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vodka.”
    â€œ What?! Congratulations! That’s fucking fantastic!” It really was.
    Renee must have liked Sophia’s reaction. She smiled broadly, letting her happiness come out. “It’s good money,” she said. “Great exposure. It’s going to take me places, I’m sure of it. Sorry I didn’t tell you right away, but things have sucked so hard for so long for you.”
    â€œThat’s crazy. I’m thrilled for you.”
    â€œIt’s only human nature to be jealous.”
    â€œHonestly, I’m not,” said Sophia. “I’m relieved! We’re going to be in LA at the same time.”
    Renee nodded. “I’ll be really busy but we’ll definitely get together.”
    A blow off? Really? With her landing a big job, Renee’s opinion of Sophia seemed to have changed. Did she see her as a thirsty wannabe now, one of the people she’d leave behind on her road to stardom?
    â€œFrom Molson to Skyy vodka, from five percent alcohol to twenty percent. You went up fifteen percent in the alcohol world!” said Sophia, grinning. Renee wasn’t amused, though. It was meant to be a joke, not an insult. Sophia hoped it didn’t come out wrong. “You think I could meet the Skyy people?” she asked. You didn’t lose anything by asking.
    â€œYeah, sure,” said Renee. “I don’t know if they’ll have time. I’ll ask, but no promises.”
    â€œOkay,” said Sophia.
    DJ Squayla cued up. The overhead house lights went off, and the LED spots came on. The club was open for business. Sophia smiled at Renee, and gladly left the bar to man her section. The conversation had been disquieting. She vowed to herself that if she ever had any kind of success, she’d be generous with it.
    In the meantime, Sophia would have to accept the unfortunate truth. Renee was right. She was jealous, absolutely seething with it. You could be happy for someone—and she was happy for Renee—while also wishing you were the one doing the victory dance. The feeling wasn’t fair, but neither was life. You could be the next Meryl Streep, but unless you got a break, no one would ever know. On the other hand, you might have all the talent of a bar of soap, but if the right person-in-a-position liked you, hello limelight.
    Fuck fame , she thought. It’s not about that for me .
    Then Sophia called bullshit on herself. I do want it all. Success and everything that comes with it , she thought. The first step to mastering her craft was to acknowledge and explore the ugly emotions inside—including jealousy.
    *   *   *
    â€œBottle of Magnum Grey Goose,” shouted the silver suit with a mustache, diamond studs, and grabby hands at table one.
    Sophia could barely hear him over the thudding house music. She didn’t need to. When it came to brand names of premium vodka, champagne, and tequila, Sophia could read lips. The crew at table one—four creeps in Armani suits and six girls around her age—were already on their second bottle. The table charge alone was $4,000 for ten people. Each bottle was $1,500. If they didn’t stiff her, her tip could be huge.
    Just to confirm so there was no haggling over the immense bill later, she leaned down to speak into the guy’s ear. “Magnum Grey Goose, right?”
    The stachehole answered by slapping her ass, hard enough to make a solid thwack . The other guys in the booth laughed uproariously, because harassment was hilarious.
    Sophia wagged a finger at him. “Bad touch,” she said, smiling with tight lips. “I’ll be right back with your bottle.”
    Walk like a star , she told herself, navigating through the sweaty masses. Sophia shouted the order to Renee, who sounded an air horn. It was a call to all bottle-service girls to come to the bar. Renee taped three sparklers onto the neck of the bottle and dropped it in a flashing