Homesick for Another World(51)

It took me several hours to get to the studio in Burbank. The audition was held in a small room behind a lot that seemed to be a place where food deliveries were made. The whole place smelled faintly of garbage. Two slender blond girls sat in folding chairs in the corner of the room, both reading issues of Rolling Stone. They wore tight jeans and bikini tops, huge platform sandals. The director was middle-aged and tan, his chest covered in black curls, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. His beard was long and unruly. He sat with a script open in front of him on the table and barely lifted his gaze when I walked in. “Honey sent me,” I said. He didn’t stand or shake my hand. He just took my head shot and flicked his cigarette butt at the floor.

He must be doing Mrs. Honigbaum a favor by allowing me to audition, I thought. He could have been a former tenant of hers. If he’d be reporting back to her, I wanted to perform better than ever. I had to be perfect. I slowed my breathing down. I focused my eyes on the blue lettering on the cameraman’s T-shirt. GRAND LODGE. The cameraman had huge shoulders and hair that flopped to one side. He winked at me. I smiled. I chewed my gum. I tried to catch the eyes of the girls, but they simply sighed, hunched over their magazines.

It turned out to be the longest and most challenging audition I’d ever had. First the director had the cameraman film me while I stood in front of a white wall and gave my name, my age, my height and weight. I was supposed to say my hometown and list my hobbies. Instead of Gunnison, I said, “Salt Lake City.” I had no real hobbies, so I just said, “Sports.”

“What do you play—tennis? Basketball? What?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I play everything.”

“Lacrosse?” the director asked.

“Well, no, not lacrosse.”

“Let’s see you do some push-ups,” he said impatiently. I did ten. The director seemed impressed. He lit another cigarette. Then he told me to mime knocking on a door and waiting for someone to answer it. I did that. “Be a dog,” he said. “Can you be a dog?” I sniffed the air. “What does a dog sound like?” I howled. “Not bad. More wolf than dog, but can you dance?” he asked. I did a few rounds of the electric slide. The girls watched me. “Needs work,” the director said. “Now laugh.” I looked around for something funny. “Go. Laugh,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“Ha-ha!”

He made a mark on the paper in front of him. “Now be sexy,” he said. “Like you’re trying to seduce me. Come on, like I’m Farrah Fawcett. Or some chick, whoever, some girl you want to lay. Go.” He snapped his fingers again.

I’d never had to do anything like that before. I shrugged and put my hands in my pockets, turned to the side, pursed my lips, winked at him. He made another note.

“Come in for a close-up,” the director said to the cameraman. “Stand straight, dammit,” he told me. “Don’t move.” The camera came about six inches from my face. The director stood up and came toward me, squinted. “You always got zits up there between your eyebrows?”

“Only sometimes,” I answered. I tried to look at him, but the lights were too bright. It felt like I was like staring into an eclipse.

“Your eye’s messed up, you know that?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s a lazy eye.”

“Work on that,” he said. “There’s exercises for that.” He sat back down. “Now be sad,” he said.

I thought of the time I saw a dead cat on the street in Gunnison.

“Be angry.”

I thought of the time I slammed my thumb in the car door.

“Be happy.”

I smiled.

“Be brave. Be goofy. Be stuck-up.” I tried my best. He told me to stick out my tongue. He told me to close my eyes, then open them. Then he told me to kiss the two girls. “Pretend they’re twins,” he said. He clapped his hands.

The girls stood up and came toward me.

“You. Stand on the line,” the director said to me. “That line.” He pointed to a length of black tape on the concrete floor. The girls stood on two Xs marked in red tape in front of me. They looked young, maybe sixteen, and pretty in a way girls hadn’t been back in Gunnison. The skin on their faces was orange and as smooth as plastic. Their eyes were huge, blue, with wide black pupils, white liner drawn across their lids like frost. Their heads were big and round, necks and shoulders narrow and bony. I chewed my gum and put my hands in my pockets.

“What are you chewing?” one of the girls asked.

“It’s gum,” I said.

“Get in the shot,” said the director. “On the line. Jesus.”

“That’s rude,” the other girl said to me.

“Take out the gum!” the director yelled. “Let’s do this. We haven’t got all day.”

I took out my gum and held it on the tip of my finger and looked around for a place to throw it out. The girls sighed and rolled their eyes. The camera came closer.

“Action!” the director cried.

The girls lifted their chins.

I just stood there holding my gum, looking down at the legs of the table where the director was sitting. I was paralyzed. The girls laughed. The director groaned.

“Just kiss,” he said.

I couldn’t do it.