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don’t know . . . broken up. You just got dumped by Chazz Jackson, right?”
    “I’m not broken up,” Lauren said. “And I dumped him.”
    “Yeah?” the man asked.
    “Yeah. And I bet you can make more than a grand.”
    “I used to make that much for pictures of you and Chazz,” the man said. “Without Chazz, I don’t know.”
    “Well, sell it this way,” Lauren said. “Here’s a picture of Lauren Short on her way to jump-start her career, and unlike what you might expect, she’s actually happy.”
    “I don’t know,” the man said. “It sounds too nice, and nice doesn’t sell in this town.”
    “Should I frown, then?” Lauren asked.
    “It would help,” the man said.
    Lauren laughed. “I’m too happy to frown, man. Have a good one.”
    After half an hour of fighting traffic on the 405 and the 101, Lauren arrived at Tumbleweed’s low-slung studio.
    It looks more like a strip mall than a studio, Lauren thought. Oh, I have really come down in the world. I’m going to work in a strip mall.
    After finding a spot in the visitors’ parking lot, she found a security guard, who escorted her to a low-ceilinged soundstage, where she met the director, Randy Ware, and Barbie Perry, her character’s buxom sidekick. They sat around a card table and highlighted scripts in front of them.
    “I am so glad to be working with you, Miss Short,” Randy said.
    “It is truly an honor,” Barbie said. “I saw Feel the Love twenty times when I was eight. I wanted to be Angel so badly.”
    Oh, thanks for making me feel old, Barbie. “Well, it’s good to be here,” Lauren said. “I might be a little rusty, so bear with me.”
    “It’s like riding a bike,” Randy said.
    No, it isn’t. Rosalind Russell once said, “Acting is standing up naked and turning around very slowly,” and right now, I’m afraid to turn around at any speed.
    “Randy, before we begin, I have to tell you something.” Lauren glanced at Barbie. “This script needs work. This script needs an overhaul. This script is bad. I’ve read hundreds of scripts, and this might be the all-time worst script in world history.”
    Randy blinked rapidly. “Really? I think it’s pretty good.”
    “I think it’s funny,” Barbie said.
    My costar and director are idiots. “Many of these lines are beyond wrong. Don’t be surprised if I go off script often today.”
    “For our purposes today,” Randy said, “please read the script as written, Lauren.”
    “No half-intelligent woman would say these lines,” Lauren said.
    “This is only a reading, Lauren,” Randy said. “We can smooth out the rough edges later.”
    They began the scene, and when Lauren read, “He’d probably shock me every time he touched me,” she read it with absolutely no emotion.
    “Come on, Lauren,” Randy said. “Put some fire into it.”
    “Fire?” Lauren said. “The writer should be fired.”
    “Lauren, please,” Randy said. “Put some emotion into it.”
    “Oh,” Lauren said. “You want me to read it blacker.”
    “You know what I mean,” Randy said. “Camp it up. This is comedy.”
    “This is a joke,” Lauren said.
    “Girl, don’t you mess this up for me,” Barbie whispered. “I need this. I got bills.”
    “What are you whispering for?” Lauren asked. “Randy can hear you. I need this, too, but this excretion won’t get out of the pilot stage with writing like this.”
    “So it isn’t going to win any Emmys,” Barbie said. “But whether it’s good or not, it’s a paycheck, and I need a paycheck to pay back my college loans. Please read the line.”
    You want me to camp it up? I’ll camp it up. Lauren stood, waved her hands, and threw out her hip. “ Girrrl, did you see the rest of his sorry butt? His face was hairier than a Sasquatch on Rogaine. Puh-lease. Honey, I bet he’s all frickin’ static clingy from his frickin’ toes to his frickin’ nose. He’d probably frickin’ shock me every time he frickin’ touched me!”
    Randy