“Carl would like it,” Jamie says, when I tell her why laundry is my plan for the day. “I’d rather not test that theory. You coming?” I have a laundry basket tucked under my arm and am leaning against her bedroom door. She looks around at the mishmash of clothing strewn across her floor and says cautiously, “I think most of this stuff is actually clean.” I shudder. “How is it that we’re friends?” “Yin and yang.” “Do you have any auditions next week?” “Two, actually.” “Then rewash all that stuff, and I’ll help you fold and iron. Because you are not going to an audition covered in cat fur.” As if she can tell that I’m talking about her, Lady Meow-Meow lifts her head. She’s curled up on a pile of black material that looks suspiciously familiar. “Is that my dress?” Jamie flashes a guilty smile. “One of the auditions is for Sexy Girl in Bar and there’s three lines of dialogue. I was going to have it dry-cleaned.” “Yang,” I say wryly. “Come on.
