“That was the last time you saw her?” she demanded.
She was bawling, snot dripping from her nose while she questioned me. It wasn’t a good look. “Have you talked to her since that night?” she said. “Have you texted?”
Predictably, she flew into hysterics, hitting me in the chest and calling me bastard.” I can’t believe you did this!” she said. “You bastard!”
“You’re overreacting,” I told her grabbing her wrists and walking her back a step. “Don’t turn this into the end of the world.” I knew this would set her off but I was frustrated, every day with Karen is drama.
She pulled a handgun from her purse and pointed it at me.
Shocked, I showed my palms. “Karen, take it easy. Where did you get that?”
“You bastard,” she said through her teeth. “You bastard.” She said it over and over, spitty and accusatory.
“Put it down before you shoot me,” I told her. “Are there bullets in that thing? Hand me the gun, Karen, I mean it.”
Mascara had smeared black down her face and her eyes were wild. She fell silent for a few beats and we stood looking at each other.
She squeezed the trigger.
In disbelief, I watched as the gun clunked to the floor. She sagged to her knees sobbing into her hands.
This was it.
“You’ve got the part,” I told her. “Rehearsals are at 5 o’clock sharp.”