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“I booked you at Maximilian’s for the end of May,” Isabelle said on the other end of the line as Ashley pulled her dinner from the microwave, General Tso’s chicken.

At five o’clock Monday afternoon, this was probably the last call her agent would make for the day. Which meant there was more coming. Isabelle hated giving bad news to her artists. Good calls went out first thing in the morning. Rejections were left until the last minute, as she usually would work throughout the day to make another booking, secure a review in a top newspaper, or otherwise soften the blow.

So Ashley asked, “But?” and waited for her agent to tell her the rest. A long moment of silence passed.

Ashley brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” “If it’s not a sell-out show, I’m not sure if I can book you again. And you

need to be here,” Isabelle told her. “I’m sorry. With the economy… Galleries are losing money. I can’t book shows like I used to. They want a sure thing. They want t