didn't you fucking tell me?!"
I feel my cheeks begin to fill with blood, radiating a flustered and angered heat. I so wish I lived alone.
"Chlo, wake up, wake up!"
I can't control myself any longer; I bolt upright, and throw another errant pillow at the door, watching it bounce off with all the playful energy of a toy. Somehow, she interprets that as an invitation to enter. Sigh . The door springs open, exposing my otherwise dimly-lit room to a memory-provoking ocean of bright light, and she hops inside; an annoying spring in her step.
"Daniel fucking Grant."
I strain my eyes at her, feeling a twinge of something inside that sets my heart back into overdrive - guilt? Panic? Lust? - as she repeats those words with sizeable relish, and plants herself at the foot of my bed.
"Wait, what?" I manage to spit out, cautiously. She's almost humming with excitement; her outline against the harsh, brutal Sunlight buzzes with a certain juvenile energy.
"You didn't tell me you'd spoken to Daniel fucking Grant this morning!"
"I uhm..." Oh fuck , what does she know? Did he call? Did I get the job? Does she know about my indecent audition? I play it safe; act cool, Chlo . "I didn't know you cared."
If I didn't know my own twin sister better, I'd almost say she looks insulted. Her face turns from giddy excitement to pointed dejection, and before I can sleepily draw my arms to my face in defense, she's picked the pillow back up from the floor, and flung it back into my eyes.
"You bitch," she rasps between gritted teeth, using every bit of that law-room education of hers. "Don't you think I need to know these things? Huh !?"
"I audition all the time!" I yell back, scratching my head of unkempt black hair, trying not to let her unprovoked incredulity get the better of me. "What, are you my agent now?"
Silence . Her expression inverts from a fizzling anger, to something much more sly. With a knowing grin, she drops to her elbows to the bed, and leans over to me, trying her hardest to read me. Then, in an apparent eureka moment, she's figured it all out.
"You don't know do you?"
Again, heart-pounding guilt; dry-mouthed confusion; nerve-wrenching anxiety. What the fuck is going on? She puts me out of my misery with a pointed finger to my laptop in the corner of the room, sitting precariously upon a pile of un-ironed clothes.
"Wikipedia. Daniel Grant. Check him out."
And with that moment of self-satisfied smugness, she picks herself up and leaps out of the room, leaving me to wonder just what the hell I've gotten myself into. Shaking the panging pain of a headache from my skull, I reach across for the laptop, boot it up, and do as she says.
***
"So," is the only word I manage to coax from her as I sullenly plant myself back upon the couch next to her, taking an abstract moment to scan the place for rats and cockroaches. Jesus this place is filthy . I look over to her, and quietly process all the excitable questions she asks, and all incredulous protests she makes about my so-called audition this morning. I try to act cool; try to remain the icy and aloof Chlo that's won me so many icy and aloof-looking extra roles.
"You know, we should really clean this place up."
"What's he like!?" she barks at me with crazed eyes and flared nostrils, "What did he say? What was he dressed like? Oh, tell me everything!"
I can't even believe it myself. I don't make a habit of researching my directors and casting agents and co-workers and so-on online. I guess I'm just scared of what I might find out. And, of course, I could think of better things to do than bury my head inside a gossip magazine for hours on end. But how come everyone knows who Daniel Grant is in this town, apart from me?
My first audition with a renowned billionaire. Not just any billionaire, either. But, as I've come to learn via a poorly written wikipedia article, one of the foremost movie producers in town. From what I understand you'd be hard-pressed to find a movie