could make money?" Naomi's eyes had widened in disbelief. She'd all but given up any notion of making it, and this handsome stranger now thought she had a shot at a job.
"Good money," he said.
Naomi remembered feeling a sudden uneasiness. Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. People just didn't give job offers to down-and-out strangers they met on the street.
But Jasper seemed so nice. He wasn't some leering old man in a trench coat. He was a young person, a contemporary.
"What do you say?" he asked. "Will you at least talk to my boss if I set it up?"
"Sure, OK," she said.
"Where are you staying?"
Naomi had looked down. "The underpass," she said. "The shelter's been full the last two nights."
"Well that won't do," he said and reached into his pocket and took out a card. "Here's the address for a motel over on Vine Street. It's not fancy, but it's clean and has a shower and free cable. I'll call the owner and tell him I'm sending you over."
Naomi took the card, not knowing what to say.
"You can pay me back after I get you work," he said standing.
Naomi looked up at him. "Thank you so much," she said. "When do you want me to meet with your boss?"
"Let me show him your picture and make sure you're what he has in mind. If you are then I'll come over in the morning and let you know what time you're meeting." He pulled out his camera phone. "Smile."
Naomi had put her hands in front of her face. "No!" she said. "I look horrible!"
He rolled his eyes. "I could roll you in mud and you'd still look beautiful," he said. "Smile."
Naomi managed a smile and then blinked against the bright flash of the phone.
After Jasper left she sat there nervously chewing her nails as she thought about what all this meant. She wanted to believe he was on the up and up. She had to believe it. But what if the guy he wanted her to meet wasn't in theatre. What if he was a pimp who drugged and raped her as soon as she stepped in his office.
"Honey, you want anything else?" The waitress interrupted her thoughts.
"No. No thanks." Naomi stood, clutching the business card and rising from her chair. It was getting late, and she kept her head down as she walked quickly to the hotel on Vine Street. Her doubt grew with each step. Something had to be wrong. When she got there the desk clerk would probably look at her like she was crazy. That's when she'd find out this had all been some kind of sick practical joke.
But the Indian clerk just nodded when she told him who she was and handed her a key to Room 17. Just as Jasper had promised, it was clean with a working shower and cable TV. After her shower Naomi used the remaining shampoo sample to wash her clothes in the bathtub. She hung them up to dry on the shower curtain rod and then - clad in a faded Misfits t-shirt and her last clean pair of underwear she collapsed on the bed and flipped through the channels until she came to a marathon of Spongebob reruns.
It was the perfect viewing choice for someone who didn't want to concentrate on a plot, and Naomi's mind was racing so fast that it was hard to even keep up with the antics of the animated sea sponge and his starfish sidekick. Would Jasper really call in the morning? Would his boss really want to see her based on grainy cell phone snap? If he did, what would he want her to do?
She fell asleep with those questions swirling in her mind; it had been days since she'd slept on a real mattress and was in such a deep slumber that she nearly didn't hear the phone ring at 9 a.m. It was the desk clerk - a woman this time - reminding her that breakfast was included in her room price and the dining room was only open for early diners until ten.
Naomi's stomach was growling in spite of her big dinner so she hastily dressed and went
"You mean I could make money?" Naomi's eyes had widened in disbelief. She'd all but given up any notion of making it, and this handsome stranger now thought she had a shot at a job.
"Good money," he said.
Naomi remembered feeling a sudden uneasiness. Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. People just didn't give job offers to down-and-out strangers they met on the street.
But Jasper seemed so nice. He wasn't some leering old man in a trench coat. He was a young person, a contemporary.
"What do you say?" he asked. "Will you at least talk to my boss if I set it up?"
"Sure, OK," she said.
"Where are you staying?"
Naomi had looked down. "The underpass," she said. "The shelter's been full the last two nights."
"Well that won't do," he said and reached into his pocket and took out a card. "Here's the address for a motel over on Vine Street. It's not fancy, but it's clean and has a shower and free cable. I'll call the owner and tell him I'm sending you over."
Naomi took the card, not knowing what to say.
"You can pay me back after I get you work," he said standing.
Naomi looked up at him. "Thank you so much," she said. "When do you want me to meet with your boss?"
"Let me show him your picture and make sure you're what he has in mind. If you are then I'll come over in the morning and let you know what time you're meeting." He pulled out his camera phone. "Smile."
Naomi had put her hands in front of her face. "No!" she said. "I look horrible!"
He rolled his eyes. "I could roll you in mud and you'd still look beautiful," he said. "Smile."
Naomi managed a smile and then blinked against the bright flash of the phone.
After Jasper left she sat there nervously chewing her nails as she thought about what all this meant. She wanted to believe he was on the up and up. She had to believe it. But what if the guy he wanted her to meet wasn't in theatre. What if he was a pimp who drugged and raped her as soon as she stepped in his office.
"Honey, you want anything else?" The waitress interrupted her thoughts.
"No. No thanks." Naomi stood, clutching the business card and rising from her chair. It was getting late, and she kept her head down as she walked quickly to the hotel on Vine Street. Her doubt grew with each step. Something had to be wrong. When she got there the desk clerk would probably look at her like she was crazy. That's when she'd find out this had all been some kind of sick practical joke.
But the Indian clerk just nodded when she told him who she was and handed her a key to Room 17. Just as Jasper had promised, it was clean with a working shower and cable TV. After her shower Naomi used the remaining shampoo sample to wash her clothes in the bathtub. She hung them up to dry on the shower curtain rod and then - clad in a faded Misfits t-shirt and her last clean pair of underwear she collapsed on the bed and flipped through the channels until she came to a marathon of Spongebob reruns.
It was the perfect viewing choice for someone who didn't want to concentrate on a plot, and Naomi's mind was racing so fast that it was hard to even keep up with the antics of the animated sea sponge and his starfish sidekick. Would Jasper really call in the morning? Would his boss really want to see her based on grainy cell phone snap? If he did, what would he want her to do?
She fell asleep with those questions swirling in her mind; it had been days since she'd slept on a real mattress and was in such a deep slumber that she nearly didn't hear the phone ring at 9 a.m. It was the desk clerk - a woman this time - reminding her that breakfast was included in her room price and the dining room was only open for early diners until ten.
Naomi's stomach was growling in spite of her big dinner so she hastily dressed and went
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