Chapter 2?

Polly had been alive a long time -- long enough to have cursed immortality more than a few times. She had met hundreds of thousands of mortals. She'd seen even more on television and in films. Some of them had been near talentless, but she'd never met a mortal with no talent before. "Like, zero," she said aloud.

Her office was small, with a rose color breaking up the white molding. The decorator had gone nuts with the statues in this room. Three of Polly's sisters on three different walls; Thalia, Erato, and Clio had their own alcoves. The room comfortably fit a smaller version of Sam's desk with two velvet chairs that matched the walls facing the desk. The designer had found an office desk chair that looked like a throne, painted gold with white cushions. The window behind the chair was framed by gauzy, white curtains, but as the alleyway that the window looked out on ruined the ambiance, the designer had covered the "view" with a shade. The shade was painted with trompe l'oeil scene of a beach.

Polly walked over to a small bookcase in the corner and hit a hidden switch. It swung open to reveal a closet. The closet held a few changes of clothing and shoes; business and casual and two safes; one that Hayley knew about and one that only Polly did. A full-length mirror hung on the back of the door.

What type of body to present to the public was always a political choice. Throughout the centuries, Polly had generally settled for the classic white male, as she could be certain that even on a short mission, she'd have immediate credibility. This time, she'd wanted to settle in, stick around. She'd considered appearing as a black woman, just to balance out the myth of white male brilliance she'd helped perpetuate for millennia. But then, the Rachel Dolezal scandal had hit.

Polly recognized that inhabiting black skin without being burdened (and blessed) with the history behind it was disrespectful. In the end, she'd gone close to her own natural appearance; olive skin, dark topaz eyes, and jet black hair. She was vain enough to have made sure the hair was silky and the teeth straight but she'd also made herself short and chubby. The fact that she was not glamorous-looking weeded out people that she didn't want to work with.

Anyone who looked past her instead of at her, anyone whose gaze went immediately to her bosom, anyone who called her "senorita" without learning her name (or heritage) was immediately out. She mostly booked and hired women. Polly prided herself on not being vain, and in fairness, compared to her sisters, she was fairly unconcerned with her appearance. But she was still a goddess, and beauty was important to her.

Nobody took incredibly beautiful people seriously as anything other that eye-and-arm candy, so she'd gone with average features. She had chosen a serviceable appearance without any particular thought toward romance.

Now, she sucked in her stomach and arched her back, critically observing the changes her posture made on her body shape in the mirror.

"Oh, my god, you do that too?"

Polly jumped, all of her pent up breath whooshing out of her. Jane Johnson, one of Polly's comedians, stood in Polly's doorway. She was slightly taller than Polly but slim, with dark hair and kewpie doll face that she'd recently started to try to balance with a leather motorcycle jacket thrown on with a t-shirt and jeans. She was only twenty-three but had already been doing comedy for a decade. She was one of Polly's only comedians that Polly hadn't done much for. Jane was one of those who would have made it no matter where she was discovered, or by whom.

Jane walked over and sat down on one of the chairs facing Polly's desk. She slouched down into the chair and flung a leg over the arm. She grinned at Polly as Polly stepped away from the mirror and kicked the bookcase/door shut. "It's good to know you're human," Jane said, tracking Polly with gleaming eyes, as Polly walked over to her desk.

Polly shrugged off her embarrassment and laughed. "Was there ever any doubt?"

"Kind of," Jane answered with a laugh but the corners of her mouth were tense.

Polly leaned forward, catching Jane's gaze. "How can I help you, hon?" she asked gently.

Jane shrugged, flushing a bit. She looked away, her gaze following the ornamental swirls of Polly's desk. "I have an audition today," she said. "It's stupid but I don't want to go alone. Maybe after, I could buy you lunch?"

Polly stood up. "Of course." She felt under her desk with her feet for her heels and then slipped them on. She grabbed her cell, slipping it into the skirt of her sundress.

Jane popped up from the chair. "Really? Okay, great," she said, moving toward the door. "I need to be there in 20 minutes."

"Where, exactly?"

"Burbank," Jane said, flashing an apologetic grin behind her.

Polly sighed and followed. It was noon. Getting to Burbank from Sylmar took 20 minutes with no traffic, let alone at this time of day with all of LA getting ready to do lunch.

Sam was back at her post and on the phone. Sam was 30 but with a face made for Disney and Lauren Hill hair. She brightened up when she saw Polly, which Polly took to mean that Sam's audition had gone well. Bryce Adder, a comedian that Polly didn't like much but who hung out a lot, was sitting on the couch next to the door. He rose when he saw Polly. "Can I talk to you?" he asked.

"I'm on my way out," Polly said, relieved to have an excuse to leave. Bryce was a tall, good-looking white guy who constantly pestered Polly for more stage time despite being only okay at comedy. He wasn't bad enough for Polly to tell him to get lost, although she felt no desire to help develop his talent. She did hope that he would grow up and let some of his more misogynistic jokes go, someday. Seeing him always put a pit of dread in her stomach, a confrontation that she'd like to put off indefinitely, if not forever. "You can make an appointment with Sam," she said. "I'd be happy to sit down with you," she said, losing a little of breath at the lie. She flashed him an apologetic smile and followed Jane, who hadn't even slowed down.

Mid-summer in Los Angeles, the heat had a fist to it. Polly pushed back against the searing breeze, following Jane to her dark blue Hyundai Sonata, which had been part of her payment for doing a commercial for the brand a year ago. Polly barely had the door closed before Jane took off. Polly was immortal but she strapped the seatbelt on with a quick prayer to Zeus anyway.  Jane's philosophy on defensive driving was that a great offense made a great defense. Polly drove like everybody's least favorite grandmother; slowly, methodically, and with the proper respect for a 3000-lb death machine. As subtly as possible, she braced herself against the back of her seat, the door, and the floor of the car.

Once they were safely (relatively) on the freeway, Polly chanced a glance at Jane. She mentally shuffled through a list of pep talks but realized that Jane's gaze was focused on the road, where it belonged. Polly sank back in her seat, letting Jane's road-rage mutterings flow over her. Jane was a great comedian. She presented her knife-edged point-of-view with that sweet face machine-gunning a hundred jokes a minute at the audience. Her brilliance was obvious to everyone but herself. She was especially insecure when it came to acting, which was newer and something that she had less control over.

Polly kicked off her shoes and pulled out her phone. She had at least a hundred messages on various social media platforms that she needed to sort through, at any given time. Anything she didn't answer, Sam or Hayley would but she didn't like the new mortal trend of needing to be on-call at all times. An entire generation of mortals were growing up without the ability to just step away from each other and take a breath. She answered a handful of emails before her phone was jerked from her grasp by gravity.

"Shit!" Jane said, her gaze focused on an exit three lanes away and coming up fast. She jerked the wheel again, barely missing a semi.

"I swear to God, if you don't take the next exit, you'll never step foot on my stage again!" Polly shouted, clinging to the dashboard with one hand, the door handle with the other.

Jane sighed. "I think I have to," she said, ignoring a multitude of middle fingers she was receiving from people in the cars around them. "I'm sorry, I was going over what I wanted to say and wasn't paying attention to driving."

Polly ignored these comforting words and let Jane navigate the switching of lanes at a more reasonable pace. "I'm definitely going to be late now," Jane said.

"Why did you wait so long?" Polly asked.

"Honestly, I was just going to blow it off but then I thought if you went with me it might not be so bad. My roommate was going to come with me, but she got called into work last-minute."

Polly was surprised. Jane was nearly oblivious as to how talented she actually was, which meant that she rarely placed any importance on auditions and such. That she needed moral support was -- interesting. "What is the audition?" Polly asked.

Jane sighed turned onto the exit. "It's for a sitcom?"

"Uh-huh," Polly said. "So it's a big part?"

"Kinda," Jane said. "It's supposed to be about me."

Polly stifled a laugh. Only Jane would call a pitch meeting for her own sitcom an "audition". Jane pulled up outside of a dark-glassed skyscraper. Polly stifled another laugh. Jane's pitch was with NBC. Of course it was.

"Can you park for me?" Jane asked. "I'll wait for you in the lobby but I want to check in. Also, can I tell them you're my manager? I kind of already did."

"Sure," Polly said, answering the parking question automatically. The rest of the request hit a moment later, but Jane had already flashed her a dimpled grin and her door was already open. "Thanks!" she said, before exiting the vehicle.

Polly watched Jane jog toward the entrance and shook her head. Mortals. Always so hesitant to just ask for what they needed. Always so sneaky. She unstrapped her seatbelt and then retrieved her phone from under one of her shoes. She slipped it back into her pocket before scooting over to the driver's seat.