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"I'm so nervous!" Hazel said to Amber as she stared at every outfit she owned laid out on the uncomfortable bed of her long-stay motel. "What do you think I should wear to my audition?"
Amber cocked her head to the side. She was one of the working girls who loitered by the fire escape of the Motel California every night, waiting for customers. Between jobs, she loved to show Hazel pictures of her son, Theo, on her phone.
"What look are you going for?" Amber picked up a sparkly sequined bandeau top that Hazel's boss at the café where she worked had insisted she wear last Halloween. "This is sexy." Amber held the top against her body, checking her appearance in the grimy mirror. Tall and voluptuous, with platinum blonde hair and almost black eyes, she was wearing an all-pleather outfit, with five-inch heels. Hazel cringed at the thought of walking around in them.
"I don't think I pull off sexy very well. Plus, it's a singing competition, not America's Next Top Model."
Amber turned around. "Girl, no. They're casting parts, just like everyone else."
Hazel knew she was right. The Sing Along, now in its tenth season on Fox, was looking for a hundred men and women who could sing and fill a role. Hazel only had a couple of hours before she had to show up to the cattle call where she'd line up all day and maybe, maybe, get a chance to sing in front of the judges. If she wanted that chance, Hazel knew she had to pick a lane; she just didn't know which lane would get her where she wanted to go.
"This would be a lot easier if you'd just tell me what to do."
Amber laughed and stepped to the front door. She opened it and popped her head out. The sky was a dusky pink, the sun rising slowly over Venice Beach.
"Any customers?" Hazel asked.
"Nope. Slow night."
Hazel felt relief. She knew her friend was fine with what she did for a living, but that didn't mean Hazel didn't want more for Amber. That went for herself, too. Her last year in this room had been depressing, and each passing day she felt further from her goals. When she finally got approached to audition for The Sing Along, it felt like her luck might be changing. But by the end of today, her dream could also be shattered into a million pieces. If Hazel thought too much about it, she'd break out in hives. Definitely not the right look for today.
Hazel picked up a green romper from the clothes pile. She looked cute in it, though it was a pain in the ass when she had to go to the bathroom. "How about this? I could do down-on-her-luck singer-songwriter with a plucky, can-do attitude, which is basically the truth."
"Loves it." Amber reached down to the dirty-infused rug. She stood up holding a pair of cowboy boots. "Wear these and do your hair in two braids. You won't look a day past eighteen."
"My I.D. says I'm twenty-two." Hazel had subtracted six years from her real age, not wanting to stray too far from the truth.
"You get that from Vern?"
"Yeah." Vern was the sketchy front-desk man who always seemed to need access to her room to "check the plumbing." Hazel made sure to count her underwear every time he left. "He said it was ironclad, and it better be given the $500 I had to fork over."
"His I.D.s are legit, even if he isn't." Amber rummaged through the old makeup on Hazel's dresser, her bright red nails clicking against the metal tubes. "This lip gloss should work. And just a hint of mascara."
"Thanks, Amber. I—" Hazel felt him before she saw him. Checkers, her rescue rabbit, was on the run, grazing past her leg as he hopped hopefully out of the room at a surprisingly fast pace. "Checkers!" Hazel called in vain. He never answered to his name. "Hold on!" she said to Amber as she sprinted past her to catch Checkers before he leapt into the scum covered pool that took up most of the courtyard.
She sprinted down the rickety stairs to the concrete landing and caught up to him right as he was about to jump into the brackish water. She gathered him to her chest. His heart was thrumming against his rib cage, thrilled by his near escape.
Hazel walked him back to Amber, who was waiting for her by the stairs. A black Toyota Camry pulled up and idled near the bottom of the fire escape.
"Duty calls," Amber said, eyeing the Toyota.
"I could waive him off."
"Nah, that's all right. Break a leg today." Amber sauntered toward the driver's window, then tossed her head back and mouthed, "Dad Bod" in an exaggerated way.
Hazel laughed, feeling her body unclench around Checker's soft fur. She watched Amber get into the Camry, then noted the license plate as it drove away, memorizing it like a piece of sheet music. She'd write it down when she got back to her room.
Checkers squirmed against her. She brought him to her face. "Bad bunny."
Checkers didn't respond, only gave her his patented sad-eyed look.
Hazel sighed. She only had Checkers because of this kid, Jessie, who'd stayed at the motel with his strung-out mom. She wasn't going to let him bring Checkers to their next stop, and they were going to release him into the wilds of Venice Beach. He wouldn't last a day.
"I'll take him!" Hazel had said, the words out of her mouth before her brain could catch up. His joyous smile had made it worth it at first, but she had no idea how to take care of a bunny. When she'd googled it, the first thing that came up was: bunnies typically go to the bathroom two to three hundred times a day. That, it turned out, was not even remotely an exaggeration.
She'd tried more than once to get rid of him, but she couldn't go through with it. Between the lingering memory of her promise to Jessie to keep him "forever and ever," and the fact that Checkers was her only company, she'd resigned herself to life with the rabbit.
When she got back to her room, she put Checkers in his cage, making sure the door was firmly shut. She wound her chestnut hair into two braids, one on each side of her face, letting them flop over her shoulders. She applied a light coat of lip gloss and one coat of mascara. Then she picked up the romper and held it against her body, the way Amber had done, checking herself in the mirror.
A young, down-on her-luck singer/songwriter stared back at her. She cocked her hip to the side and gave her friendliest grin, trying to project a can-do attitude. She almost didn't recognize herself, but that was the point.
Amber was right. The Sing Along was casting parts, and Hazel was determined to get one of them. She smiled at herself in the mirror again, trying to fill herself with confidence.
She could do this. She could do this. She was going to do this.
Hazel reached into her memory and pulled out the right lingo.
"Slate please!" she said, then mimicked holding up a slate.
She rotated through the other voices that would mark the start of filming on set. "Picture's up!"
"Roll sound, roll camera."
"Rolling!"
She slapped the fake slate shut, her hands clapping. "Scene 1, take 1."
"And, action!"
***
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