Seasonal Leg Art: Backstory

She remembered how scared and excited she'd been on the bus.  Amazing to think it was just two years ago, and how far away Ashtabula seemed now.  It had taken her five days and six buses to get to Los Angeles, and every minute of that trip she knew, she just knew there was a place for her in one of those big studios.  Everybody back home said she was a shoo-in - who was prettier, or a better dancer?  She was nothing but wasted as a salesclerk at the Bon Ton Store, that's what everybody said.  "You go to California, Janie, and we just know they'll make you a star!"  Well, Central Casting seemed to think different, and except for those three days as Nightclub Extra in that June Haver picture and the Unwed Mothers two-reeler over at Educational that was probably just filler for a stag movie, things hadn't quite turned out.

She shifted on the itchy artificial grass and felt a trickle of sweat down the back of her neck inside the ears.  The stuffed rabbit smelled mildly of some long-ago child's throw-up and she hoped the chainsmoking perv behind the tripod would hurry up so she could get to lunch.  She was meeting her friend Irene from the first single girls' hotel she'd stayed at.  Now Irene (renamed Dolores) had a six-month contract at Republic and had already made four oaters.  And she was buying lunch, which was a good thing, because even if Mr. Cheesecake here came through with the twenty-five bucks he'd promised, all of that had to go Mrs. Dorillo for last month's rent.  She wondered what she'd answer if, as seemed all too likely, he'd go ahead and offer her twenty-five more to take her top off.  Not like it would be the first time...