â€œIs it really your last night?â€ Uli asked.
â€œYes it is.â€
â€œIt wonâ€™t be the same around here without you!â€
â€œItâ€™ll be better,â€ another girl joked. After the laughter died, she put a hand on Callieâ€™s arm. â€œReally, Echo. I wish you all the best in your life.â€
â€œâ€I hear youâ€™re going into films,â€ another one said. She looked like a beach girl: long blonde tresses, evenly tanned and smooth skin. Callie didnâ€™t remember ever telling anyone that. In fact, she certainly had not.
â€œCinematography,â€ she corrected.
The girl looked her up and down and cocked a brow. She slowly nodded her approval.
â€œYeah, I can see that. You got what it takes.â€
The remark threw Callie, but she thanked her all the same and strode quickly down to her door. She closed it behind her and sat in front of the mirror while the music thumped beyond her dressing room. Last night. Finally.
After her last set, she considered taking the name from her door and maybe, press it in a scrapbook. Life here would go on as always here without her. The names and faces would change, the dances and routines would be the same. She had come to a point where it all felt cheap and tawdry and she wanted out while she was still anonymous. She felt almost certain that she would be able to return to her real life and put this to rest. It wasnâ€™t fun or exciting after Trish died. Callie was all too glad to box Echo up with the rest of her costumes and move on.