to see things more clearly。
Ken Mogul is a soulless sellout。 He was making a run…of…the…mill Hollywood teen soap while she
was an experimental auteur！ She had no business wasting her time and her talent on that crap。 She
was bound for NYU； the best film program in the country。 She？d have access to the finest
professors； world…class equipment； and an entire acting program full of the most talented student
actors around。 Why should she be wasting her time as a hack； working on a project she didn？t
believe in when she could be working her ass off and saving up the cold hard cash to produce her
own film in the fall。 She already had an idea for a feature； about a conflicted young artist forced to
choose between following her muse or staying in a rapidly decaying relationship with her insane
incense…and…herbal…tea…addicted writer boyfriend。
Sounds like a case of art imitating life。
A sour…faced maid in an honest…to…God black skirt with white apron and little white lace doily on
her head opened the heavy glass door。 ？Can I help you？？ she demanded suspiciously。
？I？m here about the job；？ Vanessa slurred。 ？The mom？s daughter；？ she paused momentarily
fumbling with the girl？s name。 ？Jasmine！ That？s it。 She told me to e and see her mom about a
job。 So I did。？
The maid frowned。 ？I see。 e in then。 The lady of the house will meet you in her office。？
Vanessa stomped through the marble foyer； past a sweeping staircase illuminated by a massive
crystal chandelier； and into a mahogany…paneled room lined with bookcases and furnished with
tasteful antiques。 She had no idea what the job in question was； but clearly this was a very
successful business…woman。 She was probably a busy executive in desperate need of a petent
personal assistant。 It was sure to be shit work； but artists always had to suffer for their art； unless
they wanted to make mercial shit like Ken Mogul。
？Please wait here；？ the maid instructed。
Vanessa perched on the edge of an ornate Art Deco wood chair。 The room was ever…so…slightly
spinning； and she gripped the seat tightly。Just don？t throw up ； she told herself。
？You my new friend？？
Vanessa looked up。 There was no one there。
Great； I？m so trashed I？m hearing voices。
？You my new friend？？ asked the voice again before dissolving into giggles。
？Wh…who？s there？？ Vanessa called out nervously。 The last thing she wanted was to be caught
talking to herself in front of her new boss。
？Are you a girl？？ another voice asked。
？Why don？t you have any hair？？ asked the first voice。
Twovoices？ How much had she had to drink？
Vanessa held her breath and listened。 She stood up。 Where were the voices ing from？ She
knelt and pressed her cheek to the cold； perfectly polished wood floor； scanning the room from
that vantage。 It worked： under the gilded wood couch she could make out the figure of a skinny
little boy with taut curly hair。
？You found me！？ he cried； clambering out from under the couch。
？Yeah； hi；？Vanessa said。？Is your mommy home？？
？You smell like wine；？ the boy announced； frowning。 ？I？m four。 How old are you？？
？Find me too！？ cried the other voice。
What could she do？
？Where are you？？ she called out； propping herself up on her hands and knees。 She looked under
the other furniture。
？Find me； find me！？ the voice called。
She followed the sound of the voice to the corner of the library； where a large globe stood on a
round glass…topped table。 She lifted the tablecloth； and underneath was a little boy who looked；
and was dressed； exactly like the other kid。
？You found me！？ the boy cried。 He dashed out from under the table and ran over to the couch；
where his brother was still bouncing。 He leaped onto the couch and rammed into his brother。 The
two boys tumbled onto the floor。
？Boys！？ called a voice。 A tall； magenta…pink…Chanel…suit…clad redheaded woman strode into the
library； clutching a Treo and a rolled up copy ofVogue 。
？You must be Vanessa；？ the woman observed in a clipped tone。 ？Jasmine mentioned you might
be calling。 I？m a little surprised you？ve decided to just drop by； but I suppose that？s fine。 Shows
initiative。 I like that。？
Oops。
？Right；？ Vanessa said； standing up and trying her best to appear pletely sober。 ？You must be
Mrs。。。。？？She paused； realizing that she had no idea what Jasmine？s last name was。
？It？s Ms。 Morgan；？ the woman replied。 ？I didn？t take my husband？s name。 This is the
twenty…first century； after all。？
？Sorry；？Vanessa mumbled。 This was the weirdest job interview ever。
？No matter；？ the woman continued。 ？You？re clearly a hit with the boys。？
？The boys？？Vanessa asked。 The twins came up behind her； pulling on her hands with all their
might。
？Play with us！？ they cried。
？So； you know； the job is fairly standard。？ Ms。 Morgan fiddled with her Treo for a moment。 ？A
few days a week； just in the afternoons。 You？ll fetch the boys from camp； run them to their
therapist； acpany them on their playdates； the usual sort of thing。 No doubt you know the drill。？
She put the phone to her ear。
Camp？Playdates ？ Excuse me？
？I think there？s been some misunderstanding；？ Vanessa stammered； struggling to stay upright
with the wine in her system and the weight of two kids tugging her floorward。 Suffering for her art
was all well and good； but she was no Mrs。 Doubtfire。
？Yay！？ the twins cried。 ？Mommy； is Vanessa our new friend？？
？Yes；？ the woman answered； her ear still glued to the over…size phone。 ？She？s your new friend。？
She was？
？It？s eighteen dollars an hour；？ Ms。 Morgan added as she clicked out into the foyer and up the
grand staircase。 ？You can start right now。？
Oh yeah； she definitelyis 。
one is the loneliest number
？Archibald！？ Coach Michaels yelled up at the roof。 ？I want to hear your lazy ass banging those
shingles。 Now！？
？Yes； sir；？ Nate Archibald muttered as he watched Coach climb into his blue minivan and back
out of the short driveway； honking a cheerfulbeep beep be…beep as he sped off down the suburban
Hampton Bays street。 Nate could picture him popping Viagra and jacking off to the pornos he
probably kept in the glove partment。
Douche bag；Nate added silently。 Sweat stinging his eyes； he ran a hand across his forehead and
frowned down at the black…shingled roof。Idiot； he told himself for the hundredth time that morning。
It was only nine o？clock； but the brutal sun was pounding down； the scratchy shingles were
tearing up his knees； and his back throbbed。 Nate straightened up to full height and pulled off his
drenched lime…green Stussy T…shirt。 Then he dropped his hammer and sat down； even though the
roof was so hot he could feel it burning his ass through his shorts。
He dug around in his pockets for the lovingly hand…rolled Thai stick joint he？d been smart
enough to stash there the night before。 Nate pulled out the yellow plastic lighter he kept tucked
into his sock and lit the joint； inhaling deeply。
Wake and bake。 The breakfast of champions。
His fuckup was costing him； that was for sure； but Nate was determined not to let one mistake
ru