Althea was starting to wonder if she was the ultimate cliche. New York was full of artists, dancers, singers, actors who swore they were just biding their time waiting tables because they had bills to pay. Then something that was supposed to be a temporary thing became your life, your career if you were too proud to pack up, head home and admit that you had failed.
She had been working at Carmella's for about six months now and was already a pro at scooping gelato for tourists who barely even looked her in the eye. Last week she thought about going to back to school, kicking herself for leaving when she only had a few years left until she remembered her scholarship had walked out the door when she had.
There were no pity parties today. Okay, so maybe a gig at a crappy bar that held about ten people wasn't Madison Square Garden, but it was something. She had a show. A light at the end of this dreary tunnel of a day. Or she would if time stopped playing tricks on her.
"Hey, Jamie. What time is it?!" she asked eagerly once her customer, a skinny blonde with dreadlocks shoved a straw in her iced latte and headed out.
"5:37. And for those of you playing the home game, that's exactly seven minutes after the last time you asked," he said dryly.
"Sorry," she said with a sheepish smile even though she was sure it had to be later. "Hey, are you coming to my show?"
Her coworker shook his head but there was a smile on his face. "Sure. But first I'm buying you your own watch."
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