Everybody Loves Evie by Beth Ciotta Read Free Book Online

Pacific Avenue, the city’s main drags, the streets that paralleled the boardwalk casinos. I no longer felt welcome or wanted within the gambling venues that had once provided the bulk of my work. My last audition had been disastrous, and as it had transpired only a few weeks before, the wound resulting from the insensitive behavior of the baby-faced execs was still fresh.
    As a professional, Ms. Parish, I’m sure you understand that we’re looking to please our demographic.
    Meaning they wanted someone younger. There was a time when you paid your dues in roadside bars or summer stock, when you earned a booking in a casino venue. Those days were gone. These days the number-one priority wasn’t experience, but sex appeal. In demand? Young, slender females, willing to dress provocatively. Perky boobs were a plus. Since I was perfect for that job, and since those execs had managed to uncork my bottled angst, my response had been less than gracious. Wanting to prove I met their physical requirements, I’d flashed a thousand-watt smile in tandem with my perky 32Bs. They’d responded by having me escorted off property by security. No Hollywood ending for me. Typical.
    My jaw ached like the devil. Stop clenching, Parish. The last thing you need is another lockjaw episode. Go to your happy place.
    Unfortunately, my happy place was in London, with Arch. Arch, who hadn’t returned my call.
    I sneezed into a handful of tissues. “It’s only been a day and a half,” I rasped. “He’s not your husband. He’s not your significant other, lover, crush or whatever it is they’re calling it these days. He’s your friend. F-R-I-E-N-D. Friend.”
    The self-directed lecture helped a little. Anything to keep me grounded. Lord knows I didn’t need another worry. I was stressed enough. Stressed because of the blinding rain. Stressed because I was running late. Stressed because I was obsessing on my washed-up career. “I don’t want to go back. I want to zoom forward.”
    I turned onto North Maine Avenue and focused on the Chameleon Club a few blocks ahead. No more auditioning. No more rejections. The enormity of my relief took me by surprise. There was a time when I believed I’d been born to entertain, period. But after my boneheaded behavior at that botched audition, I’d been certain I’d never work in this town again. A traditional nine-to-five had loomed in my future, and given my specific skills, prospects were limited and frightening. I’d dreaded a normal life. I’d dreaded never again hearing the sound of applause.
    Today, this moment, I didn’t care if I stepped foot on another Atlantic City stage. Ever.
    The world is our stage, Arch had told me when we’d first met. As a con man’s shill, I’d still be acting, but on a grander, more important scale. Evie Parish: Crime Fighter. I’d always felt that I was meant for something bigger. This, I thought as I sniffled and steered into a puddle-ridden parking lot, is it.
    The rain poured. The wind howled. The herbal medicine sucked. It had yet to curb my sneezing or clear my sinuses. All I felt was sluggish. Damn jet lag.
    I reached beneath the front seat and yanked out a compact umbrella. The club was only a few feet away. Nothing was going to keep me from this appointment. Not rain nor snow nor shoe-sucking mud. I rolled back my shoulders, forced open my door and braved the elements.
    Holding on tight to my flimsy umbrella, I sloshed across the parking lot, frowning when I read the sign: Please Use Boardwalk Entrance. The famous Atlantic City boardwalk stretched the length of town along the ocean and curved around to the lesser-known, more secluded Inlet. No casinos here. Gardiner’s Basin, a historic region hugging the bay, offered an aquarium, a small maritime museum and old-fashioned fun. Unfortunately, I was navigating the wasteland smack between the Basin and downtown