Chapter two: Jumping ship to Tripsies

Trigger warnings for those who need them

substance abuse

The room is pale with smoke.
It trails and wisps its way up to the ceiling in chaotic little curls.
That is, until the smouldering reaches the tips of my fingers.
I drop it, vaguely surprised at the burning sensation.
Then limply drop my hand over the side of the bed, feeling around for my cig-tin.
I snatch it up. The cool of the metal feels strange against the burn.
I shake the tin.
Curse at the sound of a whole lotta nothing.
Then drag myself from my bed. Get dressed and stomp out the bud on the way.

“Hey Valentine, I’m gonna need rent.” Benji reminds me the moment I walk to the window.
I grunt, pull out my wallet and drop the coppers on the table with a clang.
“Uh, thanks?” Benji responds, swiping the coins into his hands.
I exit through the window.

Beyond the market in the sailor’s district there’s a little cul de sac.
It’s the kind of place where people shutter their windows and don’t open the door unless they know the person on the other side.
Not even when they hear screams for help.
But it’s also where my dealer hangs out.
A large, brown man with frizzy black hair, a long leather coat and dark, square spectacles that hide his eyes.
“Hey.” I tell him.
“Hi.”
“I need more cigs.”
“How many?”
“One second.” I pick out my wallet again and look inside. Didn’t I have more money than this? “Seven?”
“Sure, seven coppers.”
I tease the money out my wallet and hand it off.
He opens up his coat to reveal an entire drugstore, neatly divided into countless little pockets. He stashes the money on his belt, then counts out the cigs. “There you go, sir.” He says, pushing them in my hands.
“Thanks.” I slip them into my cig-case.
Then quickly turn and get the hell out of there again.

I head home.
Open the window with the key as Benji’s nowhere to be found.
Probably off to…whatever it is he does all day.
I don’t care.
I go to my room. Drop down on the bed and pull a cig from the case.
The flash of the lighter bathes the room in angry shadows.
Then it dies down into a single dot of red.
I take a drag. Sag back into my pillows.
And wait for the peace.
The next day I wake up.
Smoke.
Sleep.
The day after that.
Smoke.
Sleep.
Until my smokes start running thin.
And the prospect of a new week of rent starts looming over me.

With only a single cig left in my pocket I exit the window and clamber down the ladder.
Magnolia theater is taking too long.
I can’t keep living like this.
I never thought I’d change teams and jump ship to Tripsies.
But that’s what Barnaby gets for leaving me waiting like this.
Tripsie theater is a smaller establishment, sure.
And they specialize in comedies, which is a tragedy in itself.
But the customers are still of the upper class.
So it wouldn’t be a disgrace just… a different type of theater.
It’ll tide me over at least.
Until I find something better.

I find they’re open already at three in the afternoon.
Unlike Magnolia’s grande friezes to denote the entrance, Tripsies just has an unassuming door in an unassuming street. With the only thing setting it apart from its neighbours being the painted sign saying ‘tripsies’ over the door and a flyer of ‘performances’ next to the open-sign.
I open the door and find myself in a tunnel made of glass. Beyond it, a wide range of flowers and ferns climb grow and crawl their way up the sides.
Spotting my own reflection, I quickly fix my hair.
I haven’t really dressed myself for an audition.
But surely they know who I am?
And my dancing skills remain untarnished even if my clothes are a tad scuffed.
Behind me, a group of four passes me with a annoyed huff.
I quickly straighten my scarf and continue to the entry hall.

The tunnel exits into a round room with coloured-crystal-chandeliers floating from the ceiling and lamps on the walls made from intricate stained glass. Dyeing the light in surreal colours and shapes.
Around me, a handful of people in fine dress wait around while others have their tickets stamped and continue onward to the spiral staircase that hugs the room and counts three doors on different levels.
I walk on to the ticket desk where a pretty clerk smiles at me.
“Good afternoon.” She tells me cheerfully.
“Good afternoon to you too.” I tell her with a charming smile. “I’d like to know when your next run of auditions will take place?”
The lady sucks her teeth. “It’s hard to say I’m afraid. We’re closing for maintenance to the second balcony after this run has finished up and we won’t be open for at least six months.”
“Six months!?” I exclaim, my voice far louder than I intended it to be.
The woman nods gravely. “As things are now, auditions are planned for late summer. Assuming the construction goes well. We’ll be announcing the actual date at the door, a couple weeks before that time.”
So what you’re really saying is there’s no telling yet. “Any suggestions for the meantime?” I try.
“What’s your field? If I may ask.” Her eyes look me up and down judgmentally.
“Ballet.” I explain.
The woman thinks for a moment. “You could try Magnolia theater. And if they’re full already there’s always Barlymoore’s.”
I inwardly scoff at the thought, but thank the woman all the same.
“You’re welcome and good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I leave the surreal room with lead in my shoes and my fists balled tightly.
One thought clear in my mind.
There’s no way I’m going to Barlymoore.
Barlymoore is for amateurs and paupers.
Desperate people who have nowhere else to go.
I’m not like them.
I’ll get money some other way.
Pawn a wig or something.
It’s fine, I still got a day.

I crawl through the window.
“I’m gonna need rent.” Benji calls out to me from the couch.
“Piss off Benji. I still got a day.”
“No you don’t. It’s Monday.”
“Liar.”
Benji scoffs, snatches something off the coffee table and flings it at my head.
I don’t even think to dodge it.
It hits me square on the cheek, then drops into my arms.
It’s a newspaper.
“Read the date and pay up, asshole.” He sneers.
Oh, shit he’s right. “Look, I honestly thought I was Sunday, I’ll get you the money tomorrow okay?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes!”
“Well you better, because otherwise you’re out of here.”
I lay the newspaper down onto his coffee table and flee to my room.
Panic grips me as I close the door behind me.
Fuck.
Fuck!
I swear I’m not crying but my view is all fuzzy as I look for my lighter.