The phone rings. The voice on the other end say “we need you again”, then hangs up.
I want to pretend I didn’t hear her, go back in time and not answer the call. Who am I kidding? There are no choices here, not for me anyway.
I’m the main attraction. My popularity is to capitalised upon; someone newer and shinier will top the bill next week.
I force my swollen feet into impossibly high shoes, shimmy up the flimsy excuse for a dress and touch up my make up. Time to meet the highest bidder.