THE PERFECT ILLUSION

I was flying on a crystal-clear morning. The morning sun had colored the sky pink, and clouds parted delicately between my fingertips. I increased my speed and let my long hair flow behind me as my heart slowed to a steady, relaxing rhythm. There was nothing that could touch me here. Nothing could find me. My eyes closed, and a pleasant smile spread across my face.

I was not going down this time. I had found my heaven. I had discovered my tranquility.

Until...

A thousand screams ripped apart the skies as fire rained down from above. I covered my head and tried to go back on the ground, but I knew what was coming.

The dragon had attacked numerous times previously.

I dodged and rolled through the smoke, escaping molten torrents of death, until all of a sudden the beast was upon me. And it was massive! My eyes expanded into fearful saucers as I stared up in sick horror. The monster extended its jaws, as if it were smiling at me. As it was about to smite me, it split into a million pieces, like a puzzle.

Wait...what?

I forced my eyes open and squinted up at the ceiling as plaster and dust misted from above. A predicted sliding thunk jarred the rafters, causing me to moan. Mrs. Lubanski began her Zumba workout earlier than usual today. My alarm hadn't even sounded.

Then it went off.

"You're going to be late again." You are a stupid, careless girl. "You are going to be late."

Speak about the devil. It began repeating the same line over and over. I slapped the top of the clock and cursed the cosmic forces once again for putting me in this apartment. It was not simple to find affordable housing in East Hollywood. Some awful concessions have to be made. Mrs. Lubanski's early morning Zumba was only the tip of the iceberg. Then there were the bugs, the gas leaks, the police helicopters, and the general odor of urine wafting up from the pavements. But what about my reoccurring dragon dreams...?

To be honest, I had absolutely no notion how that fit in.

I shimmied out of bed and fell on the floor with an undignified thump. My industrial-grade fan-as "my personal savior," aka did I mention there was no air-conditioning?-shot all my hair back like I'd been shocked, and I was quick to angle it away with my toe as I pushed myself up to my full height and cast a dubious glance in the mirror.

This must be what they meant when they said, "trying to make it in LA." I felt like the poster girl.

Long auburn hair, pale creamy complexion, a lovely face, and a rail-thin frame. In any other town, I would be a knockout, a celebrity. But, for whatever reason, in this city founded on the parking tickets and rent traps of other small-town stars, I felt like a million bucks. And not in a nice manner.

With a familiar sigh, I leaned in to see what the damage was today. The eyes were red, but not puffy. Dark rings had already faded. Not terrible after a night of binge drinking. In contrast, what about my liver? It was best to avoid thinking about it.

There had been a lot of these nights recently, it seemed. It began as a custom between my roommate Sophia and me. Every time we didn't get a part we auditioned for (including being turned down at the casting because the coveted two-line role had been filled sometime during the six hours we were standing in line), we'd get together over a bottle of tequila and watch a Netflix marathon while we wallowed and swallowed our disappointment. It was actually pretty enjoyable. It's a lot more enjoyable than waiting hours at the castings.

Sophia's muffled retching from the bathroom let me know she wasn't having as much fun as I was.

I put on a pair of amethyst scrubs, tied my hair back into a sloppy bun, and grabbed my Chapstick as I walked out into the hall. Nimbus, our three-legged cat, staggered by me, chasing a Tasmanian twister of dust sent up by my fan. I tripped over his knobby back, causing him to yowl as I walked to the bathroom.

Sorry, Nimbus. Tell you what. "I will get you some milk."

I poured a small amount of milk onto a dish and laid it on the floor. "Am I forgiven?"

He meowed. I kissed him on the forehead and listened to him purr. He was a stray that my roommate picked up. We had no idea if he had been in an accident, but we loved him nonetheless. He may be grouchy at times, but that only made us adore him more.

After putting on my shoe, I gently knocked on the door. "You okay in there?"

I received a half-strangled gurgling noise in response. Something that sounded just like our cat. The toilet flushed, the sink ran, and I heard Sophia fall down against the opposite side of the door.

"That was the last time," she lamented. "I'm serious."

"Yep," I said, as I was expected to. "Well, I'm off to work, okay?"

"How can you even think about work at a time like this?"

I rolled my eyes, grinning. The typical response of a spoilt cul-de-sac princess.

"I love it," I replied, bitingly. "I wish I could be there all the time."

She snorted on the opposite side of the door. I could almost imagine her pressing her clammy cheek on the cool tiles on the floor. It was a comfort maneuver that both of us had performed numerous times. It was also the reason we kept the bathroom so clean.

"Was that Nimbus that wailed earlier?"

"Yep." I pulled on my other shoe. "I gotta go-I'm going to be late."

"Did you get the guy's phone number last night?" "He was hot."

I let out a big breath.

"Did you mess it up again?" she inquired.

"No. Okay, kind of. I began discussing how upset I was that Mrs. Johnson had taken such a poor turn. I suppose that was too profound for him. But I'm concerned about the woman. She's been my patient for months, and we've grown very close. She might not make it until next week. I'm really worried about her."

"Talking about death isn't the way to go when you first meet someone."

I bit my lip hard. "You're probably right."

"You work in hospice." You know these people are nearing the end. And it's wonderful that you show them so much love and support, but you must be able to let go."

"I get so attached to every single one of my patients."

"I know you do. And that is why you require an understanding man. I am going to find you the most understanding and compassionate man in all of Hollywood."

"No more blind dates."

"I promise that this one will be different. What are your thoughts? There's Damien. He still lives with his mother, but I promise he's quite lovely."

"Late," I repeated. "I'm swinging by the store on my way home-you need anything?"

"Yes. No." She shuffled against the door. "Wait-yes. Get some more of the caramel treats we had at Tony's last week. The ones shaped like a frog?

I nodded distractedly and typed on my phone. "Frogs. I get it. Okay, I've got to run." I slapped my hand against the door. "Feel better-I'll see you tonight." I was almost out when she made a faint call to me.

"Shay?"

I halted. "Yeah?"

"Put tequila on the list."

"Already there."

I only had to take one metro and one bus to reach the hospice care home where I worked in Westwood. It surrounded a pleasant residential neighborhood, separated from the Fortune 500 companies on the other side by a grove of covered trees and a million home-brewed coffee shops. Despite Sophia's ranting, I was able to catch the early bus, which gave me enough time to drop into my favorite of these businesses before my shift began at ten.

The pavement was cluttered with a mix of fancy dogs and tied bikes. I laughed to myself as I avoided what I'm sure would have been referred to as a 'labra-doodle-retriever-pug.' This was one of the reasons why I like working at Westwood. It was not clearly characterized by annual gross income, like Santa Monica and Pasadena were; rather, it was neutral ground. A safe haven where the two sides might gather and share a simple cup of coffee. There's no need for class conflict when everyone just wants to grab some caffeine, right? There was ample space on the sidewalks for both the poodles and the Schwinns.

With this unusually optimistic view, I marched right into a brawl.

"I don't care what kind of hurry you're in, just move the damn car!"

I stood in place, staring in disbelief at the two men standing before me. At least one of them had to be a maintenance worker. He wore a drab slate-colored outfit with a smudged name tag and far too much facial hair. He was still clutching his keys, and given the way he had hastily double-parked next to a town vehicle, I assumed he had just abandoned his truck and bolted out onto the pavement.

The man standing across from him had a different story.

Everything about him was sleek and crisply cut. From his suit to his hair to the stiff way he clenched the muscles in his angular jaw. His hands were empty, and despite the fact that the maintenance man appeared to have simply retired from a life of UFC, his fingers twitched as if he was eager for a fight. Two silver rings, one for each hand. And a set of fucking diamond-studded cufflinks-I'm not kidding. I assume he hailed from an affluent family, had a large home, and even hired help.

I assumed the town car was his.

"Look."

I swear I noticed the man's eye quiver behind his thickly tinted spectacles.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble, but I was already parked when you pulled up behind me. "It is not your spot!"

"Already parked?" A pair of work gloves were thrown to the ground. "Already parked, my ass!" You swerved up from nowhere and snatched my position!"

Mr. Ralph Lauren simply grinned. "You may take the spot in five minutes. "I'm just stopping in for a quick coffee."

"Think I'm going to let you out, you stuck-up shallow prick?" he shrieked. "I'll block your automobile in. I'll make you late to work. What are you planning to do? Call a tow truck. "I will fuck you up, asshole!"

Is there an ongoing disagreement about a parking space? Seriously? I needed to step in. A brawl like this might go from 0 to 100 very quickly.

The maintenance person was on the edge of a complete system failure. As a health-care practitioner, I was concerned that the throbbing vein on the side of his neck would burst. Either that, or he might just run up and bite the rich boy in the face.

Both are intriguing options from a "my first fight" standpoint. But both meant that I was late for work. My dull pacifist side kicked in, and before they could launch into some serious sixth-grade name calling, I stepped in.

"Hey, hi there! "Calm down!"

Perhaps it was the ludicrously disappointing appearance of my little bird-like physique, holding up two twiggy arms to either of their chests, but both men took a large step back after one look at me. A surge of gratification warmed my veins, and it was everything I could do not to smile. Maybe it was because I was such a badass!

Keep it together, Shay. This is when you come off as cool and heroic.

I removed my sunglasses with the seriousness of an experienced detective. "Now what seems to be the problem here?"

The rich man began to talk, but I carefully turned to face his opponent. The maintenance man-Jason, I noticed his tag now-had gone the color of boiled shrimp.

"The problem is, this guy cut me off with his damn town car!" Jason stated.

"Not me." The man raised his hands and expelled a long breath. "My driver. Listen, I'd want to discuss this further, but I'm late for an important meeting."

"Your driver?" Jason took another aggressive step forward. "I swear, you wealthy son of a bitch. I have half a mind-"

"Listen," I stopped him off gently. A throng had began to form, and I was concerned that once the fun was finished, they would stream into my coffee shop, and I would never make it to work on time.

Another maintenance worker approached his buddy. "Nothing says, 'I'm a prick' like a town car and a sixty-dollar haircut."

There was a muffled reaction next to me, which I disregarded.

"I hear you," I responded, attempting to calm both of them before a riot erupted. "But let me tell you what, why don't we get inside and I'll buy Jason an espresso-just for keeping the peace?"

I gave Jason a wink for good measure and watched as his pigmentation restored to normal.

"Make it a double," he murmured as he marched obediently inside.

I defused a bomb. She shoots; she scores! First, no dark circles, and now this? I am on a roll today!

The people surrounding me cheered. I gave a slight bow, and a man let out a long whistle. Was this how celebrity felt like?

"Way to go!" a woman exclaimed. "That was so sweet of you!"

"Paying it forward," another man stated.

"You rock!" someone exclaimed.

Maybe Jason should look for a proper parking location. He wasn't going to remain double-parked, was he? Oh well. At the very least, I stopped the battle. I was practically beaming with pride as I began to follow Jason when a chilly voice abruptly stopped me.

"Don't I get an espresso?"

The rich man had removed his sunglasses, and my automatic reprimand was delayed for a moment or two as I lost myself in his green-gray gaze. They were the precise hue of the ocean, but not the crayon blue waters found on overcrowded beaches in Southern California. No, it was one of those icy oceans with large rock beaches rather than sand. The kind of ocean where I could sit for hours in complete alone, peering into the waves while salty spray misted my face.

My goodness. The man was really stunning. I was taken aback by how hot he was, and I couldn't speak. "I'm sorry." I shook my head swiftly and resumed my focus to the man. "What?"

I had been thinking about the ocean, you see.

His mouth twitched up, and he inclined his head to one side. "I said, don't I get an espresso?"

I returned my gaze to where his driver had finally exited the car, peering at the man with tense anticipation. Cufflinks-again! Even the help made me want to pull my hair out.

The ocean-eyes magic had worn off, and I put on my real glasses. "You are late for a highly important meeting. "You said it yourself." My gaze shifted back to his driver, and I smiled. "Besides, you can obviously afford it."

He smiled back at me as I turned to enter the shop. As a champion for the common man, the crowd parted in solidarity, and I was only a few moments away from reaching the counter. Kelly, my favorite barista, was already busy setting timers and sprinkling cinnamon, but she looked up and smiled when she saw me.

"Morning, Sharon-the usual?"

I lowered my elbows to the counter, staring bleakly at the latest pop star's new Thanksgiving album. "Yep. Oh, and I'll get that guy Jason's too." I pointed at the maintenance worker, and he smiled.

"You got it."

I took out a ten and waited while she hustled around. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the wealthy man enter the café and take his place at the back of the line. My cheeks flushed slightly, and I kept my gaze forward. These spectacular takedowns were always more effective when you could make a clean run afterwards. And the elevator music was not helping.

"You and Sophia miss another casting?" Kelly asked when she returned, carrying two steaming drinks. "You look tired."

I handed her my cash. "I just haven't been sleeping that well."

She frowned as she handed me back my change. "The dragon dream again?"

"Yes!" I leaned over the counter excitedly, eager to commiserate. "I don't know what's going on, but every time it gets close to me, it suddenly-"

"Hey! You in the scrubs!" An impatient voice cried out from the line. "Some of us have to get to work."

I threw back a sneer in their general direction. Just like that, my adoring crowd had changed on a dime. Fame was a fickle friend.

"I'll tell you later," I said with exaggerated importance to Kelly, "I have to get to work."

I snatched up my mocha-chino with all the dignity I could manage and strode out of the café with my head held high. I could feel the rich guy staring at me as I swept past him out the door, but I kept my eyes on the pavement. With my luck, I'd trip or something as I tried to deliver the final one-liner to seal the deal.

From the coffee shop, it was a short walk through the grove to the hospice center where I worked. Half a dozen obese pigeons crowded around me, and as is my morning habit, I tipped my change into the hands of the elderly homeless man who had taken up residence beneath one of the palms.

By the time I walked through the door, I felt pretty damn good about myself.

"Morning, Sharon." My overworked supervisor, Ella, flashed me a worn smile as I swept up to the front counter to sign in. "You look...peppy?"

I gave her an overly animated smile. "Just made a virtual citizen's arrest at our local coffee shop. "You know, keeping the city safe."

"Uh huh," she replied faintly, hearing but not listening as she thumbed through some documents. "Okay, here we go. Mr. Henry in 308 requires a blood glucose reading." Yeah, I was trained to do part of what nurses do."Mrs. Caldwell refuses to take a shower, while Mrs. Montoya in 207 maintains that her family is currently driving across the nation to see her. She's spent the entire morning crafting a Welcome banner.

Ella handed me a stack of task assignments to complete before I left, and she clocked out with a big smile.

"Um...thanks."

She winked. "Good luck." Then she was gone.

Needless to say, my adrenaline rush was gone by 10:05. I moved from room to room, drawing familiar circles and recognizing familiar faces. I like my job, don't get me wrong. It's only... I had been at the same institution for about three years and hoped to have landed an acting job by now. Hospice was not a permanent employment. Patients were divided into two groups: those who had been rejected by the health-care system and were temporarily utilizing us as a recovery center owing to budget cuts, and those who came here not to recuperate but to die.

In any case, no matter how many individuals you met, you wouldn't spend much time with them.

Sophia kept asking me about it. She didn't comprehend how I could devote my entire life to death and dying. I was the person in the patient's life who would see them through to the end, offering palliative end-of-life treatment. And I wanted to make their final days comfortable. I want to be that trusted and compassionate adviser who helped patients and families find peace and dignity. But no matter how many ways I tried to describe it, she'd always say it sounded like a Stephen King movie and insist we talk about something else.

I pushed open a door, and Mrs. Montoya, a woman I'd spoken with every day for the previous eight months, asked me my name. I closed it behind me with a groan.

This was going to be a long day.

When I eventually arrived home and pushed the apartment door shut, Sophia jumped up to meet me as if she hadn't been impersonating The Walking Dead all morning.

"How was work?" she inquired brightly.

I removed my scarf and let my purse fall on the floor. I handed her the bag containing the items she had instructed me to purchase. "Work was fine." I felt as if I'd been answering the same question for the past thousand years. It was clearly time for a change. "I got thrown up on."

"That's awesome!" she shouted, clearly blocking out anything I was about to say as she waited excitedly for her turn to speak.

I restrained a chuckle as she bounced her foot up and down, her deeply charcoaled eyes brimming with anticipation. "Why, Sophia, how was your day?"

"I got a callback!" she said.

My mouth dropped open, and she moved from side to side like a possessed bobblehead.

"I understand! It was for the dystopian Western thing. I'm going to be..." She stopped for dramatic effect. "Hot Ranch Chick Number Seven." She removed the tequila from the bag and smiled. "I am going to celebrate with this! I cannot believe I got this job!"

"That's amazing," I exclaimed, my mind racing with possibilities. "And to think, I could have been number eight."

"No, their quota for white girls was filled," she responded practically. "To be number eight, you'd have to be Asian."

"Oh." I thought about this for a second before adding, "Congratulations! "I am so proud of you!"

"Thanks! Thank you for stopping by the store."

"No issue. "Oh my goodness!" I suddenly remembered. "I saw a fight today!"

"Wow," she said, raising her eyebrows in admiration. "Your first real fisticuffs. What was it about? "Was it gang related?"

"It was over a parking spot," I stated confidently. "Well, actually I stopped it before they came to blows...but I'm sure it was headed that way."

She shot me a long look. "So you finally see the makings of a fight, a long-standing life ambition, but you stop it before it can actually get there?"

I felt as though I literally deflated. "...yeah, I guess so."

She touched me kindly on the shoulder. "Come on, I ordered Chinese."

Thank you. "I am starving!"

I followed her into the kitchen and was astounded to find an elaborate setup. She had brought out our nicest silverware, and for once, we weren't dining from paper plates. There were even a few chipped tea lights to provide ambiance.

"What the-"

She pressed a button, and Florence and the Machine began screeching in the background.

My eyes furrowed and I looked at her suspiciously. "All this for Hot Ranch Chick Number Seven?"

"Well, not exactly." Anxious and delighted, she dragged out a chair and shoved me down in an adorable manner. "The issue is, Shay... I actually secured both of us a job. However, it has nothing to do with hot ranch girls.

"Really? That is wonderful."

"It is, and it isn't."

I cocked one brow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we don't get paid like normal." She smiled while I grimaced. "But it's fantastic for our image. And we have the opportunity to meet some major names. We might also earn a significant bonus simply by mentioning the agency. If we bring in work, we get a hefty bonus. Think of this as enjoyable work. We're heading to a party! And it is tonight!"

"A party?"

"Who wouldn't want to party on a Friday night? "I'll tell you more in the salon," she said. "They're getting us all fixed up!"

"Who?"

"You simply need to trust me. Come on now, girl. It's time to get primped! Of course, when we finish this delicious supper, I got us."

I laughed. "We're not eating on paper plates, so that's five star dining to me."

"Not to mention, we're not using plastic forks."