by Rowe, Brian
“Well, then, I’ll badmouth you to every agent in town. My name’s Vivien Slate. Look me up.”
The mole boy put his hands up in the air. “Ooooo, we’re really scared, lady.”
“Stop calling me lady!”
Vivien moved past them. Clearly they weren’t getting the point. “Whose camera is this?” She pointed at an HD camera sitting on a tripod.
The short one started walking up to her. “Please, ma’am, don’t touch that.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Instead, she touched the tripod. It fell over slowly, like a tall tree collapsing in the middle of a forest. When it crashed against the ground, the camera slid off and smashed against the wall, breaking into a dozen pieces.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Vivien said. “Tell that blond little spitfuck I wish him well.”
After departing the studio lot, Vivien bought her son an ice cream sundae, a banana split, and an Oreo milkshake.
And that was before lunch.
---
WE NEED TO TALK.
Patrick had sent the text at 11:15, just as she was making her way out of Starbucks. Vivien had gotten maybe an hour of sleep the night before, playing the Jacuzzi incident over and over in her head. She kept expecting to wake up and realize the entire day had been a dream. But she knew that piece of welcoming news would never come.
Her husband had cheated on her.
He had been sleeping with his new secretary.
Her marriage to the man she had shared every intimate detail of her life with for over eighteen years was coming to an end.
There was nothing he could do or say to Vivien that could change the way she felt on this bright and nauseatingly hot Friday morning. She wasn’t the kind of person who could forgive easily. Vivien wasn’t a fan of being lied to, let alone cheated on, and Patrick was going to have to shower her with magical gifts from God to get her to talk to him again.
Vivien’s phone rang. Brandon was on the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey V,” Brandon said. “Haven’t heard from you. I just wanted to let you know I had a few messages for you.”
“OK.”
“Is everything all right?”
There was a pause. She was shocked to learn even her associate could pick up on the sad tone in her voice.
“Yes. Why?”
“You seem down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Why didn’t you call the office yesterday after you left? Were you in meetings?”
Vivien started tapping her fingernails against her steering wheel. She changed lanes and cut off an angered driver.
“I had some personal things. What is it to you?”
“Oh. No reason. Just that, you know, in all my months working for you, I’ve never had an afternoon when you didn’t call once.” He swallowed loudly. “I was worried.”
She smiled. How fucking cute.
“Well thanks for thinking of me, Brandon. I’ll be sure to call you a hundred times this afternoon.”
His silence told her he was thinking he shouldn’t have said anything.
“So what are the messages?”
“Oh, yes. Lila called for you. She wants to set a lunch this weekend.”
“OK. Next?”
“Tyler Stilletto called. He wanted to talk to you about Christmas in Quebec. He wants to know if you have a firm start date and if you’d be willing to pre-read some of his girls.”
“Oh, Jesus. All right. Can you transfer me?”
“You want to talk to him?”
“Yes, I’ve been ignoring that prick for weeks. Can you get him on the phone for me?”
“Well, yes, but before I do that, I should tell you the last message.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Brandon sighed. “A lot of the actors are early. I would get here when you can.”
Vivien’s heart jumped into her throat. “Actors? For what?”
“You know,” Brandon said. “For the session today? For that period movie Soraya?”
“Oh no,” she said softly. She had completely forgotten about today’s casting session.
“V? Are you there?”
“SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT!”
She could tell that Brandon dropped the phone due to her shrill screams.
“Brandon! Is the director there yet?”
It took him a moment to answer. “Uhh, yeah he is.”
“OK. How many actors are there already?”
“I don’t know. Ten or so?”
“Damn it! OK, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just keep everyone entertained.”
“Umm, I’ll do my best.”
“OK, bye.”
Vivien buried her foot down on the gas pedal and sped through three red lights on her way to the office.
-17-
It was almost noon when she finally pulled her car into the sad, sprawling parking lot behind her work building. She spent over a minute searching for her key card, the essential tool to actually get inside, and ran over to the back door.
Then she remembered Buster.
That dog. That goddamned dog.
She entered the first hallway with Buster in her left arm and her big, heavy bags in her right. She could see at least ten actors chatting and laughing with each other. Some were keeping to themselves, looking over their lines. Two younger actors were throwing a tennis ball back and forth.
She turned to her left and made her way down the wider, larger hallway toward her office. She saw at least ten more actors.
“Pardon me. Excuse me.”
She felt like she was at a crowded party. In all her years of casting, she had never seen chaos quite like this.
By the time she walked into the office, she was out of breath. She dropped the dog down on the carpet. He promptly found a comfy spot and started to nap.
The first person she saw inside the audition room was the film director, Denis. His legs were crossed, and he was staring at the wall with a look of fiery hatred.
Vivien turned to her right to see even more actors, some who looked sleepy enough to suggest they had been sitting in the office’s uncomfortable chairs for an hour or more. The phones were ringing off the hook. Tom, whose face was dark red, was trying to answer questions he didn’t know the answer to, and Brandon, calm and laid back no matter what the circumstances, put his hands up in the air with joy when he caught sight of his boss.
“She’s arrived!” Brandon shouted. “She’s here!”
Vivien motioned for Brandon to join her in her private office. He jumped out of his chair and followed her inside.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“It’s a nightmare, V,” Brandon said. “It really is. The one day you show up late. Every actor is digging this script. Nobody canceled! They’re all here!”
“I can’t believe this. Why didn’t you remind me about the session today?”
Brandon crossed his arms and chuckled. “Umm, I did remind you. I called you twice last night. Twice this morning. I e-mailed you last night, and once more this morning.”
“I didn’t receive any of those!” She was sweating and losing the color in her face.
Brandon looked at her with concern. “Are you OK?”
“Huh?”
“Your face. You look weathered.”
“I look weathered? What? Brandon, I’m not in the mood! Go turn the camera on!”
“OK. We have almost forty actors waiting, just so you know.”
“Oh my God. OK. Let’s get this party started.”
She turned off her cell phone and made her way into the audition room where her husband, and her problems, couldn’t reach her.
---
Two hours had passed and things were as insane as ever. More and more actors were showing up. Tom looked near a nervous breakdown. Even Brandon was showing signs of calamitous behavior.
“Can I get some lunch?” Brandon asked.
“No.”
“Please. I
’m starving.”
“Not right now.”
“I feel like I’m about to faint!”
“Let’s finish the session. I’ll let you go home early, OK?”
He backed away, satisfied enough with the arrangement. “I like it.”
Brandon’s look of contentment, however, quickly turned to one of fear. Vivien tried to ignore it and hope it was nothing that needed her immediate attention.
She looked at the director. “All right, Denis, you ready for the next one?”
“I guess,” the director said, his voice deep and raspy. “I can hardly catch my breath here.”
“Sorry. But trust me, this is much better than no actors showing up.”
She looked down at her session sheet to see they were only halfway done. She felt like she had just reached the middle of Stephen King’s latest doorstopper, proud of herself for how far she’d gotten, but weary of the long journey she still had ahead of her.
She looked back at Denis. He cracked his neck and started scratching the bottom of his chin.
Denis was a sixty-year-old theatre director making his directorial debut on the period movie Soraya. His voice sounded like he took up smoking at the age of three, but he was a sweet guy, and he had written a solid script.
Tom shuffled in, looking as if he had aged from eighteen to eighty in the last hour. Sweat was dripping from the bottom of his cheeks, and his eyes looked as if someone had been poking at them with sharp forks.
“Are you ready for the next actor? A few more just showed up.”
Vivien nodded. “Yes, please send in the next one. Thank you, Tim.”
“It’s Tom.”
She didn’t correct herself.
“V?” Brandon asked, as Tom closed the door.
“Yes?”
“We have a problem.”
Vivien didn’t want any problems. She wanted a force field surrounding the audition room to keep out problems. “What is it?”
“I’m out of battery.”
“So get another one.”
“I don’t have another one.”
Vivien tried not to make eye contact with the director. “Well, then, start charging the battery you have, and we’ll take a break. I need to pee, anyway.”
“I can’t,” Brandon said.
Vivien stood up. “Why not?”
“I left my charger at home.”
Vivien crossed her arms and stared at Brandon. She was trying to figure out if she should kill him now or kill him later. “Brandon, I don’t ask much of you. We need tape. On every actor. What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“This has never happened before!”
“I know!”
“Why today! Of all days!”
Denis jumped up and stepped outside the casting room door before Vivien could say another word. He stepped back in and shook his head with amazement. “It’s kids. Mostly kids out there. And their parents.”
Vivien furrowed her brow. “Oh God. OK. How many?”
“Twenty-five, maybe thirty.”
Vivien wanted to crawl under a rock and die. “Goddammit, Brandon. Do you think somebody in the building might have a battery or a charger?”
Before Brandon could answer her, Tom poked his head in.
“Ms. Slate?”
“WHAAAAAAAAT!”
Tom looked ready to start bawling. “Ms. Slate, I don’t feel so good.”
She didn’t even bother to look at him.
“I think I need to go home,” the intern said. “I think I might throw up.”
Vivien wondered how much it would hurt the boy if she took her right elbow and brought it crashing down against his two-inch wiener.
She could hear the phone ringing, as well as the awful stage moms talking amongst themselves in the waiting room.
“Ms. Slate?” Tom asked again. “Did you hear me?”
She glared at Tom with the kind of venom she showed the doctors in the minutes before being administered her epidural back in 1998. “Here! Let me help you!”
Her left hand grabbed hold of the bottom button of his golf shirt, and her right hand gripped the sweaty hair on his head.
“Owww!” Tom shouted. “You’re hurting me!”
She pulled him out of the audition room and through the waiting room. A group of women similar to the ones she had encountered earlier in the day was stinking up her space. They all looked mortified at what she was doing. At least three little girls started to cry.
Vivien wanted to assure everyone that things were under control. “It’s fine. Everyone remain calm. The intern is just having a little nausea.”
As she pulled him down the hallway and over to the little boy’s room, Tom had a look of panic on his face that suggested he might shit his pants before he threw up his morning breakfast.
A Jiggawatts employee, chit-chatting on his cell phone while taking a noisy piss, watched in amazement as Vivien took this little kid into the bathroom’s lone stall and dropped him down to his knees.
She pressed Tom’s face so close to the toilet water that the tips of his spiked, blond hair started getting wet.
“Here you go!”
“Ms. Slate! Please!”
“Puke away! I’ll hold your hair!”
Tom started crying. Vivien pulled his head up.
“Don’t make me stand here all day!” she shouted.
The employee didn’t even bother to flush. He zipped up his pants and calmly tiptoed out of the bathroom.
Tom put his hands on the toilet seat, supporting himself.
Vivien got quiet and brought her mouth to his ear. “There you go. Good boy. Just let it out.”
A disturbing gurgle noise emanated from his mouth, followed by brown, chunky vomit so disgusting Vivien had to look away. He kept trying to breathe between upchucks, but he was struggling.
“My God, boy,” Vivien said. “What did you eat today?”
When he finished, Vivien finally let him go. He slumped down against the cold bathroom floor and continued to cry.
“I quit!” he shouted.
Vivien stood up and started walking out of the bathroom.
“Did you hear me!” he shouted again.
Vivien just ignored him. “Get back in the office,” she said, her back turned to him. “And start checking messages!”
Much to her surprise, the kid continued. “You are crazy! Do you know that!”
She turned around, shocked to hear these words coming from the mouth of an intern, of all people.
Vivien lowered her voice, but there was still menace. “Excuse me, Tim? What did you just say to me?”
Tom stood up and stumbled over to her, almost falling back down to the ground in the process. He wiped some puke from his chin and stood up straight.
“It’s Tom, you bitch!”
The intern slapped her, hard enough to take her by surprise, but not hard enough for her to want to punch the scrawny boy back.
Even if she had wanted to, the kid was out the door and running down the hallway. She knew she would never hear from him again.
She took hold of her chin. He had hit her right in the jaw. Her teeth started hurting, and she remembered it had been at least a year since Patrick had forced her to take a seat in his dentist chair.
Vivien’s madness was momentarily replaced with a look of sorrow. She opened the bathroom door.
The kind, hippie animator stood before her.
He had a look of surprise at first, but then he laughed, pointing to the end of the hall. “The girl’s bathroom is that way.”
She tried to chuckle but couldn’t muster up the energy. “Oops. My bad. Hi again.”
“Hi Vivien.”
She thought about taking this opportunity to ask the man’s name, but he had already entered the bathroom. As she walked down the hallway, she could clearly hear the groans of a man experiencing explosive diarrhea.
When Vivien returned to the waiting area, almost all
of the moms and daughters had left.
An elderly woman who looked ninety stood up. “Excuse me? Are you going to see my granddaughter before I die? We’ve been here for over an hour.”
“GET OUT!” Vivien screamed. “ALL OF YOU!”
As Vivien walked back to her private office, she heard a few scattered “that’s the last time we audition for one of her movies!” and “you’ll be hearing from my agent!” She looked over toward the audition room to see that the director had bailed, too.
Vivien stepped into her office and glanced down at her phone. There were no more texts, but there was a voicemail from her buddy Lila. She immediately picked up the phone and called her. While she waited for the pretty old dame to pick up, she started searching her purse for cigarettes. Then she remembered she hadn’t smoked in over fifteen years.
“Viv?” a lethargic Lila asked. A male voice could be heard moaning beside her.
Vivien sighed. “Lila?”
“Yes?”
Vivien felt icky, as if she had just opened a bathroom door to see her mother and father doing it in the shower. “Are you having… are you having sex?”
“What do you think?”
Vivien cracked her knuckles. She didn’t find this humorous at all. “So my associate said you called earlier?”
“Oh, yeah, my buddy Regan just opened up a new restaurant in Pasadena. It’s this really great Indian place. Did you want to have lunch with me tomorrow?”
Vivien needed to make sure her schedule for the weekend was clear. She turned and saw that Brandon had also disappeared.
She shook her head in amazement, stunned that even her reliable associate had stepped out early, but then, with a joyful sigh, she caught him in the corner of her eye. He was still there, now at his desk. He had just been on the ground plugging his laptop power chord into the wall.
She managed a smile. Brandon truly was the only person she could count on.
“Viv?” Lila was waiting for an answer.
“Lunch. Tomorrow. Yes. E-mail me the details.”
The two exchanged a few more pleasantries before Vivien started hearing more moaning, and she quickly hung up.
She switched back over to Patrick’s text and stared at it for a few seconds. She had nothing to say to him. She pushed the phone aside, stood up, and stretched her arms all the way up to the ceiling.
She walked into the large, adjacent room to see Brandon finishing up a phone call.
