Riders (Riders, #1)(31)

“Next group,” the receptionist announced. “Head inside, please.”

Sebastian shot to his feet. The guys around us were a little slower to stand, but not by much. “You should get out of here,” he said, sounding almost sorry. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He walked into the audition.

I got up and went right after him.

Five of us filed into a conference room, one wall of which was a floor-to-ceiling window that showed a hazy, sort of pretty view of the Hollywood Hills.

Two long tables were set up in front of it. Four women and three men sat behind an assortment of coffee cups, water bottles, and papers. They were talking and passing around head shots. Only one of them was paying attention to us—the man on the far right. He was backlit by the gloomy glow of the day, so his face was in shadow. All I could really see of him was a shiny bald head and round-framed glasses. The kind John Lennon wore.

“Form a line, please,” he said, in a pissy-bored voice. “When we call you forward, deliver the first lines on page three, up to ‘drowning in a sea of gray.’”

I took my place, then realized I was standing at parade rest and had to unsoldier my stance. Since I was on the end, I’d be either the first or the last guy to go.

“This is going to be interesting,” I muttered.

Sebastian’s head swiveled over and I saw genuine horror on his face. “Get out of here. I told you. I don’t want to get involved.”

“You’re involved. All I need’s five minutes.”

“Man, please. This is really important—”

He broke off as the guy on the opposite end of the line stepped forward.

Showtime.

Compared to the rest of us, the actor was on the short side. Stocky, with a starter paunch. He had spiked black hair and ink sleeves on both arms.

“I’m Luis Alvarez.” He took a huge breath, his chest expanding, expanding, expanding, then he blew it out, deflating himself.

Then detonation.

“He was like a brother to me!” He pounded his fist against his chest. “Like my own blood! But I’m a cop. I wear a badge. I swore an oath. What was I supposed to do? I had to shoot him!” He threw his hands out, then made a gun with his fingers and pretend-shot the casting people. Pop, pop, pop. Blew fake smoke off his finger. Holstered his hand. “The law is bigger than me. It’s words written in black ink on white paper, but sometimes this world is gray. That’s where I am. I lost my brother and I’m drowning! I’m drowning in a sea of gray.” Blink. “Thank you.”

He stepped back in line, linked his hands behind his back and dropped his head like that, my friends, is how you crush it.

A flutter in my gut came up, shooting into my throat. I clenched my jaw but the battle was already over. I went from zero to howling. Big, big laughing. The insanity of everything was too much. And the embarrassment. It hurt me. I was drowning in a sea of cheese.

“Please,” Sebastian said. “Shut up.”

I was trying.

“Do you have a problem with something?” Lennon Glasses asked me.

“No, sir. I apologize for that.” I was still on shaky ground, but remembering my manners, my mission. “Just a bad case of nerves.” This needed to end. I stepped forward. “Can I go next?”

“He can’t,” Sebastian said. “He’d be out of turn.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Then we’ll go in random order.”

“If it’s random, then I’ll go next since I’m not on the end.”

“Dude, do you even know what random means?”

“Yes. In this case it means I get to go first.” He took two steps forward and looked at the casting table. “I’m ready.”

It’d gotten pretty quiet in the room. Then suddenly it wasn’t.

Lennon Glasses shuffled some papers and the other casting people huddled around him. They had a hushed but animated discussion. We’d woken them up.

Lennon Glasses cleared his throat and looked up. “We’ll take Mr. Luna first since we don’t seem to have your headshot, Mr.…?”

“Blake. Gideon Blake.”

Total silence again. I couldn’t have felt less Latino. Maybe if I’d started belting out “Danny Boy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blake. Mr. Luna, go ahead.”

Sebastian shot me a little victory smile as I made myself fall back into line. Then I watched him deliver the same exact lines, except totally differently.

He took his time to start. Almost a full minute, so everyone in the room was anticipating it, focused on him, waiting for him to speak. When he did, his voice was heavy and breaking—a sound I recognized. Grief had a particular weight in a person’s voice that was too heavy for words. He knew that weight. Or if he didn’t, he could communicate it.

He used the silence between the lines too, which I’d never realized was part of acting until that moment. But he filled the pauses somehow. Even his breathing said something about pain. The way he bowed his head, the look on his face. The crushing, shitty, heart-killing truth of losing someone you love was in every part of him. And when he lifted his hands and stared at his open palms with the final line, the one about drowning in the sea of gray? Chills. I got actual chills from the amount of feeling the guy put into those crap lines. Sebastian made them real. He filled the room with agony and I wasn’t the only one who felt it. When he was done, the entire room was in full clench.