Cary would be the first to admit that she never did well without a script. She could do well enough thrown into chaos, since that was any day at work. But she didn’t need to make chaos impressive at her regular job, let alone to tens of thousands of unknown watchers and streamers. Odila must have noticed, slouching over the desk, taping the tip of her pointer, and smiling at Cary’s discomfort. She knew she was a showman and Cary was not--no matter what Cary said or did, there was only going to be one fool on the screen.

“Alright…” said Cary, inhaling deeply as she began. “Why should I hire you?”

“Ha ha, what?” Odila asked. “Are you even allowed to ask that?”

“You laugh, but a lot of interviewers will ask that right to your face,” said Cary. “And in my experience, if you can answer it on the spot, you’re halfway done.”

“Oh my god, you are actually doing this,” said Odila, chuckling at the side of her mouth. “Alright, role play. You’re the interviewer, I’m, what, the fresh-faced college student? Dude out of prison trying to convince the grocery clerk I won’t kill everyone if I’m hired?”

“You’re you,” said Cary. No matter what I hope for, she thought. “So why do you want this job? And why should I hire you?”

“I thought I was kind of giving the signal that I don’t, actually,” said Odila. “So yeah. Do I have to answer the second?”

“Okay, so you never wanted this job, and you weren’t even going to try,” said Cary. “So why are you here?”

“Cary, Cary, Cary,” said Odila, waving her hands in front of her. “Stage style lesson one. Never ask ‘what are we doing here’? You’re a star now! You’re here to answer that, not ask it!”

“And that’s, what, question number two you’ve dodged now?” Cary asked. “Even if this is a show, this is still a mock interview. My house. Take this seriously.”

“And here you were thinking we couldn’t keep our little snark back and forth going!” said Odila with a toothy grin. “Relax, Care-bear. Fire as many silly and rock-ignorant questions you want at me.” She oozed deeper across the table, balancing a smug grin off the back of her fist. “I can go all day.”

Cary felt herself bristle. Even without a visible crowd, she could almost feel how bad she looked. It was another reasons she didn’t like things like this; something about being on stage turned people into good guys and bad guys without much in between. And Cary knew she could be across from anyone, with her tight-cut hair and bags under her eyes, her pursed lips that everyone tells her makes it look like she’s scowling, and know who was the hero and who was the villain.

Huh, Cary thought. I’m the villain here. It should have bothered her, but she felt an odd pulse of excitement--less like an accusation and more of an invitation. Is that the secret here? If this is all a big, stupid game, should I just be playing along with it? Ugh, she felt her inner responsible adult scream into an empty coffee cup at the thought. Ah well, Responsible Adult Cary said, not like I have anything better go on.

“All-right then,” Cary said, in an awkward sing-song that made Odila’s eyebrows bounce in bewildered amusement. “So tell me your career path. The grand plan of the Working Class Idol. Going to try to save your band from going under?”

“If I said anything else, the Dreamers would kill me!” said Odila. “And I don’t feel like dying today.”

“I heard once that a celebrity’s fans are a lot like the celebrity,” said Cary, “So if you’re scared for the future, you might as well say it now. I’m going to assume that your fans are not stupid and eager for you to cut through your trash.”

“Oof! Well well! Someone drank the big girl expresso today!” said Odila, letting out another barking laugh and throwing her hands up dramatically, as if she barely dodged a thrown punch. “But no, don’t worry Cary. I’m not scared of anything, especially not something as boring as the future.”

“Boring, huh?” said Cary. “Not the adjective I expected.”

“Life is meh,” Odila said, relaxing backward. “I got a pretty meher shade of meh to work with. Why complain?”

“Because your job could very well not exist tomorrow,” said Cary. “What will you do then?”

“Something. Or nothing,” said Odila. “I might never have to work another day in my life if I don’t do something stupid.”

“So let me help you plan for that,” said Cary. “It’s better than sitting around hoping your ship doesn’t crash.”

“Na-aw, but what if I want to do something stupid?” said Odila.

“So you are scared, hmm?” said Cary, with a shrug. “I mean, if you’re avoiding the question so much…” she could already see Odila’s glare go darker, her smile curl in its delighted grin that Cary was already nibbling the bait over her trap. And yet Cary felt a delighted tingle near the corners of her eyes--a sure sign that she was reflecting something similar.

“Okay, right, what was the start of this pointless dribble of yours?” said Odila, snapping her fingers next to her forehead. “Hmm, what what what, oh yeah, why you should hire me for this sham job that you just want a warm body to exploit,” she says, finishing with a snap pointing at Cary. “Because it’s that. I am applying for it because it’s that.”

“You already made that joke,” said Cary, blandly.

“No I didn’t Sherlock--you’ve just never heard of one,” said Odila. “Okay, next question! I think I’ve gone and thoroughly bombed that one.”

“Tell me a little more about Strawberry Cherry.”

Every once in awhile, Cary thought she caught a glimpse real fury behind Odila’s mawkish performances. Less than ten minutes in, and she’d already seen a hefty palette of snears, smirks, and smug grins. But something about that question opened a new expression on her face: a strange and sudden nothing. It wasn’t a drain of color indicating a lack of confidence, but a loss of life that exposed the most horrible truth at all: Odila didn’t care. And she resented being made to.

“Alright,” she said, eyes rimming as another smile snaked across her face. “Whacha wanna know?”