Slate: The Salacious Story of a Hollywood Casting Director

by Rowe, Brian

  Thankfully the director returned with no chainsaw, no kitchen knife, not even a staple gun. He had three DVDs in his hands.

  “These are my most recent films. They’re about two minutes in length. They’re experimental, and I made them all myself. Watch these, and I promise that you’ll want to be a part of this project.”

  Nathan coughed and got comfortable. “OK. I drove all the way out here. Might as well.”

  It had only taken Nathan LeMille a couple of months to land an agent after moving from the depressing wasteland of Fresno to the promise and potential of sunny Los Angeles. Two days after the signing, he had been greeted with smiles and applause at his first film audition.

  But two years later, he still hadn’t booked a genuine film or TV gig.

  And he was still non-union.

  Sure, there was the occasional PSA, music video, and industrial film—yawn—as well as half a dozen commercials, but they all left Nathan unsatisfied. Endorsing a new kind of grape jelly was fun and all, but he wasn’t exactly artistically challenged.

  Six months ago he had turned to the dreaded land of student films. He started booking projects left and right, and he was finally given opportunities to play different kinds of characters, and experiment with different acting styles. Twenty-five years old, with short blond hair and a meticulously sculpted body, Nathan was super hot, no doubt about it.

  But his agent knew it. Nathan knew it. Even Nathan’s mailman knew it.

  Nathan had a small scar on his chin. It was somewhat faded but still noticeable. And the thought had become unavoidable—the scar was distracting to a majority of casting directors. He had a pretty face, which he never took for granted, but unfortunately the scar had prevented him from getting the roles of the hero or the romantic leading man. Instead, he was relegated to the bad boy roles and the dropout drug addicts. Nathan decided after months of humiliation that he needed an amazing reel that would provide every casting director in town a glimpse at his soaring talent.

  A month ago he had booked a non-paying, non-union short film and had some fun, so he started looking in that arena as well. Just days after that successful shoot, he auditioned for a short film called Skin. His character’s name was Alex, and he was a handsome college jock who was dating a voluptuous Middle Eastern chick. One morning the character wakes up with the face of an older man. Easy enough to figure out, Nathan was playing the first guy, and he only had two scenes to film—one in a bathroom removing his contact lenses, and one in a living room talking to his girlfriend on the phone. He booked the role immediately. There would be no pay, just copy and credit only, so Nathan figured he didn’t need to tell his agent about this one.

  When he arrived to the Arleta set on an extremely hot day in early August, he thought he would see the usual—an HD camera, lots of food, and plenty of bored crew members standing around not knowing what to do. But as he walked up to the small house in the dead center of a suburban neighborhood, he found himself scratching his head. There was nobody around. And there was just one car in the driveway.

  Minutes later he learned the inevitable. Today was going to be guerrilla filmmaking at its most inept. Never before, not even in the occasional high school movie he made with friends, had he done a short film with only one single crew member.

  “They’re good,” Nathan lied.

  The last DVD finished playing, and the director ejected the disc. All three films had been experimental cornball, long takes of people not doing much of anything. One of the films had been about an old woman sitting on a park bench eating out of a box of cereal.

  Nathan stood up, stretched, and softly kicked the leather couch. “How long do you think this will take?”

  The director chuckled. He clearly had heard that question before. “I don’t know. Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

  “I was just wondering.”

  Nathan started limbering up while the director clicked in a new battery on the back of the camera.

  “OK,” the director said. “We’ll start here with the living room scene.”

  “This is where I’m on the phone with my girlfriend, right?”

  “That’s correct. Do you have those lines memorized?”

  “Yes, of course. Who will I be reading with?”

  The director didn’t answer. He started setting up his tripod.

  Nathan cleared his throat. “Am I going to be on the phone with someone? How’s it gonna work?”

  “Oh, no, it’s fine,” the director said. “Just pause between your lines and pretend there’s someone talking to you.”

  Nathan tried not to laugh. Amateur hour, he thought.

  ---

  Two hours later Nathan had survived the first scene and was currently prepping the second. He meant to ask the director if any make-up would be provided, but he knew right away what that answer would be.

  “Where do you want me now?”

  “Step into the bathroom,” the director said, walking down the hallway. “I’m gonna change the battery.”

  “OK.”

  Nathan skipped into the tiny bathroom, trying to maintain a positive attitude. He turned on the light and started analyzing his face in the mirror. His hair was sculpted to perfection, with a charming little curl at the front. His big blue eyes were bursting with color, and the mirror even brought out the whiteness in his teeth.

  The director returned with the camera over his shoulder.

  “Fuck it. We’re going handheld.”

  Nathan forced a laugh. “I hear ya on that one. The two of us can barely fit in here.”

  “Yeah, sorry. It’s all I have to work with.”

  “What are you making this for, again?” Nathan suddenly found himself curious.

  “I told you at the audition,” the director said. “I’m submitting it to an online competition for young filmmakers. There’s cash prizes.”

  “Ahhh, what’s the web site called again?”

  “I forget the link. I’ll send it to you later.”

  “Have you submitted to it before?”

  “Numerous times.”

  “Have you ever won anything?”

  “Not yet,” the director said. “Let’s hope this one changes that.”

  “Yes. Let’s hope.”

  Nathan stared at himself in the mirror for another few minutes while the director got the camera all set to go. He could’ve sworn that the director had pointed the camera at his ass.

  “We ready?” Nathan asked. He was ready to get out of there.

  “Yes. I’m ready. Take off your shirt.”

  Umm, come again?

  Nathan avoided the director’s eyes. “What did you say?”

  “I said, please remove your shirt.”

  “Why do I need to take my shirt off?”

  “Your character has just woken up. He’s putting on his contact lenses in the bathroom. It wouldn’t make sense for him to be wearing anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Well, no, pants are fine. I just think it would be more true to the character if his shirt was off for the scene.”

  Nathan wanted to run out of the house screaming. “All right, whatever. But just the shirt.”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” The director smiled, a bit too noticeably.

  Nathan removed the shirt, revealing a jaw-dropping six-pack that looked like something out of a men’s fitness magazine.

  “OK, you ready?” Nathan asked the director.

  “I’m ready. Just stare at the mirror for a moment. Look happy. And then reach down to the cabinet below to get the contact solution.”

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  Nathan closed his eyes and imagined he was on the set of something legitimate. A David Fincher movie, perhaps? He imagined nodding to David and hitting his mark. He could see Brad Pitt in front of him and Edward Norton standing behind the camera, cheering him on. He opened his eyes and saw the poorly lit bathroom in front of him. Today was not going to be a day with David or Bra
d, unfortunately.

  “Action.”

  The first half of the scene proceeded as planned, maybe a little bit slower than Nathan had intended, but fine nonetheless. It was when Nathan bent over to search for the imaginary contact solution that he noticed something odd.

  He heard panting.

  “OK, good,” the director said. “Just keep doing what you’re doing until I say cut.”

  Nathan tried to pretend like everything was peachy keen, but he knew instinctively that something inappropriate was taking place. He stayed bent over for another thirty seconds. The panting behind him stayed quiet, but it wasn’t going away.

  “Is that a cut?”

  There was no answer.

  “All right,” Nathan said. “My back’s starting to hurt. Sorry.”

  Nathan turned around. The director wasn’t even pointing the camera his way; instead, he had sweat on his forehead, and it wasn’t due to the fact that the house had no air conditioning.

  Nathan looked down to see a giant bulge in the director’s pants. “Whoa, hey, what’s going on here?”

  “I think,” the director said, pretending he was having camera problems, “I think we need to do another take. My camera is having a focus issue.”

  “Dude, what the fuck?” Nathan motioned to the director’s obvious erection.

  There was awkward silence. The director took a step closer to Nathan.

  “Would you mind,” the director started, biting down on his lip, “I mean, would you care if I kissed you right now?”

  The director went in for the kill, his lips only briefly coming in contact with Nathan’s.

  “What the fuck are you doing, asshole!” Nathan shouted, pushing him away. He darted past him and made his way to the hallway. “Where’s my shirt?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Nathan turned around. “Is this thing even real? Is this a real movie?”

  “Of course, why would you think—”

  Without warning, Nathan turned around, brought his fist up in the air, and slugged the director in the face. The cracking of the director’s nose echoed through the hallway. Nathan slammed him against the wall and reamed his leg into the man’s crotch.

  “You better answer me you fucking piece of shit or I’m calling the police, do you understand me!”

  Nathan was going crazy. The veins in his forehead looked ready to burst.

  The director became teary-eyed. His erection finally started to fade.

  “I liked your headshot,” he muttered, almost inaudibly, blood starting to run down his nostrils. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Say again?”

  “I said I liked your headshot. I thought you were cute.”

  Nathan started to notice his heart beating faster. “So this isn’t real?”

  “I’m really sorry… I’m… I’m lonely…”

  Nathan stopped listening. He darted into the living room. He didn’t care about his t-shirt. “This is so fucked!”

  He grabbed his tennis shoes and walked out into the late afternoon sun. He jumped inside his car and turned on the ignition. He stared at the front door of the house, half expecting the director to come running out naked with a bottle of lubricant.

  Has it really come to this?

  Nathan sped through traffic, maneuvering in and out of lanes like he was the world’s most dangerous stunt car driver. He wanted to get home fast. He felt used and dirty. He wanted to take a shower without a creepy peeping tom filming him with a camera.

  Nathan was sure about one thing. He most definitely wasn’t going to tell his agent about this shoot.

  He pulled up to his depressing apartment complex in Culver City and took up two parking spots. As he walked down the sidewalk toward his one-bedroom on the bottom floor, he couldn’t erase the image of that creepy director with a throbbing hard-on sticking through his gym shorts. The thought of it made Nathan want to gag.

  As he entered in his code and opened up the gate, he kept one thought running through his head over and over again.

  If anybody does something like that to me again… anybody at all… I’m gonna kill them.

  -16-

  Gavin wasn’t saying much. Tired as ever, he kept making cute little faces that suggested he was trying to wear the cheap, worn-out shoes of a teenage drug dealer.

  “You’re gonna need to keep the window open for Buster, Mom.”

  “I know, honey.”

  She looked back to see Buster as jovial as can be, chasing his tail in the back seat.

  Must be nice, she thought.

  “ID?” the man at the gate asked.

  Vivien looked at the security guard with a forced smile. She handed him her ID, along with the e-mail that specified her son’s audition in room 287 at the corner end of the studio lot.

  The man burped and handed her back the ID. “Have you been here before?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know where to go.”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  Vivien stared at him, her fake happy demeanor slowly dissipating. “So you need to tell us where to go.”

  He nodded and studied her e-mail again. Vivien looked in her rear-view mirror to see at least six cars idling behind her. She tapped the back of her head against her car seat and looked over to see her son just staring out the front windshield, clearly lost in thought.

  The security guard gave her back the e-mail. “OK. Park on level three. Make a right, and then go all the way to the end of the sidewalk. If you reach building seven, you’ve gone too far. Make a right, go past the giant trees at the creek, make another right, and you’ll be just a block away from your building. Thank you.”

  Vivien brought her foot down against the gas pedal as if she were a fifteen-year-old behind the wheel for her first go-around. She wondered if she and Gavin would make it to the audition on time.

  They did.

  Barely.

  ---

  Vivien sat in a waiting room that looked similar to a doctor’s office. The only difference from that awful setting was something that Vivien found even more depressing. At least twenty other women, all middle-aged, and most at least fifty pounds overweight, were sitting joylessly around the room. Every single one had a teenager trying out for the same part, and every single boy was as thin as a Popsicle stick.

  “Hello, Vivien.”

  She turned to her right to see a chubby blonde woman with hair under her lip and fatty skin drooping under her tight brown halter-top. Vivien didn’t recognize her, but this woman clearly thought they were best friends.

  “Nice to see you again,” Vivien lied.

  “So nice to see your son again. He’s so talented.”

  “Oh, why thank you. That’s kind of you. What’s your son’s name again?”

  “Wyatt. He’s named after his dad, who recently died very tragically.”

  Vivien tried to fake sympathy by squinting her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I’m not.”

  Vivien attempted to move away from the bizarre conversation by turning toward the big doors that blocked her from the audition room. Sometimes she kicked herself over allowing her talented and gorgeous son to be judged on a daily basis by simpletons, the kinds of casting directors who didn’t know their eyeballs from their assholes.

  She watched Gavin walk out of the room, shaking his head and grabbing his backpack, not looking confident.

  “How’d it go?”

  “OK, I guess.”

  Vivien and Gavin were almost out the door when a loud burst of applause shook the audition room, and a wave of silence sideswiped every single mother in the vicinity.

  Gavin looked down, clearly disappointed that no clapping had taken place when he was in the room. “What was that about?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

  The door swung open to reveal a freckled blond child who looked no older than eleven, with an oddly shaped head and arms that looked three
times as long as his legs. He jumped up in the air a few times and ran over to hug his mother. It was the blonde rhinoceros Vivien was just talking to.

  “I think I got it, Mommy! I think they really liked what I did, Mommy!” His mother hugged him so close the boy actually started to disappear underneath the woman’s flabby arms.

  She kept hugging him, much to the chagrin of everyone else. Vivien had a vision of the other mothers turning into wide-eyed zombies and swarming this blonde, beefy hag, eating her from the inside-out, starting with her enlarged liver and kidney, then finishing their meal with her fleshy round buttocks.

  “I’m so proud of you!” the blonde woman shouted, clearly wanting the whole world to hear her thoughts. “You are so talented I could just die!”

  Vivien turned to the audition room to see two older men walking out. They stopped and faced the crowd. One was short and bald, and he kept quiet. The talkative one was at least a foot taller, with a repulsive black mole on his left cheek that looked the size of a pepperoni.

  “Thank you all for coming,” the mole boy said, “but we’ve made our choice. You can get your parking validated on the way out.”

  Vivien looked over to the waiting room to see kids who hadn’t gotten the chance to audition yet trying to fight back tears.

  The two men were about to close the audition room door when Vivien grabbed the outer edge and pulled it open. “Umm, excuse me,” she said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m sorry?” the mole boy said.

  “You can’t just stop in the middle of a casting session because you think you found the right actor. You have to see everyone. That’s protocol.”

  “There is no protocol in casting, lady.”

  They tried to close the doors, but Vivien pried them back open. “Look, you morons, I’m a casting director. I’ve been doing this for twenty years. If I have an all-day session, and I find the perfect actor in the first five minutes, I still have to suffer through the next six hours and see absolutely everyone. It’s called courtesy.”

  They didn’t respond. Instead, they smirked at each other.

  “Now listen to what I have to tell you,” Vivien said. “I want you to see the rest of these kids, or I’m gonna go to your supervisor.”

  The small guy finally chipped in. “We don’t have a supervisor.”