Of course I wanted to do it. There’s no way to describe the exhilaration of being on set, all made-up and in costume, playing someone else for a few hours or days or weeks. All these directors and producers and costars cooing about how you’re so beautiful and mature and talented. Not to mention that the kids at school thought the acting thing was incredibly cool. I never bragged about it, but word spread around Bentley. I could tell in the way people were always complimenting my clothes, laughing at whatever I said. I don’t want to sound pretentious, but I never had a problem making friends or getting guys interested in me.
In a nutshell, my life has been relatively perfect. Until last Christmas when, all of a sudden, it wasn’t anymore.
two
By late afternoon, my mom was back on the phone with Janet. I’d memorized all my lines for tomorrow and I’d watched clips of Pete Fesenden’s short on YouTube and we’d picked out my clothes for both auditions. The casting session for the boarding-school role was at eleven in the Flatiron district and the film audition was in Tribeca at two forty-five. Now Janet and my mom were debating how I should wear my hair. I have dark brown corkscrew curls, but I can blow them out so they’re straight. We debate this for every audition, whether it’s a curly or straight-haired character. We even have two sets of headshots. I could overhear my mom and Janet talking. It sounded like they thought the slut would be curly, all wild and rebellious, while the girl having an affair with her dad’s friend would have sleek, upper-class hair.
As the conversation lapsed into my voiceover demo tapes, I wandered into my room and closed the door. We’d been working so hard on the auditions, I hadn’t had a chance to see if anyone IMed me or wrote a message on my ReaLife page. No, not just anyone. Matt. He was my boyfriend for almost two years. We broke up at the end of March. He still writes me occasionally. Whenever I see Matthew Hudson on my screen I get quivery and I wonder if this could be it, if he wants to get back together. But his notes are never more than, Hey, Skye, what’s up? Which is typical Matt, meaninglessly friendly to everyone, the golden retriever of teenage guys.
A few people had dropped by my ReaLife page, girls from Bentley like Sophie Desmond and the twins, Bella and Drew. That used to be my posse. I guess we’re still a posse, but I haven’t seen them as much recently. Partially it’s not being in school. But also, I haven’t been in the mood for the parties and the club-hopping. The twins both wrote me today, raving about my movie and saying that everyone in school was calling me a celebrity now. Sophie tagged some prom photos for me. I checked them out and then, before I could stop myself, I jumped over to Matt’s page. He hadn’t put up any prom pictures yet, which is a good thing because I didn’t want to see him with her.
I closed ReaLife and glanced out the window. Matt lives on the Upper East Side and I live on the Upper West Side. My apartment is on the eleventh floor, facing Central Park. Back when we were together, Matt used to call me when he was in the Sheep Meadow so I could look out and see him. Now the Sheep Meadow was a blur of bodies. It was a warm afternoon in early June. People were laying out in their bikinis. There were babies crawling around on the grass. On the loop, I could see runners and cyclists and horse-drawn carriages.
I opened my window a few inches, then a few more, stealing a quick glimpse at the sidewalk below. As I did, my heart thumped nervously against my chest and my stomach seized up tight. I quickly closed the window, latched it, and grabbed a pen. I jotted down a few lines and folded the paper in half. Then I changed into shorts and a jog bra, smeared sunblock on every exposed inch of my skin, and headed into the living room.
“I’m going for a run,” I told my mom as I leaned over to tie my sneakers.
“Hold on,” my mom said into the phone. “She’s going for a run.”
There was a pause, and then my mom glanced at me. “Janet wants to know if you have sunblock on. She says they’re casting fall commercials soon, so you shouldn’t look too dark.”
“Tell her I have sunblock on,” I said. “SPF fifty.”
“She has fifty on,” my mom said. Then she looked up again. “And you have your phone?”
I patted my pocket.
As I headed toward the door, my mom laughed and called out, “Janet says watch for branches!”
They were referring to the time, two summers ago, when I’d landed a second callback for a Clearasil commercial. It was down to me and another girl. The afternoon before my audition, I ran too close to a tree and got a bloody gash on my cheek. All the makeup in the world couldn’t hide it. Janet warned the casting people, but when I arrived at the callback everyone was still expecting me to have perfect skin. It goes without saying that the other girl booked the part.
“Tell Janet no branches,” I said.
“See you soon,” my mom said. “Love you.”
“You too,” I said.
Then I headed into the hall and hit the down button on the elevator.
My mom always says I can tell her everything, but by that she means everything good. The other stuff, the ugly stuff, there’s not a place for that in our beautiful lives.
I never did tell her what really happened with Matt. I just said we grew apart, that it was mutual. Because to tell her about Matt would open up everything and to open up everything would mean revealing way more of the ugly than anyone wanted to hear.
The weird thing is, I can pinpoint the exact second when it started. It was Christmas last year and my mom and I were at this benefit for the Central Park Conservancy, where she’s on the board. I’d been feeling off-kilter all evening, but I figured I was probably premenstrual. I was chatting with some freshman girls from Spence, and they were being all worshippy, squealing things like, You’re together with Matt Hudson! I want your life!
That’s when I saw this woman rushing around, an intern for the conservancy. She looked like she was fresh out of the suburbs, her first society event, and she was working triple-hard to fit in. Heels, mascara, the whole deal. But then I noticed this rip in the back of her dress, about two inches long. For some reason, that rip made me sad, so sad I ended up walking around the block in the freezing cold until I got over the urge to cry.
My gloominess didn’t go away for all of break. It was a rainy week, so I thought maybe it was the weather. But January arrived, full of abundant sunshine, and I still felt down. It’s hard to describe, except that I could see happy off in the distance, but even if I stretched my fingers really far I could never reach it.
My friends at school were like, What’s up with you? You never want to go out anymore. My mom took me for facials and massages and even surprised me with a long weekend in South Beach. Janet was lining up auditions, but I wasn’t getting as many callbacks and, even when I did, I couldn’t seem to book the smallest part. I was trying harder than ever, but all the trying made me so tired I wanted to burrow in my bed and sleep.
With Matt, it was harder to pretend. It’s not like we were sex maniacs, but we’d been doing it since sophomore year. Now I would cringe whenever he touched me. I just felt too removed from my body, too shut down. At first Matt was patient, but after a while he was like, Come on, Skye, it’s not like you’re saving yourself.
In late March, Matt broke up with me. Most guys would have done it a lot sooner, so that’s testimony to his retriever-like devotion. I said I understood and, to be honest, part of me was relieved I wouldn’t have to fend him off anymore. But then, five days later, he started going out with a blond freshman named Diana. And everywhere I looked, in every stairwell of Bentley, they were kissing and hugging and proclaiming their love.
That did me in. It got so bad that one morning I blacked out at my locker. When I came to, I was flat on the floor and the nurse was standing above me, talking to my mom on the phone. On the cab ride to my doctor’s office, I told my mom I wanted to leave Bentley. I said I’d collapsed from exhaustion, that it was too much trying to juggle work and school. We know a lot of professional teen actors who are homeschooled, and we’d even d
iscussed it as an option before. My mom agreed, as long as I got my GED and applied to colleges. The following morning, she called the headmaster and withdrew me from Bentley.
It was a relief to be away from the Matt-and-Diana show, from the daily pressure to put on a happy face, but it’s not like I felt better. Mostly, I just kept waiting for the old me to return. That’s why these auditions tomorrow are so important. I’ve decided that if I can book one of these jobs, everything might turn around. And if I can’t, well, I’m not sure I can go on pretending anymore.
When I got downstairs, I waved to the doorman and jogged across Central Park West. I headed into the park near Tavern on the Green, but before I reached the running loop I dug into my pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper. I read it one more time.
I wonder how it would feel if I jumped. Would the sadness go away? Of course it would. I’d be splattered across the sidewalk. But do I really want to die? I guess that’s the big question.
I folded up the note and dropped it on a bench. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me, then hopped over the curb and started running south. As I ran, I blasted my music and tried to focus on the rhythm of my sneakers hitting the pavement.
I ran the entire loop, all six-point-two miles of it. When I got back to Tavern on the Green, I jogged over to the bench. My note was gone. Someone found it. They probably opened it. They probably read it.
Even though I don’t know who that person is, a small part of me felt better knowing that someone out there in this world knows just how bad it can get.
three
My mom arranged for a car to chauffeur us around the city on Tuesday. The humidity skyrocketed Monday evening, so the last thing we wanted was to wind up in a sticky cab with a broken air conditioner. Two blocks into it, my hair would frizz and my nose would shine. Also, we were dealing with a tight schedule. We had to start in the Flatiron district for the boarding-school audition, complete with curls, camisole, and red lipstick. We were aiming to get out of there at noon, twelve-thirty if it dragged. My mom factored in a half hour for lunch. Then she booked an appointment at the Jon Regents Salon on Seventeenth Street to get my hair straightened. After my hair was done, I’d change into the other outfit. We went through my closet and selected a cashmere top, jeans, and low heels. Cute, yet mature. Just right for a girl who’s banging a fifty-year-old man. After that, we’d hop back in the car and zip down to Tribeca.
So now all I had to do was remember my lines, look the part, act the part, and be that energetic and enthusiastic girl everyone wants.
The black Lincoln picked us up outside our building at ten. The traffic downtown was insane, so we didn’t make it to Gotham Casting until almost eleven. When we stepped onto Eighteenth Street, I felt carsick. I stood on the sidewalk, attempting to swallow the nausea as my mom held out a bottle of water for me to sip.
Finally, she glanced at her watch. “Ready?”
I was still queasy, but I nodded and followed her into the lobby. I leaned against the wall of the elevator and took some shallow breaths.
We hadn’t been to Gotham Casting for seven or eight months, but for a while we were coming here practically every week. As my mom secured a spot in the waiting area, I signed in. I wrote my name and Janet’s contact information. That’s how it works. She’s the one to call us with the good news and buffer us from the rejection.
Once I was done, I glanced around the waiting area. My heart sank slightly. I hate that moment when I’m psyched for a role, lines memorized, ready to go. And then I see four or five other girls studying their scenes just like me. I always check them out and I wonder, are they more talented? Prettier? Or am I prettier? Why will one of us get the part and not the other? People are constantly telling me I’m beautiful. I used to see it, especially when I was dressed up, going out somewhere. Sometimes I still do, but mostly I avoid looking into mirrors. It freaks me out to stare at myself, especially my eyes, and to know all those things I’ve been thinking inside.
One girl was with her mom, but other than that they were alone. That’s been happening more this past year, people coming to auditions by themselves, especially if they don’t have to drive in from New Jersey.
As I settled onto a couch, a blond girl across from me looked up. “Skye!” she said, smiling brightly.
It was Kate Meredith, from my second year at the Ron Clarkson Studio. She’s gorgeous with huge blue eyes, and she can cry on command like no one I’ve ever seen. We used to go out sometimes, Kate and me and a few other girls from class, to see a Broadway show or have lunch and get pedicures.
“Hey, Kate,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” she said. “I just booked a movie. It’s a romantic comedy. We start shooting in Toronto in three weeks.”
“Wow,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“How about you? What have you been up to?”
“I had an independent film air last week,” I said. “Other than that, lots of auditions. I have another one later today.”
“Yeah…for what?”
I could feel my mom staring at me. In this business you have to keep your cards close. Next thing you know Kate, or even one of the other girls listening in, calls their agent or manager and says, “Get me a reading for the Pete Fesenden film, too.”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing much. Just a student project.”
“Oh,” Kate said. “Well, good luck.”
“You too.”
“I haven’t seen you out in a while,” Kate added. “Have you been away?”
“Not really,” I said. “Just the Hamptons.”
“Listen,” Kate said, “I’m getting together a group of people to see a play at the Roundabout next Saturday. Want to come? I know a guy in the cast. We can probably get backstage.”
“That sounds fun,” I lied. I’ve learned that it’s better to say yes now and back out later.
“Great. I’ll send you the details. Are you on ReaLife?”
I nodded, wondering how long I could keep up this conversation. It was exhausting.
“Me too,” Kate said. “It’s funny how—”
Just then, a youngish guy with streaked hair and wire-frame glasses came out and called Kate’s name. She sprang up and followed him inside. We all sat there in silence. I read over my scenes. My mom offered me water. I read my scenes again, this time mouthing the words.
When Kate came out she was wiping her eyes. I wondered if it was from nerves or whether she’d been crying in there. I tried to visualize the scenes they were having us do. Should I have built in a good sob? Damn. Too late now.
“Skye?” the guy called out.
I handed the water to my mom and followed him inside. As I walked through the cluttered casting office, my lower lip began to quiver. A few people glanced at me and waved. I waved back, telling myself, You are calm and relaxed. You are calm and relaxed. And then: Okay, Skye, if you’re not calm and relaxed, at least act like you are.
The guy with the glasses led me into the casting room. This was a first reading, so no one was there except him and April Johnson. She’s a casting director I’ve met several times. I’ve had good luck with April, probably because she has this way of putting me at ease. I’ve booked two commercials with her and a guest spot on a sitcom.
“Nice to see you, Skye,” she said, shaking my hand. “This is Maxwell. He’s reading for us today.”
The guy nodded as he settled into one of the chairs. I sat in the other chair, facing the camera, and placed my scenes in my lap. I memorized everything, but I still highlighted my lines in case I got lost.
“You’re looking all gussied up,” April said as she adjusted the camera on the tripod. “Very much the boarding-school slut.”
“That’s what I was going for,” I said, smiling.
“Really?” April laughed. “I just thought that was your look these days.”
I laughed along with her. “Oh, you know me.”
April reached for the ca
mera, but then paused. “I thought we’d start with the scene where Maggie seduces Theo, and then warm up to the confrontation one.”
“Sounds good,” I said, tucking the second scene under my chair.
“Before we begin,” April said, “let’s all shout…you know…blowjob.” April giggled. “Just to cut the nerves. You cool with that?”
I smiled at April, took a deep breath, and shouted, “Blowjob!”
“That’s my girl,” April said, nodding.
“Blowjob!” Maxwell said.
“Blowjob!” April said.
My mom and I have this tradition where we don’t talk when I come out of an audition. As soon as she sees me, she stands up and we walk silently to the elevator. We don’t even debrief when we’re in the lobby or on the street. We always wait until we’re safely in the car.
After we left Gotham Casting, we slid into the Lincoln, which was idling at the curb. We were running early, so my mom instructed the driver to swing by a café for a light lunch. From there, we’d continue on to the salon. As the car pulled into traffic, my mom said, “So?”
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