Sherry Day was over the moon. Sleeping with that producer had been worthwhile after all. She hadn’t gotten the part, but she had wound up with seats at the Oscar Awards, the hottest ticket in town. She would go dressed to the nines in a backless gown, something plunging to the waist, her outfit just screaming for attention. One way or another she would get on TV, and it would lead to something big.
She knew it was a pipe dream, but it was a nice pipe dream, and it made up for a bunch of bad readings and missed auditions and cattle-call extra work, and the whole sad cycle of desperation and despair. For one glorious night she’d be somebody.
Her cell phone rang. She fumbled for it in her purse, saying the same little prayer she always did on these occasions. “Let it be my agent.”
“Sherry Day?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Sylvester, I’m a friend of Nelson Hogue’s. Do you remember the party at the Richter estate?”
Sherry did. She’d begged a massive favor from Nelson, to secure her an invitation to a party at the home of a prestigious Hollywood agent. The agent didn’t seem the least bit interested in her, and some of the guests got the impression she’d been hired from an escort service.
“Well, you owe him, and he owes me. I need a favor. He offered to transfer the indebtedness. I understand you’re going to the Oscars.”
Sherry’s heart sank. “Yes, I am.”
“Well, good for you. It’s almost impossible to get those tickets. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”
Sherry’s relief was palpable. “Yes, I’m sure I will.”
“You have two tickets, don’t you? Who is your date?”
“My boyfriend.”
“Yeah. About that. I’m afraid he won’t be able to go.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. I have someone to take his place.”