“You act like it’s a hardship being young, beautiful, and talented.”

We got out of Target with only a few more purchases (I duwanna talk about it) and mildly serious damage to my male ego. It was impossible to look at myself in a mirror and see Billy Jones, the guy from Bakersfield who wanted to be an actor. I didn’t look like a guy named Billy, or a guy at all. I could change the spelling, to Billie, or Billi, or Billee, but that wouldn’t solve another problem.

The Screen Actors Guild encourages every member to have a unique name and keeps a register to help avoid duplicates. Chad, the guy I had met at the bank, had suggested that I use a version of my middle name. I made a face; my real middle name was Hallelujah.

Jack saw my expression. “Poo,” he said in a too-cute voice. “What’s bugging Billy?”

“Shut up,” I said, which caused him to laugh. “This is all going to go away when I wake up,” I grumbled.

He looked at me sideways while he negotiated traffic, heading back to Lowering Heights. “You’re a dream girl, but you’re not dreaming.”

I waved my hands. “I must be,” I said. “This just doesn’t happen. People don’t turn into…into this!” I waved my hands again, at myself this time. “People don’t get turned into…” I couldn’t say it. “By some antique French camera?” I sighed.

Jack actually scowled at me. “You act like it’s a hardship being young, beautiful, and talented.”

“I—what?” Talented? But I caught him glancing at my chest, and I wanted to sock him. “You try it then, Jack,” I offered between clenched teeth.

He shrugged. “I’m sure I could make the most of it. I’m a realist. I’d adapt.”

I threw up my hands, “This is the most unreal thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“Billy,” he said earnestly, “you’re not thinking past the immediate problem. You wanted to be a movie star, but you were just another weedy trash digger from West Tulsa with nothing hair, a squeaky voice, and a forgettable face. Now you’re a hot, sexy bombshell with a kitten purr and a spark of charisma; the camera is going to love you.”

“Frigging camera,” I muttered. “Wait—kitten purr? What do I sound like?”

He laughed. “You haven’t heard your new voice, have you?” He shook his head. “You still sound like Billy, but the squeaks are cute instead of annoying, and when you try to sound serious it—uh, it—? It’s just…sexy. Like a teeny-bopper vamping on Marilyn Monroe.”

I rolled my eyes.

Jack turned down the ramp to the underground parking spot he leased along with our apartment. He even paid for one of the primo stalls near the elevators. Jack was rich, I reminded myself.

“I’m from Oildale, not Bakersfield,” I pointed out. “A place that doesn’t need a nickname like West Tulsa. ‘Oildale’ is plenty redneck enough.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved a hand as he pulled into his stall. “You’ve said that before.” He turned the engine off and looked over at me. “Maybe I’ll go with you, next time you visit your folks. I’d love to see the looks on the faces of your old homies when they see the new you.”

“I didn’t have any homies,” I muttered. I couldn’t imagine the word applying to the crowd I had hung out with, performers, mostly: actors, singers, musicians, dancers. The group was pretty small in a place like Oildale, frankly.

We got out of the car, retrieved the purchases from the tiny back seat, and then took the elevator up two floors. Jack was carrying most of it, so I got my keycard out to work the lock. Rico Espinoza, another tenant on our floor saw us coming and called out, “Hey, Jack! Moving your girlfriend in?”

I scowled, but Jack just grinned at the fool. “Something like,” he stalled, glancing at me.

“‘Bout time you got rid of that queerbait roommate, he was crimping your style.” Rico was blatantly checking me out, his eyes lingering on my chest.

I’d had enough of that. Rico had never been one of my favorite people, anyway. “Like what you see?” I cooed. Jack almost dropped the stuff he was carrying.

Rico looked up at my face, grinning, and I smiled back. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Hallie Jones, Billy’s cousin. Billy went back to Oildale for a bit, and I’m staying in his room while he’s gone.” I tried to put some menace in my voice, but it sounded more like spite even to my ears. “And if you’re such an expert in queerbait, you can just go bugger yourself.” Damn, I’m too squeaky to be scary.

Annoyed both by Rico and my own voice, I slammed my keycard into the lock and swung the door open. Jack scooted inside, barely containing his laughter.

Rico, the slime, was back to staring at my chest. I gave him a bit of shoulder action, like Charo on those old Johnny Carson clips. His head sort of vibrated. “Up here,” I said, pulling his gaze back to my face with my hands. Then I pointed a finger pistol at him, sighting on his beady eyes. “Bang,” I said. “I’m shooting you down, sleazoid. Go back to your mothership and tell the other alien scum that Hallelujah Jones is in town.”

Okay, I’m an actor, not a writer. But he got the message and skedaddled.

I went into our apartment and found Jack dumping the stuff he had bought for me on my bed. “Boy,” he said, still laughing, “you don’t want to get ol’ Pinkie Pie mad at you.”

“Huh?” I said, falling into his trap.

“I figured out what cartoon character it is that you sound like: the little pink pony from Friendship Is Magic.”

“I do not!” But I heard myself squeak.

Jack just grinned at me, then whipped out his phone, pressed Record or something and held it out to me. “Say something cute,” he said.

“I will not!” I protested. “I never knew you were a Brony, Jack.”

He shrugged. “Guilty pleasures; the show is silly, but my nieces love it.”

“You have nieces?” I asked. He must have mentioned them before. Jack had a hundred funny stories about his rich but clueless relatives.

“Three of them, from my oldest sister. Eleven, eight and five.”

“Weird names,” I said, then I had to try not to giggle at my own joke.

“Perfect!” Jack pushed stop then replay, and I heard the exchange again, but hearing my voice the way everyone else did.

I had to sit down and plopped into the chair at my desk. “Omigod! I do sound like Pinkie!” Not exactly, but close enough! Too cute to live!

Jack nodded, grinning. “I knew you wouldn’t believe it without hearing it.” He punched a few more buttons. “Saved to my server,” he said, then put his phone away.

All I could do was glare at him.