by Dayo Benson
I answer the phone, but say nothing.
"Chloe?" comes Mom's voice.
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
"No."
"What's wrong?"
Does she think I'm a fool? I know exactly what's going on. "Don't pretend you don't know Timothy has just called me."
Mom is quiet.
"Today, I have my biggest audition yet, the College Life one, and he's just told me not to go."
"Oh, Chloe. Don't worry about it. Let it go. God has something much better in store for you."
In that moment, I feel completely sick and tired. All my life, this is what I've heard. Every restriction has been about God supposedly having better plans for me. I couldn't date because God had a better guy in store for me and I needed to wait for him. If Timothy is that guy, he wasn't worth the wait. Sure, he's probably a virgin. Probably hasn't even kissed anyone in his life, but he's no prize. At least, not in my opinion.
"Timothy is willing to marry you," Mom says. "He's worth any sacrifice you have to make."
Something about her tone makes me frown. "What are you trying to say?"
"Nothing. But it really is an honor that Timothy is interested in you." Mom sighs. "You're from a single parent home. Yet, he wants you. Please don't take that for granted, Chloe."
I stare through the windshield and watch leaves blowing across the sidewalk.
I'm supposed to be grateful for Timothy's interest because I was raised by a single mom?
"Honor your fiancé's wishes, and honor God," Mom says. "Do the right thing."
That trapped feeling intensifies.
"Let's pray together," Mom says softly.
I say nothing, but she prays anyway, asking God to touch my heart and help me to be humble and listen to my husband-to-be. She prays that God will open my eyes to see that the career I'm trying to pursue is against His will.
By the time she's done, I'm crying. Not loud sobbing. Silent, broken tears.
I'm messing up my makeup, but I can't stop.
I hang up, wondering what to do. Would it be a sin to attend the audition, despite my mom and my fiancé telling me not to go?
Do I have to obey Mom now that I'm an adult? Do I have to obey Timothy when we're not even married yet?
I switch on the car and drive home. When I get there, I can't make myself get out.
I stare at the front door unseeingly. I still can't think. I'm numb.
After about ten minutes, my cell phone buzzes. It's Gina calling.
I don't answer.
She sends me a text: Why are you sitting in your car?
I don't reply.
Two minutes later, the front door opens and Leah emerges. Her long hair sails after her as she skips over. She looks through the car window at me, and an alarmed look crosses her face. She opens the door. "What's wrong?"
I can't speak.
"Is it the toothpaste?" she asks.
I want to roll my eyes.
"Gina is freaking out that you're mad at her over the toothpaste and the spaghetti,"
I cover my face with my hands as tears begin to fall. I hear Leah climb into the car and shut the door.
"What's wrong?" She pauses. "This isn't about the spaghetti or the toothpaste, is it?"
I lower my hands and wipe my eyes. "No," I whisper.
"What's going on? Was your account empty? I can pay for the beauty treatments you had. You should have called me. You can also eat my groceries until you get paid. I'm stocking up this evening."
"It's not that," I manage, dabbing at my eyes with the corners of my sleeves.
"Is it nerves?"
I dab my cheeks gently, trying not to do too much damage to my makeup. I'm embarrassed to tell her what happened.
"I…spoke to Timothy. About my audition."
Leah touches my arm. "He wasn't happy for you?"
I look at her hand on my arm. She's wearing her engagement ring. Andrew, her fiancé, is nothing like Timothy. He adores her. He would never give her ultimatums and make unfair demands.
"He told me not to go," I tell her. A sharp pain shoots through my chest and I feel like my heart is breaking. "Mom says I have to listen to him. She's wanted me to stop pursuing acting for years now so, of course, she supports him."
Leah is quiet.
I look at her. She's wearing that expression she gets when she's biting her tongue.
I sigh. "I'm so confused."
"What are you going to do?" she asks.
"I don't know."
Just then, our front door opens and Gina steps out. She squints at us.
Leah opens the car door. "She's not mad at you. Actually, she probably is, but that's not what's wrong right now."
Gina's long auburn hair is in rollers, and she's still in her pajamas—at one in the afternoon. She's probably preparing to shoot a video for her YouTube channel. She looks left and right before scurrying across the driveway and getting into the back seat.
"I'm sorry," she says shutting the door and leaning forward in the space between the drivers' and passengers' seats. "I ate your spaghetti only because it was all that was left in the house and I was starving. And I should have asked instead of assuming that you no longer wanted the toothpaste. I'm going to get more organized and—"
"Gina," Leah cuts in. "That's the last thing on her mind right now."
Gina leans even farther forward to look at me. "Are you crying?"
"Should I tell her?" Leah asks.
I nod.
I listen as Leah tells Gina all that I've just told her. Gina says nothing. She gets out of the car, leaving the back door open, and comes to open the driver's side door.
"Get in the back," she orders me.
I frown.
"Why should she get in the back?" Leah asks.
"I'm taking her for a ride."
I don't bother asking. I get into the back seat and Gina starts driving.
"Where are we going?" Leah asks. "I have plans with Andy."
"We know." From Gina's tone, I can tell she's rolling her eyes. "You're meeting him at three, right? Even if you were one of those women who primp for hours before a date—which you're not because you're naturally beautiful and don't even need makeup—you still have two hours."
"Where are we going?" Leah asks again.
"I'm taking Chloe to her audition."
"Why?" Leah demands. "She needs to think it over—"
"I'm saving her from herself and her twisted sense of morality."
"Twisted sense of morality?"
"Yeah. I grew up in church too. Okay? I grew up around religious fanatics who bang on about obedience and twist scripture. Timothy has no right to tell her not to go."
"And you have no right to make her go while she's still considering what to do."
"She'll thank me later."
"Not if her fiancé breaks up with her."
"If he breaks up with her, I'll throw her a party and celebrate the breakup. She doesn't love him. She doesn't even like him. He's a jerk. A jerk who uses the Bible to back up his mean-spirited ways. On the jerk-o-meter, he's a hundred. Worse than every other kind of jerk imaginable."
"It's not your place to override her," Leah snaps. "Pull over."
"If you were a true friend to Chloe, you would stop giving me grief and tell her to take that cheap ring back to Timothy Jerk-face Giles and throw it at his feet. You wouldn't support her in being a pushover." Gina looks at me in the rearview mirror. "You're twenty-two, Chloe. Twenty-two! When are you going to wake up to the fact that you're an adult and need to start making decisions for yourself? When are you going to realize that being a pushover isn't spiritual—?"
"Pull over, Gina!" Leah snaps.
"Only if Leah tells me to," Gina snaps back.
Leah looks back at me. "Should she pull over?"
I nod.
Gina lets out a frustrated growl and pulls over.
The car is silent for a few moments, then Leah looks back at me again.
"Do you want us to go home?"
My chest feels tight. A hard lump has formed in my chest.
"Give me a moment," I whisper before getting out of the car and quickly walking away. I can barely see through my tears as I go.
My head is spinning. Leah and Gina are both Christians, but they have very different views about a lot of things. I don't know what I think. I don't have strong views like Gina does, or quiet confidence like Leah does. I've always just done what I was told. Acting is the only area in which I've done what I want. And, of course, Mom doesn't like that. There can't be a single area of my life where she isn't in charge. My whole life has to be in complete compliance with what she wants.
I stop walking and just stand there in the street. People walk around me. Some glance at me but I barely notice.
What advice would I give if a girlfriend told me she was in this situation?
I realize I really don't know. I wouldn't know what to advise.
Is Gina right about me? It's not the first time she's told me to grow a backbone. But I've always just considered her rebellious. Mom has always warned me about girls like her. Girls who don't listen to other people's dictates and do only what they want. Such girls end up ruining their lives, Mom told me many times growing up. She was once such a girl and she wound up pregnant outside of wedlock. She broke her parents' hearts, embarrassed herself, and ruined her life.
But I'm not sleeping with anybody, I tell myself. I just want to follow a lifelong passion.
If I do that despite Timothy and Mom forbidding it, would it make me rebellious?
I drag in a deep breath and take out my cell phone. If Timothy wanted me to give up anything else, I would. But acting is too special to me. Maybe he doesn't understand how I feel about it. I need to explain to him. I'll do that when I go home to see him this weekend.
For now, a quick text should suffice: Hi Timothy. I've thought about what you said. I'm sorry, but I'm going to attend the audition. It really means a lot to me. Let's talk when I get home this weekend. Really sorry.
I hit 'send' before I can lose my nerve.
Then, because I'm a total wimp, I switch off my cell phone.
When I return the car, I'm pretty sure Leah and Gina have been arguing. I can tell from the silence in the car and the forced smiles they give me.
"Take me to the audition," I say in a small voice.
Chapter 9
Leah and Gina both look shocked.
I'm slightly offended. But I shouldn't be. I've always been a pushover where Mom is concerned and, more recently, where Timothy is concerned.
Like the time Leah and Gina invited me to go to Antigua with them. I saved up for eleven months and we were super excited. But a month before the trip, I mentioned it to Mom and she forbade me to go. I was hurt and upset, but I obeyed.
Like Leah's twenty-first birthday last year. I didn't go because Mom insisted I attend a women's conference in our church back home. I knew she just didn't want me to go to the party.
Worst of all, a few weeks ago, during summer break, Leah and Gina came to see me in Ellenwood. Mom took one look at Gina in her ripped jeans and thigh-high boots and refused to let her stay over.
Gina, despite her issues with organized religion, agreed to come to church with us on Sunday morning. She wore a casual sweater-dress that reached below her knees, and sneakers. My church back home is pretty formal. Everyone wears their finest clothes on Sundays, but I didn't think it was my place to tell Gina to dress up. I didn't think it should be an issue. However, Timothy looked at her like he thought he might contract Ebola from her. And then he turned his sermon about the Fruit of the Spirit into one about how 'bad company corrupts good character'.
Gina isn't stupid. She knew exactly what was going on. I apologized to her profusely and she assured me that she's still cool with me. But I know she was hurt.
"Are you sure about that?" Leah asks, drawing me from my thoughts.
"Yes," I reply.
Gina makes a satisfied noise and begins to drive.
"By the way," I say, "my engagement ring isn't cheap."
Gina nods. "I shouldn't have said that. I don't know whether it was cheap or not. I apologize."
The College Life studios are a faux college campus just outside of Washington D.C. I feel small and inadequate as Gina pulls up in the full parking lot.
My nerves begin to jangle. My stomach twists.
Gina and Leah try to give me words of encouragement but I don't hear them.
I get out of the car and walk towards the imposing building with a sign that says 'Main Entrance' over the door.
From my first audition, I know that the College Life show bosses don't mess around. They want people who come prepared, knowing all their lines. They're also blunt and unapologetic, so they want people with a good attitude. People who have thick skin.
God, please be with me.
The doors slide apart and I enter a lobby with marble floors and brightly-colored, oddly-shaped sofas. My last audition with them wasn't here. It was at a random hall in the town center.
The reception is empty except for the woman at the reception desk. She smiles as I approach.
"Chloe Campbell," I tell her. "I'm here for an audition at two."
I'm thirty minutes early.
"We've been expecting you," she says. "We were hoping to start at two, but it's looking like it'll be around four p.m. The other audition is running over."
"Oh. Okay." This is not uncommon.
"I'll just call Mavis, our casting director, and she'll come and tell you what to do in the meantime. Please, take a seat."
I remember Mavis from the first audition. Mid-forties. Short black hair, bold purple lips, and a nose piercing. She's one of those casting directors whose face gives nothing away. She looks neither impressed nor unimpressed, so you have no idea whether she likes you or not.
I plop down on a pink seat with no back. It's pretty low, so I stretch out my legs before me. I stare at my leggings in horror. I was supposed to change at home before coming here. With all the drama about Timothy, I totally forgot.
Today is not going well at all.
I think of what Gina and Leah are wearing. I can't trade clothes with Gina. The girl is in her pajamas. But Leah is wearing a denim skirt and a cute, red button-down sweater.
I groan inwardly, thinking of the outfit I'd picked out. A gold bomber jacket with sequins on the pockets, and skinny jeans. They would have been perfect for my character, Simona.
"I'm just going to get something from my car," I tell the receptionist. And then I dash outside, switch clothes with Leah, and return.
The receptionist's brows lift at my new clothes, but she says nothing.
Mavis arrives two minutes later. Her lipstick is bright orange today. She walks me through what's going to happen today. She's glad I'm early, but she thought I would be an hour early for hair and makeup. Quin didn't tell me that I needed to be an hour early for hair and makeup. But I know that the last thing I should do is make an excuse. Instead, I apologize.
It dawns on me that getting my makeup done this morning was a waste of time. And money.
Then I wonder why they're going to do my makeup. Mavis is still talking, so I don't dare interrupt to ask.
She hands me a script. It's the same as the one Quin gave me, but there are five extra pages that I've never seen. I'm expected to memorize the extra pages before I start filming at four.
I blink. "Filming?"
"Yes," Mavis replies. "That's your audition. We'll be shooting a full scene with you playing Simona. We'll review your scene and compare it to the other candidate's scene. We will base our judgement on that, and the scene we shoot today will be used in the actual episode."
I'm in shock, but I force a smile and nod vigorously. "Awesome. I'm so excited."
I'm ushered to hair and makeup and I freak out silently while the makeup artist tuts at me for coming with so much makeup already on my face and proceeds to remove it all
. I want to call Quin but I can't just yet.
I'm in makeup for an hour, then Mavis returns to take me to the wardrobe room.
The show's stylist has a number of outfits picked out for me. They already know my size from my last audition. I try on at least twelve outfits before Mavis and the stylist settle on a white playsuit and glittery pink sneakers.
I want to tell them that no one dresses like that for college. But since when are TV shows about reality? College Life is about snooty rich kids in an exclusive college and all the shenanigans that go down.
I've been trying to sneak glances at the script while having my makeup done and wardrobe decided. I've managed to read it a few times, but I haven't memorized everything. I need to sleep to lock it in. But that isn't going to be possible.
After I'm dressed, Mavis takes me to wait outside the studio. There's a screen above the door showing what's happening on the set. A blond girl is delivering a line from the second to last page of the script. One of Simona's lines.
I eye her assessingly. She and I are pretty similar. But she's a sunflower blond while I'm a dirty blond. And she looks slightly taller than I am. She's gorgeous.
I want to call Quin, but I can't bring myself to switch on my cell phone. I don't want to see Timothy's response to my text. I just want to focus on this audition. Right now, any negativity will throw me off my game. I need to bring my A-game to this audition. That means no distractions.
I grab the clothes I loaned from Leah, slip out of the building and hurry to the parking lot. As I weave my way through all the expensive cars, I realize I haven't thought about Timothy or Mom since I've been here—until just now. I've been well and truly distracted.
When I get to my car, Gina winds down the driver's side window. "Look at you," she coos. "You look like a superstar actress."
"Compliments won't make me forget about my toothpaste."
Gina sighs. "I figured I'd try."
I grin. "You know I'm only kidding. Can I use your cell phone? I need to call Quin."
She hands it over and they both listen as I tell Quin about the audition.
Quin is delighted that he guessed right about them wanting a blond, but livid at the fact that this is more than just an audition. We both agree that they've been pretty underhanded. But it's probably just because they want to see how the other auditioner and I react under pressure. When I finish talking to Quin, I hand the phone back to Gina.
