Thank You for Listening(53)

She left the pages; she didn’t need them. Besides, it was empowering to walk in the room without a script. She left her phone, too. She walked to the pedestrian gate. The guard checked her ID and gave her a map of the lot, but she knew where she was going. It was like visiting her elementary school.

Walking through the lot, she remembered past auditions. Some better than others, most unfruitful, but all exciting because they represented possibility. She’d even shot a few guest spots and an independent film on this lot. Blah had worked here, too, it had been around that long.

She found the right office and knew she’d been here before, but it belonged to a different casting director now. Everyone was new. Seven years was an eon in Hollywood.

She rounded the corner into the waiting room. Normally, it would have been overcrowded with wall-to-wall actors, having the feel of a commercial poultry farm. But today, Sewanee was one of a select few. She signed in and took a seat. The actress sitting next to her leaned over. “Eye patch. Nice touch. Wish I would have thought of that.” Sewanee nodded in thanks.

The casting director entered the waiting room, tailed by the actress who had just auditioned, and checked the sign-in sheet. She turned around, eyes searching, and they landed on Sewanee. She smiled. “Sewanee Chester. Thank you for coming in.”

“Thank you for having me.” Sewanee returned her smile.

The other hopefuls watched this exchange like five baby birds whose mother had returned to the nest with a worm for only one of them.

The casting director turned back to the sign-in sheet. “Kristin? Ready?”

The woman who’d complimented Sewanee’s eye patch stood up.

Silence fell over the room for a moment, which was fine with Sewanee. She’d never liked talking before an audition. But two of the women on the other side of the room resumed a conversation.

“He’s doing good, he booked a pilot, thank God,” one whispered. “Just a guest star, but if it goes he’ll be recurring. Then maybe we can afford a wedding. The Jake Meadows one for ABC?”

“Oh I loved that one. Didn’t Jenna get the lead on that?”

“She was let go.”

“Noooo.”

“Right after the table read.”

“Nooooooooo.”

“Humiliating. And get this. Her film–the radioactive hummingbird one–had its release date pushed back.”

“Well, I’d heard the editor–”

“Editor. More like predator. They had to bring in the DC Comics guy, whatshisname.”

“The one Mattie sued?”

“Wait, that was the same guy?!”

“Yeah, the valet lurker!”

“Who”–she made a jerkoff gesture–“on her tires?”

“Yes. Men: you can’t live with them and you can’t live with them.”

“Right? So, have they recast Jenna’s role yet?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Shit. Who?”

“Some YouTuber. Brandon tried to get me in for it, but they must have had this chick in the wings. Jenna hadn’t even taken out her extensions yet and, bam, it was on Deadline.”

There were certain things about this business Sewanee did not miss.

An hour later, she was the last one left. A redhead came out of the audition room, amid a chorus of Thank Yous and That Was Greats. On her way out, she said under her breath to Sewanee, “Tough room. Good luck.”

Sewanee knew this tactic. Put the fear of God into the competition right before they go in. It didn’t faze her.

The casting director reappeared and beckoned her inside.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight people. Eight people in a clamshell, a camera in the middle pointed at the door. At her.

She turned on like a floodlight. Prom photo beam, marionette wave, game show host “Hello!”

Even the ones absorbed with their phones looked up long enough to smile at her. A man in the center stood, held out his hand. “I’m Colin.” A Brit. “The director. Thank you so much for coming in. Sorry for the wait.”

“No problem!” Sewanee chirped, feeling, instantly, seven years younger. She stepped forward and took his hand briefly. “Sorry I don’t have a photo and résumé for you. It’s been a while since I–”

He looked surprised. “Oh, the internet’s made all that a thing of the past. I would say the bigger challenge is living up to Adaku’s glowing review.”

Sewanee held out her arms, smiled. “Well, I’ll try.”

“Excuse me,” one of the women spoke up. “I love audiobooks. Are you that Sewanee Chester?”

Sewanee smiled bigger. “That would be me.”

“You are amazing. Big fan.”

“Thank you so much.”

The woman addressed the room. “She won the Audie for Best Female Narrator of the Year.”

“What is that?” another person asked.

“It’s the Oscar of Audiobooks.”

The whole room ahhhhhd.

“For what book?” a man who Sewanee guessed was a producer asked.

The woman looked to Sewanee. “Wasted Space,” Sewanee answered.

There was silence.

“Reese optioned it,” the woman said.