by Jeff Strand
“Yes,” said Justin. “Very much.”
“Then yeah, they’re okay, I guess. How big is my part?”
• • •
“Name?”
“You know my name.”
“For the record.”
“We’ve known each other since fourth grade.”
“This is for everybody’s benefit.”
“I’ve known Gabe and Bobby just as long.”
“Right, but we’re following an official process here, so I’ll need you to state your name.”
“I feel that if you’re asking me for information that everybody in the room already knows, you’re not making the most efficient use of our time. Time is a precious resource on a movie set.”
“Are you just trying to make your audition memorable?” Justin asked.
“I could be.”
“It’s not going to work. State your name.”
“I’m not going to do that. You know my name. Gabe knows my name. Bobby knows my name, and I know my name. Why pretend otherwise?”
“Because that’s what actors do. They pretend.”
“I prefer to pretend things that are realistic.”
“This is a zombie movie.”
“Even zombie movies need verisimilitude.”
“I know what verisimilitude means,” Justin informed him. “You said it hoping that I wouldn’t know what it means, but I do.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means that something appears true.”
“Yep, you’re right. Good job.”
“And verisimilitude is more about believability than actual truth, meaning that your acting is more important than the realism of the situation. So state your stupid name.”
“Bob Jareth.”
“That’s not your name.”
“But was it believable?”
“Next!”
“No, no, wait. I’ll state my name. You were right. I was just trying to be memorable.”
“Next!”
“Gary Weaton.”
“Next!”
“C’mon, dude! I’m lovably quirky!”
“Next!”
• • •
“Name?”
“Brianna Booth.”
“Do you like zombie movies?”
“Love ’em.”
“Would you be willing to let us make a cast of your head?”
“How does that work?”
“We stick a couple of straws up your nose so you don’t suffocate. Then we pour plaster all over your head, and you can’t move for a couple of hours. Then we pry the mold off your face and use it to make a fake head that we can blow up.”
“Does my shirt stay on?”
“Yes.”
“I’m in.”
• • •
“All right, Duane, read the lines off that sheet.”
“Look out behind you! There’s a—”
“This isn’t a musical.”
“I know that.”
“You were singing the line.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that.”
“It’s okay. Try again.”
“Look out behind you! There’s a—”
“Still singing.”
“Could the character sing maybe?”
“No.”
“Look out behind you! There’s a zombie!”
“That’s better, but you’re still kind of doing it in a singsongy tone. What we’re specifically looking for in our male lead is dialogue that’s not in a singsongy tone.”
Duane cleared his throat and nodded. “I can fix that. Just give me a second.”
“Take your time.”
“La la la la la la.”
“The la la la’s probably aren’t going to help.”
“I’m sorry. I’m used to auditioning for musicals.”
“It’s okay.”
“Look out behind—”
“Still singsongy.”
“Look out—”
“Still singsongy.”
“Look—”
“Singsongy.”
“What if I just play a zombie instead?”
“That’s fine.”
“Maybe we could have singing zombies,” suggested Bobby.
“Don’t talk during the auditions,” Justin told him.
• • •
“All right, Amy, just read the lines off that sheet.”
“Die, zombie! Die! Die! Die! Die!”
“Nice reading. However, the actual line is ‘They’ve got us surrounded.’”
“I know that, but I don’t want to play the character as a weak, helpless female.”
“She’s not weak. She’s saying the line while she’s smashing a shovel into the zombie’s face.”
“I feel like she would be overcome with animalistic fury. I just can’t imagine killing a zombie without shouting, ‘Die! Die! Die! Die.’ I mean, in the real world.”
“You know what? If you want to add, ‘Die! Die! Die! Die!’ to the line, that’s totally fine, but also read the part that’s on the paper.”
“Do you have a shovel I could use to help get in character?”
“No.”
“Anything I can swing?”
“We’d rather you didn’t swing anything.”
“Okay, I’ll just mime it.” Amy mimed swinging a shovel into a zombie’s face. “Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! D—”
“I think we’re fine with four dies.”
“I wanted to give you more options in the editing room.”
“I appreciate that, but we’re not actually shooting the movie right now.”
Amy glared at Justin. “I know that. I’m trying to demonstrate that during the making of your movie, I will give you more options in the editing room. I’m not some brainless bimbo who will just read the lines as they’re written.”
“Glare at us again,” said Justin.
Amy glared at the three of them one at a time, left to right.
“Did you feel a chill?” Justin asked Gabe and Bobby.
“Yeah,” said Bobby.
“You’re genuinely scary,” Justin told her. “You’re cast.”
• • •
“You should do a joke where the zombies are trying to eat this politician’s brains and he’s, like, so dumb that there’s nothing to eat.”
“Thank you. Next!”
• • •
“Name?”
“Chuck.”
“Do you like zombie movies?”
“The Walking Dead is my favorite show. I know it’s not a movie but whatever.”
“That’s fine.”
“I saw Norman Reedus once.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. He was grabbing a few napkins from the napkin dispenser. I remember thinking, ‘Wow, that’s Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead, and he has to get his own napkins.’ I would’ve thought he’d have someone to get them for him.”
“I guess he’s down to earth.”
“I guess so. And it wasn’t like he spilled something. It was just in case he needed to wipe his mouth. If I ever reach that level of fame, I’m totally making somebody wipe my mouth for me.”
• • •
If you excluded the fact that the drama students were rather odd as a whole, it had been a pretty good set of auditions. Unfortunately they still didn’t have anybody who could play the male lead. They needed an actor who was strong, handsome, and charismatic, someone had chemistry with Alicia.
He might be wrong, but Justin thought that he and Alicia had a decent amount of chemistry together.
Hmm.
“No,” said Gabe.
“What?”
“I never suggested that.”
“You were going to.”
“I didn’t even open my mouth.”
“You didn’t need to. I saw the entire thought process go across your face, and I put a stop to it before it made it to your mouth.”
“It’s not an idea I ever would have proposed. You stopped it for nothing.”
“That’s fine. As long as we’re all in agreement.”
“I have enough challenges as the director. I can’t add a leading acting role to my list of jobs. That would be crazy. If we had more prep time, maybe, but under these circumstances, no, I think it’s best if I stay behind the camera.”
“Also, you can’t act,” said Bobby.
“No, I choose not to act because of that traumatic moment in second grade when I wet my pants on stage in front of the entire school while I was playing the front half of a camel, which is what this whole conversation has been building toward, so I might as well put it right out there.”
“I’d forgotten about the camel thing,” said Bobby. “I’m not going to make any jokes. It was a very unhappy day for you.”
“Less happy for the back half of the camel,” said Gabe.
“That counts as a joke,” said Justin.
Gabe shrugged. “Bobby took the pledge, not me.”
“I’m not starring in the movie, okay? I was never going to suggest it. You guys are getting on my case for something I never said I wanted to do. I also never said that the actors should burp all of their lines. Want to get on my case for that?”
“I think we’re all a bit stressed out,” said Gabe. “Let’s take five minutes to sit here silently and relax.”
“We don’t have time for that,” said Justin. “We’ll take two and a half.”
Two and a half minutes and seven failed attempts to not talk later, they all took a deep, cleansing breath.
“You guys are going to think I’m kidding,” said Bobby, “but the whole burping idea would actually be kind of revolutionary.”
“I think we need the full five minutes,” said Gabe.
Another two and a half minutes later, they all took another deep, cleansing breath.
“From this point forward, no more arguments,” said Justin. “We all share one mind. If zombies eat one of our brains, they eat them all. We have to work toward a single, unified vision. Everybody in agreement?”
If either Bobby or Gabe had chosen this moment to make a hilarious comment about not agreeing with their need to agree, Justin felt like he might have genuinely lost his mind and started gnawing off his arm hair. Fortunately they both agreed, and his arm hair remained intact.
“So we still need our male lead. How do we find one?”
There was a knock on the door.
For a split second, Justin thought it was a zombie. This was ridiculous because (a) zombies did not exist, and if they did, (b) zombies would neither be inclined to nor possess the motor skills necessary to knock on a door. He was still very tired.
Justin got up and opened the door. It was Christopher Harrison.
Justin was not the type to writhe in jealousy over his classmates. But if he was, he’d writhe in jealousy over Christopher Harrison. He was inarguably the most handsome kid in school. You could try to argue it, but you’d lose. Yes, concepts such as physical attractiveness are subjective by nature, but not in the case of Christopher. If you pointed to another student and said, “So-and-so is more handsome than Christopher!” everybody would look at you like you were stupid. You weren’t stupid, not at all. You just obviously hadn’t seen Christopher Harrison yet.
He wasn’t the tallest kid in school, but if you wanted to eliminate the competition, it would only take a couple of head-flattening whacks with an oversized mallet to get him into the top spot. Every single tooth was glistening white, perfectly straight, and in the exact quadrant of his mouth where it belonged. His eyes—oh, his eyes—had such a glorious shade of blue. It was like he had twin miniature earths wedged into his eye sockets (but just the blue ocean part of the earth, not the brown land).
His hair was always perfect too. It looked as if he’d cut it three times a day. Top physicists would be baffled by its ability to remain perfect in all weather conditions despite the fact that it wasn’t Lego-style helmet hair like Ms. Weager possessed.
His arms were muscular, perfect for removing zombie limbs.
He was an excellent speller. He’d never won a spelling bee, but when he lost, it was on words like ukulele, which was impossible to spell anyway.
And he was a nice guy. His aura of charisma was so intense that he could probably be a complete jerk and you’d still want to be by his side as he fled from a herd of rampaging bulls.
Though he was bad at geography, he was bad at it in an endearing way, and that one flaw made all of his other strengths shine that much brighter.
Nobody actually called him Christopher “Mr. Amazing” Harrison, but if somebody did, everybody else would nod and say, “Yep, that sounds about right.”
“Hi,” Christopher said, charmingly. “Are you still doing the movie auditions?”
“Yes,” said Justin, Gabe, and Bobby.
“Well, then I’m here to audition.”
“Great,” said Justin. “Have you done any acting before?”
“Just when I forgot a homework assignment.”
Everybody laughed.
“Seriously though. I haven’t done much acting, but it’s a skill I’d like to develop. If you cast me, I promise that I’ll be completely devoted to your project. I won’t let you down. When I commit myself to something, I’m like a Rottweiler with a marshmallow.”
Justin handed him the script page. “Here are your lines.”
Christopher glanced at the lines. Then he nodded and lowered the paper, apparently having already memorized them. “Behind you! There’s a zombie!”
Bobby quickly glanced behind him and then looked embarrassed.
“Duck down and leave it to me,” said Christopher. He pretended to raise a shotgun with such skill that Justin could practically see the shotgun in his hands. He mimed pulling the trigger, and Justin almost felt the chunks of the zombie’s skull raining down upon the back of his neck.
“Sorry if any sludge got on you,” said Christopher, and for an instant Justin thought he was talking to him instead of Veronica Chaos. “My name is Runson Mudd, and I’ve embraced this dark new world that we live in. Yeah, I miss the luxuries of running water and catering. But in this world, only the strong survive, and I am one of the strong. And I can see that you are one of the strong, so let’s be strong together!”
A chill ran down Justin’s spine. Gabe brushed a fingertip against the corner of his eye as if he was wiping away a tear.
“Thank you,” said Justin. “Is it all right if my associates and I have a quick discussion?”
“Sure.” Christopher left the room, shutting the door behind him.
“We’re making a huge mistake,” said Bobby. “He could change his mind while we’re wasting time sitting here talking!”
“Everybody’s cool with casting him, right?” asked Justin.
“Yeah,” said Gabe. “He makes me want to be a better person. And that’s perfect for the character.”
Justin got up and opened the door again. “We’d love to offer you the role of Runson Mudd,” he said as Christopher walked back into the room.
“Hey, great! What does it pay?”
“Screen credit and free sandwiches,” said Justin.
“Bottled water?”
“Tap water in a bottle.”
“My own trailer?”
“A place on the sidewalk where nobody else is standing.”
“A personal assistant?”
“The world is your personal
assistant.”
“Cabbage?”
“You want cabbage?”
“No, not really.”
“Okay.”
“Do I get to be on the poster?”
Gabe fielded that question. “That’s a creative decision that will be made by our marketing department, but yes.”
“Who’s playing Veronica Chaos?”
“Alicia Howtz,” said Justin.
Christopher’s already bright eyes lit up. “Really? She’s playing my girlfriend?”
Justin coughed. “Well, we’re still doing the final polish on the script. We’re going to test out multiple variations of their relationship and see which one best suits our theme.”
“That would be awesome if she played my girlfriend. I can totally see us being together. It just feels right.”
“Yes,” said Justin, “it would be delightful. I hope you like purple Mohawks. Anyway, we’ll get back to you on that detail, but for now we’re thrilled to have you on board.”
12
“Soooooo,” Justin said as he, Gabe, and Bobby sat in his bedroom and worked on their laptops. “What if we tweaked the Veronica-Runson relationship so that they were brother and sister?”
“This is supposed to be the first time they met,” said Gabe.
“Then long-lost brother and sister.”
“Most of my character development is about their love story.”
“We can work around that.”
“No.”
“We’d get rid of everything icky.”
“Justin, do we need to have a discussion about priorities?”
“Nah.”
“I feel like we do.”
“No, no, no, you’re right. You’re right. You’re right. It’s good how easily I can picture them together. It’s what we want. It’s super way cool.”
“I don’t think they’ll have that much chemistry,” said Bobby.
“Of course they will! They’ll have scorching chemistry! Every review will talk about it! I’m surprised they aren’t already married!” Gabe declared.
“Maybe he’ll have bad breath,” said Justin.
“His breath is like roses. You smelled it,” Bobby reminded him.
“It was pretty nice,” Gabe admitted. “I wonder if he was chewing gum. Anyway, it’s not like they’re slobbering all over each other through the whole movie. There’s one kiss at the very end, and they’re both covered in guts, so Alicia probably won’t be that into it.”
