“The show is over. I’m over. History. Find me a flight home. Schedule me an appointment with a plastic surgeon”
The restroom door squeaked open.
Deena leaped up from the leather bench and rushed over to the nearest stall. Panting, she locked the door behind her. A moment later, she heard soft footfalls and then a hesitant cough. “Deena?”
Ruthie.
Deena leaned back against the door and filled her lungs. “I’m here,” she said hoarsely.
Ruthie was quiet. Deena waited, her knees shaking. Ruthie didn’t say another word.
After several minutes of silence, Deena unlocked the door and shuffled out. Ruthie backed into the powder area, motioning for Deena to sit. She sat.
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