Six, Maybe Seven

by Katie George

THE DAYS PASSED by in a strange succession like this. Our five-member panel worked diligently for about ten hours, searching for the right cast members. By Thursday Luke had selected his favorites for a few of the top roles; however, the process was going to be long and complex. We had a list of twenty-five who made the callback list; however, we still had another week or so of original auditions.

  The next Monday, I got to work super early and found myself lying on Baylee’s sofa. She was yet to be seen, but her door had been unlocked. Around eight o’clock, I began to wonder where she was. Baylee was always religiously on time. I prodded down the hall to Richard’s office, but he was nowhere to be found, either. I tried calling her cell, but no one answered—now that was typical Baylee fashion.

  I returned to the panel, a little nervous about Baylee, but primarily interested in getting another day over with. By lunchtime I was famished and hurried to the break room for microwaveable mac and cheese. Luke followed me to Baylee’s office again, where she still was not.

  “Okay, weird. Baylee’s always here. Same for Richard.”

  “Richard Braitley,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

  “Yup. You know him well?”

  “We go back. My sister babysat his son back in the day.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Very.”

  We returned to the panel room, where John and Megg were almost snuggling up to each other. I noticed that she had ceased to write like a madwoman in the journal of hers, which was odd. Was everyone pairing up? I wanted to fall into a hole and disappear. Eventually, we saw another round of actors, only finding a few worthy of a callback. Around two o’clock, Megg got a call.

  “Hello?” she asked quickly, shooing the runner Paige out of the room with a new actress. “Really? Are you serious?” Her face paled, question riveting her tongue. “No, Mr. Braitley is not here today. However, I am the casting director in charge for this program. No, it is not too late, I guarantee you, Ms. Neal. All right, see you in a few hours.” When she hung up, her eyes were like firecrackers. “Em, would you mind running to my office for a moment to get the yellow folder on my desk?”

  “Sure,” I said, jumping up, though I wanted to be part of the news bustle. Now maybe this would provide some earnest greatness.

  After swimming upstream to Megg’s office, I returned with the manila folder and handed it to the recipient. “Well, what’s the gouge?”

  “What?”

  “You know, what’s up?”

  “We have a very interesting audition in a few hours. I swore to the boys,” at this Megg winked at me like I was in on her secret, “that I would keep it a secret.”

  Luke rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Whoever it is must be important. I’m just ready to get a move on the next actors.”

  The minutes ticked and tocked, each passing second like an unforeseeable eon. This was the lexicon of the casting business: gag, gag, gag. Wanting to gouge your eyes out through the hundreds of faces who all said close to the same thing. Hi, my name is John Doe, and I was born—actually, created—for this part.

  Eventually, Paige ran into the room and squeaked, “Leslie Neal is here.”

  “Leslie Neal?” I asked in confusion.

  Luke sighed. “Just the most wanted agent in all of Hollywood. Actually, let me restate that: She is definitely the most wanted agent in all of Hollywood. She represents the brightest, the brainiest, the most admired celebrities of modern pop culture. Leslie Neal’s name is gold.”

  “Leslie Neal?”

  Megg nodded like a subservient woman. Everything she said dripped like melting candy, a jewel for each syllable—long, drawn-out. “Leslie Neal is huge. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of her. That is, like, basic even for Hollywood peasants.”

  “Okay, well, even though I am a lowly peasant…”

  Paige shook her curls out, her college-girl face giddy and red. “Should I get her now?”

  “Of course!” Megg squealed. “All right everyone, this is a huge treat. John, I hope this makes your day. Luke, this could be huge for the creative aspect of your film, because this actor is highly-trained, a very popular actor, after all…”

  The door opened to let a powerful empress enter, and my body awaited a very famous person. Instead, I saw that Leslie Neal was a six-foot tall black woman, with skin of the most perfect ebony. She looked like an Amazon goddess, ready to kill anyone who dared interrupt her spiel. She stood like an impenetrable fortress, but her eyes locked with the studio representative’s, and then the aura turned incredibly awkward.

  “Skye Bowman?” she asked, her voice strong and unbending. “Skye?”

  “Leslie?” His voice squeaked. The small man stared straight into her eyes, and beside me, Luke’s face broke out into a giant smile. I wondered what it was, but Leslie ignored him and turned to the other panel members.

  “I’m here. Which one of you is Margaret Holmwood?”

  Megg was sharper than a jutting rocket. “At your service.”

  Leslie shook, then stared at the rest of us, each shot a dagger. “I just wanted to introduce myself here, and to thank you for allowing my client to audition on such short notice. He was incredibly adamant about auditioning for this role. Anyway, I will leave now, but let me remind you—this would tremendously affect your film, and your company, as a result.”

  “Who’s the client?” I asked through mashed teeth.

  Luke shrugged. “Thank you, Leslie.”

  She was off, and then a tall, lavishing man appeared in the place where she’d just been. My heart fell down into a gutter; I could not reach it quickly enough. He hurriedly shook hands with the panel, starting with Skye first, and exchanged warm pleasantries and jokes with the members, who stared at him in awe (or technically, I should say, gold). He was a walking king; everything he touched turned into rubies, amethysts, lapis lazuli. When his hands reached mine, he winked once—a little sliver of a butterfly’s spouting wings—and said, “Thanks again for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “Of course,” Megg said, fanning herself with loose-leaf paper from the manila folder. “Thank you for auditioning.” This seemed very, very desperate, but I was too torn-up to care.

  “My name is Samuel Woodshaw,” he began with ease, “and I am auditioning for the role of Jason Kurtridge.”

  Megg began furiously writing in her notebook, while Skye chewed on a hangnail. John George stared at Sam like he was staring into the pearly gates of heaven, while Paige had, for the first time, claimed a seat to watch the audition.

  Sam began a recitation, allowing his eyes to droop slightly like Jason’s carefree spirit called for. “There is a time in everyone’s life when someone has to make a choice. Mine started on the last day of college, not by taking a job offer, or marrying the girl of my dreams, or even finding out I was somehow the king of the world.” Sam then made eye contact with me, our connection instantaneous. His dark hair had grown into longish curls, and I wondered if he was going to grow it out into a man-bun, which made me cringe.

  “You see, I bought a plane ticket—one-way—for Orlando. There was no reason for the place, except that it was sunny there, and the farthest place away from the dreary, screwed-up life I’d come from…”

  As he continued on, no one made a move to stop him for a good five minutes, which—if it had been anyone else—would have been possibly unbearable. Yet he continued to woo us, like he was Constantine, and eventually, Luke was the one who said, “That’s good, thank you.”

  John turned to him, giving an eye, but Luke did not seem to notice. Megg pulled the bones of the script from the manila folder and said, “Sam, would you mind if we went over a tentative scene from the screenplay?”

  “Of course not,” he said, before giving me a quick glance.

  She handed him a piece of paper. “Okay, hey, Em!”

  “Yes?” I asked, though it came out rather hoarse.

  “Would you mind reading for Sarah?”

  “N
o,” I said, taking the script from Megg’s dainty hands.

  “Go ahead, you can stand beside him if you want.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, hurrying beside him, where he whispered, “Hey, Em.”

  “Hi,” I said, turning to the camera.

  “So, just as a little background,” Megg began, “you guys are in a park in Kissimmee. Sarah’s been accepted into graduate school at Oxford and will be leaving. You, Jason, are heading off to prison. This is your final scene together.”

  “The deepest one for last?” My eyes widened as I scanned the script. In thick italics, I read: Jason and Sarah kiss.

  Oh, my dear Aunt Eunice.

  Luke also knew what was going to happen, and I could tell from his cringe he was not pleased with Megg’s decision. Yet he knew what was at stake: Sam’s employment and interest in the role. Really, he wasn’t auditioning for them; they were auditioning for him. I wondered what Luke would say once we left the office, when we went out for coffee or a sub, or whatever. Maybe tonight would be the first time in a week we would not go out for dinner. It would be the first time I would be honest and say, “No, thanks, though.” Inwardly I hoped Sam would ask me out.

  “Camera’s rolling,” Megg said, her voice stern like my grandmother’s.

  “Sarah,” Sam whispered, his eyes passionate and chaotic like a hurricane, “our good-bye doesn’t have to be a last good-bye.”

  “Jason.” My voice was like sandpaper—rough and monotone. I was never supposed to be an actress, so I concentrated on properly reading the font in front of me. “I know that, but it feels like we won’t see each other ever again.” I was supposed to cry, but as a non-emotional human being, I stood rooted to the spot.

  Sam ignored this, and he reached out to push a piece of my hair past my ear. It was so sexual I wanted to cry, but with a quick glance, I noted that Megg was furiously following the script, Luke was eyeing us with skepticism, and John was smiling like a lovesick fool. Skye, meanwhile, looked sick—probably because of the encounter he’d had with Ms. Leslie Neal.

  “Sarah, why make promises now?”

  The stubborn, questioning tone in me balked at what I had to say next. Give me a break, my mind roared, the guy’s going to prison. What Oxford girl would think twice about leaving him for British fish and chips? I calmed down and breathed, “If we don’t make promises now, what will we have to hold on to?” Oh, gag. This was like inhaling soapy water.

  “Sarah, I understand if you won’t promise me,” Sam said, perfectly in character. He moved a step closer to me so that our noses were almost touching. The flame in my belly almost swiped away the fact that we stood before five other people, including my bosses and a crying college student. “But I promise you: We will not lose what we have.”

  We heard Megg call out “Cut!” like she had rehearsed the line a million times, but Sam reached down and kissed me, holding my face in his hands. Swept away by the sheer reaction of my body, I leaned into him, deepening the kiss. This is what I wanted. Only when I heard Megg call out, “Whoa!” did I stop.

  I backed away from him as I took the sleeve of my shirt to wipe off the saliva that had dripped to my chin. We stared at each other for a moment, in which Sam’s appetite was clear, and so was mine. Gently, I walked back to my seat and sat down, the radiation from Luke’s tense form cancerous.

  “Well,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “I did not expect that.”

  Megg broke out into applause, followed by Paige, John, and a mopey Skye. Luke refused to participate, and eventually, Megg asked if Sam would mind leaving the room for a moment so she could discuss with the panel. Watching Sam leave the room with a confident catwalk, I announced, “I think I’ll agree with whatever you guys have to say, but I need to pee.”

  Hurriedly I exited, following Sam into the hallway. I grabbed his arm and yanked him back to me. “What the heck was that? You were compromising my job.”

  Sam’s eyebrows raised in a mocking tone. Leslie rushed over, her eyes furious. She had a cupcake in one hand and a coffee in the other. “Sam, who is this girl?”

  “The reason I auditioned today.”

  Leslie cocked her head and offered a hand, eager to remain on her client’s good side. “Hi. You’re…?”

  “Emma,” I said, shaking. “Sam, please don’t tell me you auditioned because you found out…”

  “Yup. I will gladly take the role. Plus, this is a favor for Leslie, especially when I found out that Ritalea was taking care of this film. You see, she and Skye Bowman are on the fence in their relationship.”

  Leslie swatted him, and he was in the snares of a female trap. “Skye and I…it’s complicated.”

  “Les,” he said, wrapping a hand around her shoulders, “would you mind if I had a moment with Emma?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I need to find the little girls’ room anyway.”

  The halls grew emptier as the clock tocked later and later. I had this to be thankful for, since no one was out now. I was supposed to see Baylee if she had at least shown up for work, but then, Sam’s lips were on mine again, and I fell against the wall, a total dorky move. “Sam,” I burst, “what are you doing?” He kissed my neck before drawing away.

  “You see,” he whispered, his breathing ragged, “I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you. But the only time I was afraid you’d comply was if we were in character. I’m not typically this brazen.”

  “Wow, you’re brave, then. Are you drunk?”

  “You’re, like, the most uptight person in the world, Em. You’re also the scariest person.”

  “Great way to get on my good side,” I said, rolling my eyes, still cowering under his long arm stretched above me. It was an animalistic move, I decided, one that really intrigued me. “I’m uptight and scary. Boo,” I said, blowing into his face, catching his eyelashes in a windy display.

  He refused to move. “I know what I want. You do, too. You’re just more closed up about it.”

  “So you come in here and compromise my job?”

  “I think I gave you brownie points. Your business just got access to the marketable Sam Woodshaw.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  He started humming the song “Drunk in Love” by Beyoncé, which just infuriated me. I pushed him away and said, “They’re going to give you the job, obviously, but I would like it if you respected me enough to not make a fool of me at my own workplace.”

  “It won’t happen again,” he said with another wink. Maybe it was alcohol on his breath.

  When Paige brought him back inside, the panel had announced that Sam won the role—and I blushed pink when Sam thanked my good acting skills for helping him get into character.

  WHEN I GOT home, Jamie sat at the counter, munching on a crème-fraiche orchestration while also watching the news. He saw me and moved his stuff from the chair beside him so I could be near him. When we finally sat in silence, he muted the television and reached over to drape an arm around my shoulder.

  “So… I’m leaving for Mexico sooner than expected.”

  “When?” I took a bite of the snack as my belly rumbled. Right after work, I’d bolted out as fast as possible. Luke had not even bothered to ask me out, as he stood stupefied with John and Skye. Megg was as blissful as a child on Christmas Eve, but I, on the other hand, was blushing red from the thought that Sam made his interests clear.

  He chewed slowly. “August 13th, in the middle of the deadly weather. But pre-production is really swift, and we’re having to hurry to bolster… Hey, Em? It’s okay. It’ll be wrapped by early December, hopefully. Think positively: You’ll get the apartment to yourself. I hope you won’t bring any boys over.” He nudged me, but hearing my silence, he asked, “What?”

  We were finally on normal speaking terms, so I did not want to blow it with him. Eventually, I unclenched my hands. “Sam auditioned today.”

  “You got to see him in action? No way!”

  “He kissed me, Jamie.” />
  Jamie dropped his fork, his eyes clouding over. He tensed beside me like he’d turned to stone. I had noticed he was working at the gym now, trying to buff up for the movie he’d be off filming on August 13th. Plus, I think it added to his appeal for Ella. He did look good—great, really—but my little crush on him was dwindling. He was my best friend; there was no way I could jeopardize our relationship when I needed him as support. As stupidly as it sounds—he was my anchor.

  “He kissed you?” Jamie turned away, his frustration as evident as the fact he was male. “Emma, please, please, promise me you’ll be careful. I hate that I’m doing this to you on your first real relationship…”

  At this I swatted him. “Seriously? You conveniently brought that one up.”

  “If you’re first serious guy is a Hollywood actor, that’s a pretty interesting fact. ‘I once dated Sam Woodshaw.’ It will forever haunt you—and your future husband. Anyway, I’m being honest. I know you’d do the same if you thought Ella were screwed up. Be on your guard.”

  “Okay,” I said, though my ego was not satisfied with this. I appreciated his protection of me, but I felt it was unnecessary. I mean, of course I could handle myself around Sam. It couldn’t be that hard.