by Karen Grey
Becky, Janet’s assistant, looks up from the pile of scripts she’s sorting on the floor. “Can you send them in, Will?”
“You bet.” Buzzing with anticipation, I jog to the door.
One step closer to my goal. I have a feeling it’s going to be a good night.
When I check my watch as I exit the building with Mike, Oliver and Randall, I can’t believe it’s almost eleven. Mike leaps down the short flight of stone steps, obviously as full of adrenaline as I am. “Who’s up for a beer?”
Randall laughs. “You have to ask?”
The guys start up Comm Ave. in the direction of the dive bar where we’ve gathered since we were students post-show, post-audition, post-anything that needed processing.
I call after them. “I’m going to wait for Jess so she doesn’t have to walk by herself. She’s changing her clothes.”
Mike turns around and continues to walk backwards. “That could take hours, dude.”
“She promised to be quick.” I wave them on. “Save us some seats.”
Left on my own for the first time in hours, the first thing that pops into my head is not a quote from one of the shows I’ve been reading for all night. Instead, it’s the defiant chin of that girl at the bar last night, the one I made the fake old fashioned for. I don’t know why I gave her such a hard time, but I can’t stop thinking about her.
It’s not like I don’t see stunning women every day. There’s Jessica with her perfect curves, golden-brown skin and hair so huge it should have its own résumé. But we’ve worked together so much she’s like a sister to me. Two cute college students were at the callbacks, a freckled redhead and a bubbly black girl. Of course, they’re way too young for me. Then there’s that New York actress. With long blond ringlets, big blue eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion, she’d be eye candy to anybody.
Except me, I guess.
Losing my dad to gambling and watching my mom struggle to raise three boys on her own made me really careful about who I date. Plus, sleeping with people you’re working with is never a good idea.
Now, if that feisty workaholic ever shows up at the bar again or, better yet, if she comes to the Boys and Girls Club tomorrow, I might ask her out. Seems like she could use a chance to blow off some steam.
The T rumbles by. Still no Jessica. After a bit of searching in the theater building, I finally find her talking to Isabelle outside the dance studio. I auditioned with the New Yorker a few times tonight and was pleasantly surprised. Subtle and reserved, she’s the complete opposite of Jessica, who leaks emotion from every inch of her body.
I wave my arms. “Jess, are you coming or what?”
Both women turn in my direction, but only Jessica opens her mouth. “Sorry, I was just telling Bella about the studio over in Central Square.” Jess teaches dance at a few places, and Bella—I guess they’re at the nickname stage already—has the upright carriage of a dancer, too.
Jessica grabs Bella’s forearm, startling the taller woman. “I’m going for a drink with Will and a couple of the other guys. Do you want to join us?”
She lets Jess pull her down the hall but shakes her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got to get home.”
Jess locks elbows with her new buddy. “We’ll walk you to your car.”
She parked in the opposite direction, so it’s eleven-thirty by the time we make it to the bar. Turns out Bella has a kid, but Jess thinks there’s more to her story.
I open the door and usher her inside. “Man, I can’t imagine having to support a family on what I make.”
“I didn’t find out if she has a husband or not, but she did tell me that this is the first time she’s auditioned since she had her daughter, who’s six, and she told the directors she can only do one show this season.” She goes up on tiptoes to scan the room. “Lucky for me because she’s major competition.”
Jess is tiny, so she probably can’t see that the guys have commandeered a table at the back. “They’re over by the Pac-Man,” I tell her. “What do you want from the bar?” I treated this bartender to free drinks just last week, so he’ll probably reciprocate.
She puts a hand to her brow. “‘I would give all of my fame for a pot of ale.’ Henry V.”
“‘Good company, good welcome and good wine can make good people.’ Henry VIII,” I quote in return. “But all of your fame wouldn’t buy a small Coke.”
She sticks her tongue out. “Thanks, rub it in. Now I’m even more worried that Soap Opera Bella is going to take Juliet from me.”
“I’m kidding, Jess. You’ve got Juliet in the bag. She was better than I expected, but she can’t have anywhere near the stage experience you have. And despite your lack of fans, I’ll buy you a G and T.”
She smiles sweetly. “Thank you, kind sir. I’ll save you a seat.”
By the time I make it back to the table, Oliver’s launched into a story about some commercial he shot last week. The others chime in with comments about this casting director or that producer they wish they could meet. Since I don’t go out for that kind of work, my mind wanders back to the brunette I met yesterday, wondering if she might actually show up to volunteer tomorrow.
Jess whaps me on the arm and when I jerk away beer sloshes onto my hand. “What the fuck, Jess?”
She knocks on my forehead. “Mike asked you a question three times, space cadet.”
I put my mug down and grab a napkin. “Sorry. Thinking.”
Mike waves at me from across the table. “I said, did you really only get to do Romeo that one time with me?”
With all the switching up of scene partners and moving back and forth between two plays, I didn’t have a chance to tell anyone my news. “Yeah, but it’s a good thing. I’m doing the fights. On my own. Dave’ll help out while he’s in town, but then it’s all on me. So, playing Romeo on top of that probably would be a bit much.”
Randall lifts his glass. “Congrats, man. I mean, that’s good, right?”
I nod, pride stretching my lips into a wide smile. “Yeah, it’s very good. It’s a big step, but I’m psyched.”
Oliver reaches over and taps my mug with his. “The lucky vest rides again.”
“Yeah, I might have to start sleeping in a vest soon.”
Mike barks out a laugh. “Then you might actually get lucky.”
“Hilarious. Anyway, thanks, guys.” I clink glasses around the table before taking a gulp. “I mean, I’m gonna kick your butts in the workouts, but I can’t imagine torturing anyone else.”
“Glad I don’t have to leap around with a pointy sword,” Jess says.
“It’s called a rapier,” Oliver says. “Jeez. Women.”
She rolls her eyes and holds up her cocktail. “Anyway, here’s hoping we all hear good news tomorrow. ‘Fortune is merry, and in this mood will give us anything.’ Julius Caesar.”
CHAPTER THREE
BEEP. SATURDAY, 9:04 a.m.
Will, it’s Jess. I’m so sorry, but I can’t give you a ride to the volunteer thing. Sorry! I had an audition pop up for today at noon, but I’ll get there as soon as I can afterward.
WILL
Taking a break to stretch my back, I take stock. Digging out a four-by-sixteen-foot garden bed is taking longer than I thought it would. I’ve been at it for a good hour already, like the other volunteers scattered around the community center grounds, but the boost of energy provided by this morning’s good news from Shakespeare Boston has kept me going. Before I pick up the shovel again, a backlit riot of hair catches my eye. My volunteer buddy is finally here. Unfortunately, in heels and a bright blue belted jumpsuit, she’s not dressed for the job at hand.
Before I can say so, Jess raises a finger to silence me. “‘Let every man be master of his time.’ The Scottish Play.”
“‘Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.’ Henry Four, Part One.”
She throws her hands in the air. “What are you going to do? Kill me for being late?”
“‘Better three hours too
soon than a minute too late.’ Merry Wives.” Ha. I’m up by two.
She draws a hand across her brow. “‘I wasted time and now time doth waste me.’”
“Wow, that’s a good one. What’s that from?” Jess and I are cutthroat in our competition to best each other with random Shakespeare quotes.
“Venus and Adonis.” She curtsies, her head bowed.
I stab the dirt with my shovel. “All right, you win this round. But you’re still an hour late.”
“I’m sorry, but you know how it is at these auditions. If you’re late, they’re running on time but if you’re on time, they’re running late.”
“Actually, I don’t. I’ve never auditioned for a commercial, and I have no plans to.”
“It wasn’t a commercial; it was an industrial film. Three whole days of work! If I got it, I’d be eligible to join the union.”
“Speaking of which, guess I’ll be joining a different union.”
Jess claps her hands together and squeals. “Yay! I was wondering if you’d gotten the call yet. You weren’t up for Romeo, so what roles did you get?”
I lean on the shovel. “Not Romeo. Bertram and Mercutio. And the fight choreography.”
She nods slowly. “Cool. I’m doing Diana, so we’ll still get to work together. Oh, and you’ll be such a good Mercutio.” She does a little dance, grinning. “I’m so excited.”
The girl drives me crazy but there’s a reason she’s so successful. She is an entertainer. “Can I assume you got Juliet, then?”
She slaps her forehead. “Oh, duh, yeah.” She wipes her brow theatrically. “Whew.” Hands on hips, her brow wrinkles. “I wonder what they offered Bella. I mean, they had to give her something, right?”
“I’m guessing Helena.”
“Yeah, I could totally see her doing that. Have you heard from the guys?”
“Not yet.”
She steps around the pile of dirt and the stack of railroad ties. “What are you doing, anyway?”
I gesture between us. “We are supposed to be building a garden bed.”
She fluffs her hair. “Why are you digging up the dirt? Don’t plants grow in dirt?”
I sling one more shovelful into the wheelbarrow and then roll it over to the pile I’ve created. “Yes, but this dirt is compacted, full of rocks, and needs fertilizer. We have to dig it up, set those ties in to create the bed, mix the soil with the amendments and then put it back.” I hold out the other shovel. “What’d you think we’d be doing?”
Jessica receives the tool gingerly, like it might bite her. “Not manual labor.”
I go back to work. “Yeah, you’re not exactly dressed for it.”
“I came straight from the audition. Maybe I can do something with the kids instead.”
She scans the area, her gaze locking in on a tall guy heading our way. He’s as fashionably dressed as Jess, in acid-washed jeans and a bright green Members Only jacket, the collar of his pale pink Izod shirt turned up. A slim brown-haired girl struggles to keep up with him.
Her determined march across the yard. The impatient frown on her face. It’s Fake Old Fashioned Girl. When I gave her the flyer at the bar, I didn’t think there was any way she’d show up today, but I have to admit I’m pleasantly surprised that she did.
She’s even prettier than I remembered. Kind of like Phoebe Cates with super straight hair.
The guy stops near the pile of dirt I’ve created. “Do you all need help?” He runs a hand through his own big hair. He must go through a can of mousse a week.
Jess puts a hand on Hair Guy’s arm. “We do! How did you know?”
If I were directing her in this scene, I’d tell her to take it down a few notches.
Fake old fashioned Girl peers at the garden bed to be. “The supervisor sent us over here after we finished raking.” Unlike the guy tagging along with her, she’s dressed to get work done. Her Wranglers are already dirt-encrusted and her faded Harvard sweatshirt isn’t falling off of her shoulder and getting in the way, Flashdance-style. “Do you have any more shovels?”
Jess quickly hands off hers. “Oh, you can have mine. I’m Jessica Abraham, by the way, and this is Will Talbot.”
Hair Guy reaches out a hand to Jess. “I’m Steve Lowell. And this is Kate Bishop.” Clipped consonants and a tight jaw. This guy comes from money. “Our investment firm encourages us to give back to the community through volunteer work. Your company must do the same.”
At the word investment, I stiffen. Just my luck.
Kate gives me a little wave and I nod in return. She sure doesn’t match my image of a finance shark. The way she argued with me, I assumed she was a lawyer.
“Actually, Will is the one who told me about this event,” she says, her vowels lengthening in an accent that sounds almost southern. “He bartends at Cheers.”
Of course she’s got an adorable grin. How can someone so damn cute spend her days convincing poor schmucks like my dad that she’ll make them millionaires? I return my attention to the dirt pile. So what if they think I’m rude? I’m here to volunteer, not mix it up with rich people.
“Do you work there, too?” Steve asks Jessica.
She waves that away gracefully. “No, I’m an actress. Will and I are in a theater company. We do some work with at-risk kids here.” She sighs dramatically. “I thought I’d be working with them today. I don’t know if I can do this digging. I came straight from a film audition.”
“You’re an actor too, Will?” Kate asks.
“Yep.” I shrug. “Bartending just fills in the gaps.”
After a few moments of silence Kate claps her hands. “What can we do to help?”
It seems as though they aren’t going to move on to friendlier territory, and I do need at least one more willing pair of hands. Jessica isn’t likely to make much of a contribution, so I explain what the project manager laid out. Steve gets to work helping me dig while Kate mixes the fertilizer with the pile of dirt I’ve already unearthed. Jessica supervises. Meaning, she flirts shamelessly with Steve while pretending to work. This doesn’t seem to bother Kate. I’m guessing they’re not a couple.
Not that it’s any of my business, but it’s always useful to study people, get ideas for characters. Steve is going on about how he does sales. His glib, outgoing personality fits that bill. Kate, on the other hand, is tougher to pinpoint. Her pale, lightly freckled face doesn’t reveal much of what she’s thinking. She was guarded at the bar, too, but she warmed up after I served up the special drink.
“Right, Will?” A poke in the shoulder from Jess breaks into my thoughts.
I swat her hand away. “What?”
“Ugh. He is always zoning out.” She rolls her eyes. “I said, you think doing on-camera work is beneath you.”
“I didn’t say that.” Man, I hate this argument. “I think it’s a distraction from the career I want to build in the theater. I don’t want to have to run out on rehearsals to audition all the time, like some people do, leaving the rest of the cast in the lurch.” Like Jess, who’d been MIA more than once from rehearsals for the show we’re in together this spring. “And commercial actors seem to audition an awful lot to win just a handful of jobs.”
Jessica shakes her head at me like the tradeoff is obvious. “Yes, but when you get the job the pay is really good! And I only left early that one time,” she adds under her breath.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Steve cuts in. “I’ve got a buddy in the business—my roommate from Tufts. He’s a casting director. He told me an actor can earn a year’s salary on one job. That’s a pretty good ROI.”
Kate stops moving for the first time since she picked up a shovel. “Return on investment,” she elaborates, before turning to Steve. “Actually, they’d have to do a bit of research to find out what their ROI really is.”
She zeros in on Jessica. “Like you’d have to add up all the auditions that you had in a year and compare them to how many jobs you got. You’d want to include the hours you
spent going to the auditions as well as any expenses.” Kate looks like a different person right now, speaking animatedly, her face alight, hands dancing in the air. “You might even want to quantify any lost wages during those hours, if you’re missing time from paying work.”
“Wow, I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Jess says.
Kate barely stops to breathe. “You know, there’s another possible piece to this puzzle, because I’m sure that it’s not just a numbers game. You’re selling yourself, right? So you’d have to try to determine what your particular assets are—your skills, your ‘look’ I guess, your age, things like that—and evaluate the competition based on those assets.”
I glance over at Steve who seems as surprised as I am by Kate’s rapid-fire spew of information. It’s like a switch got flipped. She’s still firing a series of questions at Jess, something about “market saturation” and “viable product.”
“I mean, Jessica, you obviously have a unique look—maybe one that directors don’t see often?”
Jessica nods, waves a hand. “Yeah, it’s complicated. I’m one hundred percent Jewish, but my grandparents are literally from all over the globe.”
I can practically see an adding machine running totals behind Kate’s eyes. “There are a lot of beautiful women on TV, but as our society becomes more mixed culturally, having actors who represent that might be more marketable. You’d have to really study the trends there.”
Jess tilts her head. “Huh. I do get called in for every so-called ‘ethnic’ role and there’s a regular group of us—one’s Cuban, one’s black and this other woman who’s Greek, basically everyone who doesn’t look like a WASP—but I never thought about it as a market to study.”
Kate’s laser focus shifts to me. She blushes but doesn’t stop talking.
“Now, Will here. When he smiles, he’s really got that boy-next-door thing going, which I imagine is in demand, but in what is possibly a saturated market. You’d have to figure out what your niche is, I guess.” She leans on her shovel, studying me to the point that I feel stripped naked. “You seem to have an athletic thing going. All stuff to think about when you’re evaluating your marketability.”
