“I think it went well. April laughed a lot. She said she liked how I did it, that I made Maggie seem more interesting.”
“Great,” my mom said, pulling out her phone to call Janet. “That’s great.”
I watched as she hit auto-dial. I knew Janet would be happy, too. Whenever a casting person uses the word interesting, that’s a positive thing. Just like when they say you made good choices. The worst is when they don’t comment. Just an obligatory thanks as you’re walking out the door.
Then again, sometimes I’m totally wrong. When I think they liked me, I don’t even get a callback. And when I’m completely sure I blew it, that’s when I book the job.
At a little before two, we were on our way downtown. My hair was blown out. I’d changed into my jeans and cashmere top. And we even had enough time to get my makeup done at the salon. I was supposed to be playing a fifteen-year-old, so the woman didn’t put on much. Just enough to accent my eyes and call attention to my lips.
The casting office of Fleming Golde Sullivan is in a tall brick building on Greenwich Street, a few blocks from the river. As I signed in, my mom took a seat in one of the chairs against the wall. There were two other girls waiting, but I didn’t recognize either of them. Unlike this morning, neither of them was traditionally gorgeous. That’s a difference between television and film. For TV, you have to be perfect. But films prefer quirky, more like real life. I had this urge to run into the bathroom and rinse off my makeup.
A woman in a sundress and tall boots came out and called the first girl. We watched her go in. A few minutes later, she reemerged. Two other girls arrived and signed in. I recognized one from the audition circuit and we smiled at each other. My mom began chatting with another mom, nothing personal, just summer plans and the traffic out to Long Island. The other girl was summoned. And then, finally, it was my turn.
I grabbed my scenes and a few of the curly hair headshots and followed the woman through the office. I’d been here before, but I’d never read for this casting director, Stephen Golde, one of the owners of the agency. Janet said he’s a fan of my work.
When I got into the room, the woman with the tall boots sat in the reader’s chair. There were two men in the other chairs. The guy closer to the tripod was older and heavyset, with a tunic shirt and salt-and-peppery hair.
“Steve Golde,” he said, leaning out to shake my hand. “This is Kara. And that’s Pete. He’s the writer-director.”
As Kara and I greeted each other, my lip started trembling again. Janet didn’t say Pete Fesenden was going to be here. It was just a reading, not a callback, so I assumed I’d be alone with the casting people.
“Hey,” I said, shaking Pete’s hand. He had close-set eyes and a ponytail. A white laptop was open in front of him. As I gave him a headshot, I added, “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s great to finally meet you in person.”
“Oh,” Pete said, glancing down at my picture. “Oh…thanks.”
“Do you have any questions before we begin?” Steve asked.
I shook my head. “I’m ready anytime.”
“Skye,” Pete said. “That’s a nice name.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling widely. “My mom picked it. If I were a boy, she was still going to name me Skye, just without the e.”
God, I hated this. The schmoozing part. I used to love chatting up directors, showing them how I come across in organic conversation. I could always tell they were impressed, especially when I was younger. But now it was hell. Partially I was worried that without a script in front of me I’d screw it up. Also, it was all I could do to play one role, the one I was auditioning for. Now they were making me pull off another, the old Skye, that girl I used to be.
“Let’s start with the scene where Corey meets William,” Steve said. “We’ll do the dad one next.”
I took a deep breath. I was about to channel a fifteen-year-old seductress when Pete said, “You don’t look like your headshot. You’ve got curly hair here.”
“Yeah.” I laughed lightly. “I can wear it both ways, curly and straight.”
Pete glanced at my face on the monitor across the room. Generally, if I’m going to an audition with straight hair, I give the curly headshot. That way a director sees I’m versatile, that I can have several different looks. But in this case, it seemed to be confusing him, which was not the best way to begin.
Back in the car, my mom asked how it went.
“Pete Fesenden was there,” I said glumly.
My mom gasped. “Pete was there? Janet didn’t tell us that. What was he like?”
“He was okay. A little weird. He said he liked my name, but he seemed confused by my hair.”
“Did he say anything else? How do you think you did?”
“He asked me to read the dad scene a second time,” I said.
“He did?”
“And he gave me notes. He said to remember that I loved my father, but I was hurt by him divorcing my mom.”
“Skye!” My mom reached across the seat and hugged me. “It sounds great. I think it’s been a successful day all around. Maybe Janet was right. Maybe this is just what we needed to turn things around.”
It did sound great. It’s always good when a director wants you to read something twice. It means they want to see more. It’s another thumbs-up when they give you notes, like they want to see you respond to feedback, get an indication of how you’ll be on set. But even so, I felt worn out. As my mom called Janet, I leaned my head against the seat and closed my eyes.
four
Later that evening, I was soaking in the bathtub when my mom knocked on the door. I pulled the curtain closed. “Come in!”
“Are you relaxing in here?” my mom asked.
“Trying to.”
“Well, you definitely deserve it after today.” I could hear my mom sit down on the toilet-seat lid and begin filing her nails. “I just got off the phone with Paula Gornik. Jena is coming into the city with some of her friends on Thursday. They’re seeing a show at eight, but I told Paula you’d meet them for dinner.”
I groaned and slid deeper into the water. If there’s one thing my mom and I don’t agree on, it’s Jena Gornik. Paula, Jena’s mom, has been my mom’s best friend since college. They sang in an a cappella group and took some wild road trip to Texas. The Gorniks are from Westchester County, an hour north of the city, so Jena and I have been forced together our whole lives.
What my mom doesn’t understand is that Jena and I are opposites. She’s one of those compact, bubbly types. Casting directors would call her perky. She goes to an utterly normal suburban school, the kind you see in movies, with the pep rallies and the homecoming dances and the carwashes to raise money for band uniforms. Plus, Jena lives with both her parents and her older brother who’s always ragging on her but you can tell deep down he’s superprotective.
Back in April, my mom went out to dinner with Paula and invited her and Jena to join us on our trip to the Caribbean the following week. When my mom informed me, I freaked out. Matt had broken up with me, I’d just dropped out of Bentley, I was feeling like hell in general—and now I had to go on vacation with Jena Gornik? I told my mom no way, she had to take it back, but by that point the Gorniks had already purchased their plane tickets and it was set.
Mostly, Jena and I avoided each other on the trip, which was fine by me. But then she started hanging out with this guy, and I hate to say it but I felt jealous. Life came so easily to her, meeting a boy on vacation, being all chatty and fun. Granted, he seemed like a total player, which I guess worked to my advantage because one day, when he and I were alone on the beach, I flirted with him and we ended up chilling for a few hours. I knew it was crappy, but I did it anyway. I just wanted to see if he’d like me more than her, or maybe I needed a post-Matt ego boost. In any case, Jena refused to talk to me for the rest of the trip. When we landed at Kennedy airport, she grabbed her bag and stormed off to meet her dad. We haven’t seen each other since.
&nb
sp; As I sat up in the bathwater, I said to my mom, “Did Jena even say she wanted to have dinner with me?”
“I think so,” my mom said. “Yeah, Jena was in the background when Paula made the plans. She said Jena’s going to call your cell when they arrive at Grand Central Station.”
“You gave Jena my number?”
“Skye,” my mom said, “please do this. Jena’s grandmother had a stroke a few weeks ago. Remember Belle? Paula says they were really close, so it’s been hard for Jena. Anyway, it’d be nice for you to get out and help cheer her up.”
Me cheer her up? Now that’s funny. Jena is the queen of cheer. When we were at Paradise, Jena always carried around a quote book with that cheesy picture of the Parisian couple kissing on the cover. Once, while Jena was in the shower, I thumbed through her book. The most recent thing she’d written was A day without sunshine is, like, night (Funniest bumper sticker ever!!!). I read that and I thought about how a day without sunshine is, like, my life. Which just shows how ironic it is that I’m being called upon to deliver the cheer.
My mom set the nail file on the edge of the sink. “Please, Skye?”
I scooped up some bubbles with my fingers. “Do I have any choice?”
“I booked you a table at Patsy’s for five thirty on Thursday. My treat. They have to be in a cab to the show by seven fifteen.”
“So the answer would be no?” I asked.
“That’s my girl,” my mom said, standing up.
I put my head under the water and didn’t come up until she closed the door.
On Wednesday morning, I was sitting at my desk. I was supposed to be doing practice math questions for the GED exam, but instead I was cruising ReaLife. Kate had already written me about the Roundabout show. I dashed a quick response along the lines of Oops, I forgot, I’m busy all weekend. The twins wrote me again, complaining that I’m too far out of the social loop and insisting I go clubbing with them on Saturday night. I was like, I’d love to but I’m really busy with an audition. Then I checked out Matt’s page. He’d posted some prom pictures with him and Diana. I stared at them a long time, hating Diana for getting him, hating myself for letting him go.
The phone rang.
“Skye?” my mom called out. “It’s Janet. Pick up in your room.”
I closed Matt’s page and reached for the receiver.
“Skye, honey?” Janet rasped. “Luce, you’re still on?”
“I’m right here,” my mom said.
“I wanted to tell you both at the same time,” Janet said. “I just got off the phone with Steve Golde. You got a callback for the Pete Fesenden film!”
“Really?” I asked. “Seriously?”
“A feature film,” Janet gushed, “from a hot new writer-director. It sounds like Pete loved you. He said he always pictured Corey to be blond, but as soon as he saw you he decided ethnic would be perfect. Can you be there Friday at ten?”
“Mom?” I asked.
“Your day is clear,” my mom said.
“Steve said they’ll be doing the same scenes as yesterday,” Janet said, “plus one more with the dad. My assistant just emailed it to you.”
“I’m checking right now,” my mom said, clicking on her keyboard.
“It’s a tough one,” Janet added. “Very intense. You may want to do a session with Ron Clarkson. Work out the kinks.”
“I’ll give him a call,” my mom said.
“Keep me posted on that,” Janet said.
After we hung up, I could hear my mom printing out the new scene in her office. As I waited for her to burst through my door, I wondered whether this was it. My big break. The thing that’ll finally make everything better.
five
Ron couldn’t see me until Thursday at noon, so my mom and I spent the next twenty-four hours practicing the new scene, getting the dry cleaner to rush back the clothes I wore on Tuesday’s audition, and booking a Friday morning appointment at Jon Regents to get my hair blown out. It’s an insider thing in the business that, for a callback, you should dress and look the same as you did at the audition. When I was younger, that used to be hard. My mom would have to take notes about which T-shirt I wore and whether I had on my sneakers or my school shoes.
Janet was right. The new scene was intense. It’s near the end of the script, where the dad discovers that Corey has been sleeping with his business associate and he says he’s disappointed in her and she tells him she’s disappointed in him, too. My mom and I had been through it enough times that I’d memorized the lines, but we were struggling with how I should interpret Corey. Would she be furious or devastated? Or even ashamed? By Thursday morning, I was ready for Ron.
I took a cab to Ron’s acting studio by myself. My mom was meeting someone for lunch, a woman who volunteers with her at the Met. She offered to cancel and come with me instead, but I said I was fine. It was just a matter of flagging a cab, doing the session, taking a cab home.
When I got there, Ron buzzed me in.
“Skye!” he said, stretching out his arms. He’s short and muscular with a shiny bald head, like a mini version of Mr. Clean. “It was great to hear from Mom. Congrats on the Fesenden callback!”
“Thanks.” I gave Ron a loose hug and an air peck on each cheek.
“So what’s Pete like?” Ron asked as he led me inside. “They say he’s odd, but I’ve yet to hear it firsthand.”
I nodded. “I guess he was a little weird. He got sort of hung up on my hair.”
Ron gestured for me to sit down in one of the chairs. As he reached into his fridge for a few bottles of water, I said, “Guess who I saw at an audition the other day? Kate Meredith.”
“Kate Meredith, Kate Meredith…” Ron handed me a water and then snapped his fingers together. “The crier! What’s she up to?”
“She just got cast in a romantic comedy.”
“Which one? Who’s in it?”
I shrugged.
“If she didn’t say anyone’s attached to it,” Ron said, “it’s not a big deal.”
I had to laugh. Ron can be snarky, but he’s good. Everyone in the business knows it. Do a few sessions with Ron and you’ll nail an audition.
“I’m sorry,” Ron added, “but as the acting teacher Sanford Meisner once said, ‘Fuck polite!’” He cracked open his water. “Now let’s get started!”
The session was almost over. Ron agreed I was acing the first two scenes. The new one was tough, though. Ron definitely helped me improve it, teasing up Corey’s emotion while toning down her melodrama. But something still wasn’t right and we both knew it.
“What is it?” I asked, setting my notes on my lap. I’d scribbled down a lot of what he said so I could practice later.
“I’m trying to figure something out with Corey and the dad,” Ron said. “It feels like you’re playing her too deferential. Corey is a fifteen-year-old girl, definitely old enough to stand up to her father.” Ron massaged his forehead for a minute. “Remind me about Dad. I’ve never met him, have I?”
“My dad?” I asked.
Ron nodded.
“He died before I was born,” I said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ron said. He tossed his water bottle in the recycling bin. “What do you know about him? What did he do?”
“He was Brazilian,” I said. “He was an artist. My mom met him at his gallery opening. We have pictures of him around the house. I think we look alike, except I’m lighter skinned.”
“What else? What about the emotional stuff? Are you mad at him for dying?”
“Mad at him?” I asked, wrinkling my eyes in confusion. “He died in a motorcycle accident when my mom was still pregnant. There’s not much to be mad at.”
“But you’ve got to feel something, some sort of abandonment, something we can tap into for Corey’s scene.”
I shook my head. I had no idea what Ron was getting at here, and the more he pushed the more my brain felt fuzzy.
“Well, let’s run through it again,” Ron s
aid. “But I want you to think about your own dad. There are definitely some answers there.” He opened another bottle of water and leveled his eyes at me. “Can I be frank, Skye? I can be frank with you, right?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“I’ve known you for years, and it just feels like you’re missing a beat today. I’m going to need you to focus, pull your head together a little more.”
I stared back at Ron, unsure how to respond.
“Cheer up, sweetie!” Ron said, drinking some water. “Now let’s get you this Fesenden film.”
When I got home, my mom was in the kitchen making chilled watermelon soup. She was wearing her red-and-white striped apron and she had her hair up in a ponytail. She was humming as she hacked apart a huge watermelon, pink juice trickling over the edges of the cutting board and onto the counter.
“How’d it go with Ron?” she asked, setting down the knife.
I grabbed a chunk of watermelon, took a bite, and said, “Fine, I guess. We definitely made progress on the new scene.” I spit a few seeds into the trash. “He wanted to talk about my dad, though.”
“Andres?” my mom asked.
I paused. “Yeah.”
My mom rubbed her hands on the front of her apron. “What did he want to know?”
“He said he thought I had untapped emotion there, things that could help inform Corey’s character.”
My mom began chopping again.
“What was Andres like?” I asked. “I know the story of how you got together and how he was this amazing guy, but what else about him? What would he be like if I met him now?”
“He was funny and smart. He’d definitely still be painting. He had a strong accent, but his English was nearly perfect.”
“What else?” I asked. “Why did he go back to Brazil when you were pregnant with me? For a visit? When was he supposed to come home?”
“The plans were a little up in the air,” my mom said.
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