Esmeraldarella

“I don’t take notes from you! I’m a trained Shakespearean thespian,” the actress declared, with a shake of her curls.
I sighed. “Yes, Esmeraldarella. I understand. Now can we please get back to the book?”
“I’m not performing this drivel! How much are they paying us? More importantly, how much are they paying ME?”
“Um.”
“You expect me to work for nothing?”
“Well, we agreed—”
“I don’t care what we agreed! I’m out of here! GOODBYE!” And suddenly she was crumpled on the floor, for once mercifully silent.
I looked at the crowd, apologetically. “I’ll talk to her. I’m sorry.” I picked her up, put her back on my hand, and told her I’d pay her out of my own pocket.
She then stuffed her face in my pocket, and relieved me of my wallet. She kept my wallet in her mouth throughout the entire reading.
The kids seemed entertained. But I was more than a little annoyed.
Later, I confronted her. “What’s wrong with you? Your diva behavior will get us banned from performing at the children’s ward!”
She replied, in a voice that sounded nothing like mine, “Shut up and make me a martini.”