by Holly Rayner
“I remember.” London leaned against the bathroom’s doorjamb and watched as Leyla dug around in her makeup bag.
“Then what’s that face for?” Leyla laughed.
They locked gazes in the mirror, and London scrunched up her freckled nose.
“The idea of baking made me hungry. You wanna make some muffins?”
“I have an audition.”
London straightened up. “Ooh. That’s right. For a… gas station commercial, right?”
“An oil company. ClayFuel.” Leyla located her favorite lip liner and leaned close to the mirror to apply it.
“Nice. What time do you think you’ll be back?”
“I’m sure it won’t be that long. The audition is downtown.”
“Think you can let Sharkie out this afternoon?” London asked. “Amanda asked me to cover her shift at the salon.”
“Yeah. Course.”
Though London’s pug could be a lot to handle due to his constant wheezing and whining for food and pets, he was also adorable.
Leyla straightened up and inspected her reflection. “I’m not sure how to do my eyes.”
“Mascara. Nothing else.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” London said. “You’re already gorgeous without makeup.”
“Thanks. That’s sweet.”
“And true.” London peeked into the makeup bag. “Ooh. You got that new plumping gloss.”
“I think I should do some eyeshadow,” Leyla decided.
“Okay, but really. You look great. Just a touch of gold sparkle.”
Twisting her lips, Leyla fluffed her straight, black hair. She wasn’t sure she was as beautiful as her friend claimed, but she was definitely unique. There weren’t a whole lot of actresses of Middle Eastern descent in the Austin scene, so oftentimes, roles calling for that type went to her by default.
Still… it wasn’t always easy making a living as an actress, even though Leyla hustled like nobody’s business. As a rule, she treated every audition like the opportunity of a lifetime, since that was the type of mindset that encouraged her to always give her all.
“Thanks, babe,” Leyla said. “If you think I look good, then hopefully ClayFuel’s CEO will think the same.”
“He’ll be there?” London’s eyes went wide. “That’s nerve-racking.”
Leyla shrugged. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
A beep drew her attention from the mirror. Taking her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, Leyla found she’d just received an email.
The little letter icon on the screen made her stomach twist.
She’d sent a lot of emails in the last two months. Made a lot of calls. Shaken a lot of hands. Kissed up to a lot of rich people.
Mostly, though, she’d weathered a lot of rejections.
“You okay?” London asked.
“Yeah, I… I’m fine.” Leyla tapped on her email app. If she didn’t check it now, she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it.
“Is it a message from an investor?”
“Potential investor,” Leyla reminded London.
“Hey. Calling them ‘potential’ isn’t getting into the feeling place of what you want.”
Leyla looked at her over the phone and laughed. “Yeah. That’s true.”
“So, what’s it say?”
Leyla quickly scanned the email. Even though she hadn’t gotten her hopes up, her heart sank a little.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she reported.
London frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Most people don’t even respond, so it’s nice to get an email back.”
For eight weeks, Leyla had been contacting philanthropists around the city, looking for funding for her feature film script. She’d expected securing the moolah to be a challenge, but she’d never imagined this level of difficulty.
Tons of people told her the story was great. The problem was that no one wanted to take a risk on a first-time filmmaker. Forget that Leyla had a decade of experience acting in film and television.
“Well,” London said, “there are more people out there.”
Leyla couldn’t meet her eyes. She wanted to believe that. She needed to believe that.
It was just hard.
The budget she’d figured out for the film rested at three hundred thousand. Last year’s crowdfunding campaign had only pulled in ten thousand.
She would have used the momentum from that to immediately hunt for private investors, but life had gotten in the way.
Or, rather, death had gotten in the way.
“Right.” Leyla pocketed the phone. “It’ll work out.”’
Even as she said it, she knew it was false positivity. Nothing in the last year had worked out. Even though things had to get better at some point, it was hard to have faith blue skies would return after so many cloudy days.
“How are you feeling about this audition?” London asked.
“Like I’m really wishing the job paid hundreds of thousands.”
London made a pouty face. “This is typical. You know that. If you don’t get funding for this script, there’s always the next one.”
Leyla’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to think about the “next one.” Right then, the only thing that mattered was getting this movie made.
It had been her mother’s dying wish that Leyla not wallow in grief, but instead to get out and live her life to the fullest. For Leyla, that meant making the movie inspired by her mother’s life.
Or, the part of her life that Leyla knew about, anyway. The one where her mom came to America with an infant, not knowing a soul, and worked and persevered until she’d built a good life for her tiny family.
“What time do you want Sharkie let out?” Leyla asked, eager to change the topic.
“Between two and five. I’m easy.”
“He’s not.” Leyla grinned.
“I spoil him, huh?”
“If you didn’t have him to spoil, who else would you give all that attention to?” Leyla zipped up the makeup bag.
“Exactly. I like your mindset. It’s not like I have a boyfriend to spoil.”
Boyfriends.
Yet another topic Leyla didn’t want to get into.
Her last relationship had ended over two years ago, and though there had been dates and flings here and there, nothing had stuck. Once her mom got sick, men went onto the back burner entirely.
At this point, a hot date to make Leyla forget about everything else for even one night sounded perfect. But that begged the question: where on earth were all the good guys?
Not on dating apps, for sure. Been there, done that.
“I need to get ready for work, hon.” London opened the door and blew a kiss. “Break a leg.”
“Thanks.”
Left alone in the empty apartment, Leyla took a deep breath and looked around. She was ready to go, and with fifteen minutes to spare, but a deep unease made her want to be anywhere else but home.
When her mom became sick about a year before, Leyla ended up staying most nights at her house. She’d cook dinner and they’d watch movies together, and after her mom fell asleep, she would work out the final draft of her screenplay or brainstorm new crowdfunding angles.
Life hadn’t stopped, because her mom had convinced her it wouldn’t. Everything would go on as it always had, and the cancer would go away.
Reaching up to her throat, she touched the heart necklace there. It had been her mother’s, engraved with her initials, the one piece of jewelry she had worn every day. And now, it was Leyla’s, and she was the one who never took it off.
Leyla couldn’t blame her mother for protecting her from the truth for as long as possible. It’s the kind of parent she was.
Shouldering her bag and grabbing her keys, she paused at the framed photo on the end table by the front door. At first glance, it looked like a picture of Leyla there, but it wasn’t.
It was her mom in her thirties, an infan
t Leyla in her arms. It had been taken by a family friend.
For not the first time, Leyla thought about how hard it must have been for her mother, coming to a land full of strangers. Though she’d asked for stories before, Maira had always been pretty tight-lipped.
And so, Leyla had taken it upon herself to write a fictionalized version of events.
She’d been nervous the first time her mom had read the script, but the tears the older woman had cried were happy ones. She’d loved it.
“Bye, Mom. Have a good day.” Leyla pressed two fingers to her lips then transferred the touch to the frame’s glass. “Miss you.”
Three months.
Ninety-two days.
Would she ever get used to life without her biggest cheerleader?
Leyla wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to try.
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