Chapter 1 : Part 4

Catch a Rising Star: A Novel
by Tracey Bateman

(Page 4 of 5)

The child's blue eyes widen in fright just before she runs away, and I realize she might have been scared by my reference to vampires or possibly the mental image of flesh turned to ash. Shoot! Why do kids have to be such babies? This is why I never babysat as a teenager. Oh darn! Now she's coming back over here with someone who looks like a ticked-off mother.

Grown-up blue eyes flash before me. I give the woman a good sizing up. She's a larger version of the child. Pretty, petite. Blond. I wonder if I could take her if things get ugly, or should I be prepared to pull a Forrest Gump and run away? She doesn't look that big. I could probably hold my own.

"Did you just tell my daughter she looks like a vampire?" she demands.

"Of course not." Backpedal, Tabs - backpedal fast! "Um . . . I was just thinking how much she resembles Kirsten Dunst as a child. And I couldn't remember any movie except that one. I - uh - didn't even think about her being afraid. Your daughter is so pretty, you should consider getting her some auditions."

"Really?" The woman's face brightens, and I know my work here is done. Catastrophic firing from job is once more avoided. Now to drive the nail home.

"Of course - I used to act on a soap opera," gotta get that little plug in - I'm so weak, "so I know the type of children they scout around for, and your daughter definitely has the right look." I glance at the little girl, who is still glaring at me. Obviously all the flattery hasn't made a dent in her armor.

She stomps her patent leather shoe. "You still can't be Peter Cottontail if you're a girl."

Irritation creeps back up. What is it with this kid? "Oh yeah? Watch me." Shoot. That's arguing, isn't it?

"Of course Tabby isn't the real Peter Cottontail." Mary walks into the room and immediately order is restored. She gives me a one-eyebrow-raise in passing. Doggone it. I realize she's heard enough of my conversation to figure out that the kid and I weren't swapping recipes. She skewers me with a glance that no one could possibly have caught but me and continues on like she's one happy camper. "Let's just pretend."

How does she sneak up on a person like that anyway? She just appears, like a . . . Well, I'm not sure if I should say this but . . . If anyone's a vampire . . .

Vampira's giving me that "get on with it" glare, and I know I'd better start reading . . . or else.

Thirty grueling pages and a gazillion kiddie interruptions later, I bid Teresa good-bye until next week, then go to the ladies' room, zip out of the bunny suit, peel off the whiskers. I stare at my pitiful reflection. My face is blotchy red from trying to get the whiskers to let go and from scrubbing off the makeup. Hideous. But what's a girl to do? I pack away the suit. And let me tell you, this is absolutely the last time I'm wearing that awful thing. After tucking it away in the costume closet, I walk to the counter, ready to face the music. I try not to be too scared since I'm sure God is directing my steps here. Surely He's going to reward me for the first half of the day when I was so good about surrendering to Him. Even when I got cut off on the highway. Not only didn't I flip anyone the bird, but I waved and acted like it was my idea to let the guy over.

Mary smiles at a customer and hands her a bag. "Happy reading."

Then she looks up and sees me standing there. Her smile fades fast like I sucked the happy right out of her. She gives me the evil eye, and I know I'm a goner.

I wonder if I should ask for a reference.

By the time I make it home, I'm trying to shove the hideous day aside and focus on my big plans for tonight. My parents are coming over for dinner at the apartment I share with my two best friends, Laini and Dancy - only they've decided to be absent. I honestly can't say that I blame them. I'm not all that crazy about the idea myself, but you know, it's all about dinner with the folks. A necessary part of every adult's life. At least every three months or so, I'm obligated to invite the parents over. Otherwise they start to imagine I have something to hide, and once their minds go there, short of marriage to the man of their dreams, there's no convincing anyone I'm A-OK and not hopping from party to party with Paris or Lindsay.

Anyway, I figure Mom and Dad will shove off by nine, and I can curl up with my new copy of Soap Opera Magazine. Or better yet, read while taking a bubble bath. It's my night for a long soak in the tub. Rule number four on our door: One person per night is allowed a long bath in the tub. First of all, because three women sharing an apartment can't possibly all soak each night, and secondly, because we have water pressure issues, and it takes as long to fill the tub as it does to soak away our troubles.

Laini is the official - and self-proclaimed - rules person. Being an accountant, she's big on lists and organization. She works for ACE Accounting. And - not to brag or anything, but - she's the aciest of all the aces there. A real hotshot with numbers. We'd never get all the bills paid if she didn't keep track of things.

© Tracey Bateman, 2007

About the Author

Tracey Bateman is a slightly neurotic mother of four, wife of one, and owner of three dogs, two blue bloods and one mutt (the mutt is the only one who will come to her when called). Lifetime movies, chunky monkey ice cream, and frantic late night Instant message chats with friends, who are only slightly less neurotic, keep her moving forward when deadlines loom and insanity is nipping at the heels of her mind. When not franticly pressing toward deadlines, Lifetime movies, chunky monkey ice cream and frantic late night instant message chats with pals give her inspiration for the next project. Being president of American Christian Fiction Writers gives her the chance to give back to a community of writers who have helped shape her career and her writing style.