Inside by Alix Ohlin Read Free Book Online

toward her and started chewing on one, powdered sugar smudging the tip of her nose.
    “What’s your name?”
    Without a word, the girl picked up a second donut.
    Anne stood up, snatched the donut out of her hand, and threw it, along with the rest of the box, into the garbage, then stood there with her arms folded, playing the disapproving mother.
    The girl chewed, swallowed.
    Get out, Anne thought.
    “Hilary.”
    If, at this point, the girl had said nothing more, Anne would have pinched her ear and marched her to the door, or called the police, anything to get her out of the apartment and her life.
    But she said, “Are you an actress or model or something? You’re, like, gorgeous.”
    Even while recognizing this as flattery, Anne found herself pleased. “I’m in the theater,” she said.
    The girl grimaced. “I could never do that,” she said. “Too fat, too ugly.”
    “You’re not,” Anne said mechanically. She had this conversation with other actresses almost every day,
I’m so fat
leading to
No you’re not, you’re emaciated, I’m so ugly
to
No you’re not, you’re gorgeous
. It was a call-and-response pattern, rhythmic and codified, like birdsong.
    The girl accepted this insincerity and moved on. “Are you in a play right now?”
    “In rehearsals. I play an Irish peasant woman during the potato famine. You know about the potato famine? I wind up prostituting myself in exchange for food for my family.”
    “Prostituting yourself?” Hilary said, putting her elbows on the kitchen counter. Her large breasts rested on the counter like lumps of bread dough.
    Anne nodded. In fact the prostitution was more implied than seen; she only had a few lines, but to make things interesting she had embroidered the character’s backstory. She’d spent so much time on this that she now felt the character had the tragic richness of a starring role. She was the center of the play, its crucial beating heart, but she was the only one who knew it. “Actually, if you wanted to be helpful, you could run some lines with me,” she said, feeling generous. “Then we can figure out the shelter situation.”
    While she fished the script out of her bag, Hilary retrieved the donuts from the trash. She inhaled another one, drank some orange juice, then held out her hand for the pages. “Ready,” she said.
    Hilary had a surprisingly clear voice and didn’t seem to tire of reading the lines over and over again. Once they started, Anne lowered herself into the character as if into a swimming pool: the water was cold at first, uncomfortable but bracing; then gradually, as themuscles warmed, the temperature turned out to be perfect, and the laps went by in strong, sure strokes, the body now fully engaged. She forgot everything else. It was only in these moments of concentration and release that she felt she could shed her own skin and slip free.
    Suddenly it was noon.
    “Shit,” Anne said, “I have to go. I’m supposed to meet the costume designer in fifteen minutes. Listen, Hilary.” It was the first time she’d called the girl by her name, but the effect was nil, the round face as inert as ever.
    Then Hilary suddenly said, “The bathroom’s disgusting.”
    “What?”
    “I can clean it, while you’re at your meeting. The toilet, the bathtub, the floor. I can do all that.” Her voice was urgent and quick. She would neither plead nor act desperate, Anne could tell, but she would bargain.
    In the days and months to come, she’d question her decision again and again. She couldn’t even remember what was going through her mind: it was as if she had blacked out and come to after the choice had been made. But the fact that she couldn’t explain it to herself was maybe as good a reason to do something as she’d ever had. Sometimes you needed to surprise yourself with randomness, to prove you have depths that even you can’t understand.
    “Okay,” she said. “I’m not giving you a key, so you have to stay here. Eat