A/N sorry this first chapter is a little.... strange. I'm just trying to set things up before it gets interesting. tell me what you think, okay mates? hugs!

Angel sat straight up in her bed when she heard the phone ring, banging her head against the headboard. She rubbed her forehead and glanced at the headboard, noticing that another piece of paint had fallen off. Headboards can only take so much abuse. After many phone calls in the middle of the night, the paint sometimes might start to deteriorate. It happens.

She was brought away from thoughts about her headboard by the phone's ringing, which had not yet stopped. It was almost finished with the fourth ring when she picked it up and said "Hello?"

"Angel?" A man's voice came over from the other end of the phone.

Angel sighed and leaned against her headboard. "Dammit Mark, what now? Did you run out of coffee again? Need me to pick some up on my way over?"

"No, no, I have plenty of coffee."

"Then what?"

"I think I found you a role."

Angel leaned forward, thinking. "I'll be there in ten minutes." She glanced up and stared at her self in the yellowish mirror across the room. She looked like crap. "Make that thirty."

She hung up the phone without waiting for a reply, and then pulled herself out of her bed, immediately stubbing her toe on the rough carpet. "Damn carpet," Angel muttered. "Needs to be replaced." She automatically glanced at her expensive, out-of- place black leather purse (what was going through her head when she bought it?) on the other end of the little room, hanging on the doorknob. It was a reflex glance, because she already knew exactly what was inside that purse. Nothing.

Walking to the sink of the bathroom that was connected to her room, she glared at herself in the other mirror, one that was slightly less yellow, although there was a rather long crack stretching across the bottom edge.

"Crappy apartment," Angel continued to mutter to herself. "Gotta get out of this shit hole."

"I got here as soon as I could." Angel said to her agent/boyfriend, Mark Capell.

"Angel! You said thirty minutes! It's been nearly two hours."

"You didn't expect me to show up looking like I just rolled out of bed, did you?"

"Angel." Mark gaped at her. "You do look like you just rolled out of bed."

"I know." She said, exasperated. "That's the point. Only this way, it's controlled. I'm wearing make-up and I did my hair."

Mark squinted. "You are?"

"Shut up!" Angel said. "Just tell me what you've got for me."

Mark sighed. "Okay. So, the movie came from a book originally. The author, some crazy psycho living in a backwoods little hut or something, people say he killed somebody. Nobody wants to play a role in this movie, but it sounds like a good one and people will love it. It's perfect for you." Angel looked at him suspiciously.

"I want a copy of the script." Mark hopped from one foot to the other like an excited child.

"Are you taking the role? You're gonna be a star, Angie, I can feel it."

"Angel, not Angie. I might take it. Might. Why does nobody want it?"

"Uh... the company that's making the movie want's the actors to spend time with the writer, just so they can get a feel for how their character is supposed to be."

"So I have to spend time with some psycho just to get a role?"

"Please do it, darling. It's time for your big break."

"Sure." Angel shrugged. "Are we doing anything tonight?"

Mark looked at her nervously. "Actually, if you're going to take the role, you're supposed to start right away." She searched his face for a moment.

"You really want me to do this?" He grinned at her.

"You deserve to be a star. And, you need to get out for a little while."

"Okay. But I'm taking my cell. I'll call you." She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and then said, "So where exactly does this guy live? Oh, and will you tell my boss at the restaurant that I'll be away for a little while? Oh, wait, screw that, just tell him that I quit."

"Sure, sure, now get moving." Mark pressed a piece of paper in her hand. "Just go to that address, and I'll call the director and tell him you accept the part."

"Just like that? I don't have to audition?"

"They're desperate for somebody to play the part. Now go, go!" He kissed her quickly and she hurried out of the building, a little run down apartment on the first floor of a complex, which Mark had turned into his little office. Mark was a salesperson at a department store, but he had connections that he used to get people into Hollywood.



Angel put a new stick of winterfresh gum in her mouth and glared hatefully at the rain that was streaking the window of her car. One of her window wipers was broken, unfortunately, and it had been that way for at least six months, which was unfortunate seeing as how she out of luck whenever it started to rain and she needed to get somewhere. Like now.

She pulled out her cell and dialed Mark's number.

It rang. Eight times. Why didn't he answer? "C'mon asshole I know you're there, pick up the phone." She grumbled to herself.

She turned the phone off and tried calling again. Still no answer. Why was he being Mr. Mysterious all of a sudden? She would kill him if this movie thing turned out to be a joke. She had been waiting to get a role or a call for an audition for months, with no luck.

Sighing, she started the car and watched as the window wipers proceeded to wipe the driver's side of the windshield. It was barely enough to see the road, but she was fairly convinced she could still drive, as long as nobody set out to ram into her.

She inched the battered blue Toyota (five years old) into the road and started slowly driving down the wet pavement. Hoping nobody would come along. After all, she wasn't on a road that seemed to get a lot of drivers coming along, so maybe she could get by without actually driving close to anyone. She started to feel better.

She inspected the scrap of paper Mark had given her with this writer guy's address. Below it was written a phone number, and his name. Mort Rainey.

Ugh. Terrible name. Mort Rainey? Who would name their kid Mort? She picked her cell back up, (seeing as how it took very little energy to control her car while it was going at about 5 mph) and dialed the number on the paper. She hoped it wouldn't be too late to call him, (it had taken most of the day to drive down here) but she didn't want to be showing up at the guy's house at midnight without offering at least some explanation.

However, she wasn't able to give an explanation. The phone rang, but nobody picked it up. "Hmm." She said to herself, snapping the cell shut and flicking the switch to turn off the radio. For some reason it just felt too quiet in the car.

She turned the volume up on the radio, but all she could hear was the fuzzy noise of no radio signal.

Damn, she thought to herself.