Getting home and catching up on messages.

You cruise home in the rental car. Traffic is very light and you make great time. You stop at a McDonald's drive-thru and pick up some nuggets. That's probably not the healthiest choice but it's after midnight and there's no way you're puttering around town trying to find anything better. While you wait for your order, you check your phone really quick, one text and no voicemail in the queue. You check the text, it's just a quick one from Kat.

"Tks for the cash, I got the shift. Glad yr escaping this crazy place! See ya!"

That's Kat, straight to the point! Your mail icon is lit but that'll wait until you get home. There's no way you want to try to read through that stuff in the parking lot light. Email is weird. Unlike texts, email tends to be spam or important. Few folks you know even bother with it. You collect your 6 piece and finish the drive home picking at the chicken when you can.

Once there you grab your stuff and it's a quick walk upstairs. No Jim this time in the foyer, maybe he does sleep after all? You open your door and toss your stuff on the couch. Then you hit the fridge, grab some wine and plop down in the chair at the laptop. Open the black case, hook up the USB 'key' and start checking email while you eat. As usual, most of it is spam but there are five pieces that could be important, so you start reading between bites.

The first is from Decard confirming the Wednesday evening apartment inspection. To your surprise, it sounds totally business-like and not a trace of creepy in the short missive. Did he get a secretary or is he sick, you muse as you dump it in your bills folder and move to the next.

The second is from Kuhn reminding you to check-in Wednesday or Thursday to discuss work available. You're still not exactly sure what to call him. You've settled on agent since that seems his title but you suspect someone on the outside looking in would call him a pimp. You guess it doesn't matter though, it is what it is.

The third is from the college reminding you that you have to report to the financial aid department to finish withdrawing from school. Finaid is the feds so there's really no way around it you guess. They probably want to hit you with the 'doom and gloom' speech over how they'll make you pay stuff back and affect future eligibility yada, yada, yada. You can almost feel the bureaucratic sneering between the lines as you finish up.

You pop out to the rental website and re-up the car until Wednesday so you can head into school later today. Better to rip that band-aid off quick, you think as you open the fourth. You see it's from Professor Edwards, your theater teacher. Makes sense, out of the three classes you take this semester, he's always been the one that liked the personal touch. It's a reply to the absence email you sent yesterday evening. You still think it has more to do with your ass than any talent but he's been careful to keep professional verbally. If it weren't for the occasional stares and his habit of giving you class roles with short skirts and lots of bending, you'd probably not have thought anything of him. It's a little weird though given he's brought his partner in on a few occasions. It made sense since she runs the local playhouse. Maybe this is a kinky game they play? He stares, flirts and she gets off on being told about it?

"Stop being a dweeb," you laugh out loud. "He's a guy and they always like to stare."

You read the email. It starts with the professor talking about how important acting productions are for the health of the public psyche. He goes on to talk about how sad it makes him to see you withdraw given the copious amounts of talent you have demonstrated in class. He admits he doesn't know what situation you are in that made you file to leave but the class he teaches is very flexible and he could move you to a different timeslot if need be. He offers to meet and discuss the situation if you like before completing your enrollment termination. It's interesting that he'd propose a meeting to try and work something out, but that's just one of three classes and you have no idea what your work schedule will be like. You save it for later to think about in the morning.

The last is from Jack. It surprises you he has your email, to be honest. You didn't give it to him and had typoed it on the questionnaire you filled out for Brett. Maybe when it bounced back he guessed where you goofed in the address and resent it? Your first impression of him wasn't the best. You know he as a thing for red hair, owns the adult bookstore downtown, and paid a pretty penny to fuck you on a desk during your casting. You also know you thought he was an asshole but the money was good enough so you did it anyway.

The email is short. He wishes you well and says he might have some work if you are interested. His contact information is at the bottom of the mail. He must not want to take the chance that you threw his card away. You're pretty sure it's still buried in the bottom of your purse. You pop a quick email reply thanking him for his interest and giving him Kuhn's contact information explaining your agent handles business inquiries. You aren't so sure what to think of Jack, best to let a professional deal with him.

Happy that you have that out of the way, you close up your email and clean up your mess from dinner. Then you hop in the shower and get ready for bed. You set your cell alarm for 9 am and drift off to sleep hoping the nightmares stay away this time.