I'm Glad My Mom Died(21)

We’re standing in a small dark room with padded, soundproof walls. It’s just Mom, me, and the deeply-in-need-of-a-shave editor who’s editing together my demo reel. A demo reel is a thing actors make to show their on-camera work. Usually the goal is to show some variety, good performance moments, and anytime you shared the screen with a big actor. The demo reel is then used for multiple reasons: it can be sent to casting directors to try to get you good auditions, it can be sent to producers or directors to try to get you job offers instead of having to audition, or in my case, it can be sent to managers to try to get represented by them.

Mom wants me to get a manager because she thinks it’ll take my career to the next level.

“We’re so close to a big break, we just need a little extra support,” Mom says regularly. “We need a demo reel that’ll really impress Susan Curtis.”

Susan Curtis is the talent manager Mom’s determined to get me signed with. Mom’s heard she’s the best in town for young performers.

So here we are today, in a building owned by a company that makes demo reels, sorting through clips of my performances, including Strong Medicine. (I booked the role. Mom said I didn’t do as good on set as I did in the callback.) The demo reel gets finished up in a few days and sent off to Susan. We get a call a couple days later that she wants to represent me.

“Yes, baby, yes!” Mom screams, so excited. “Even with an under-performance, you still impressed. Imagine how impressed she’d have been if she’d seen your callback!”

So I do. I imagine it. And I feel bad. I was better in the callback than I was on the day of filming. I failed. I wish Mom would stop bringing it up, but I know she’s just trying to get me to be better. I know she means well. She just wants me to stop messing up and not doing as well as I could. She just wants me to be as impressive as I can be. She’s just being a good mom.





20.


“CHUG THE GATORADE, CHUG IT!” Mom yells at me like a boxing coach to their fighter.

I chug. The red Gatorade trickles down both sides of my mouth.

“But don’t get it on your shirt!”

I lean forward to avoid spilling on my shirt.

“Keep chugging!”

I do.

“Okay, that should be good, baby.”

I set the drink in the car cupholder and take a few deep breaths. Chugging Gatorade is exhausting.

“That should definitely help bring your fever down. Good girl, Net. Good girl.”

It’s been a week since signing with Susan. I have a fever of 103 and a cold so bad it sounds like I’m pinching my nose when I talk, but Mom says it’ll look noncommittal if we cancel the first audition I got since signing, so here we are.

At least the audition is at Universal Studios, my favorite studio to audition at. There’s something so romantic about walking to the bungalow where your audition is and passing Steven Spielberg’s bungalow or seeing the Universal Studios tram drive by. It’s the feeling of opportunity.

I’m auditioning for a network crime show called Karen Sisco, for the role of an eleven-year-old homeless child named Josie Boyle. Mom debated wiping dirt on my cheeks for the audition, but ultimately decided against it because “that’s too over-the-top.” I’m relieved with her decision.

The bungalow waiting room is so crowded with girls auditioning that the door is pushed open and little girls are sitting on the bungalow steps running their lines. The Karen Sisco casting director must really want to pick the right homeless child.

During the hour or so that I’m waiting to get called in, Mom continuously gives me Ricola cough drops and pulls me into the restroom to run lines or chug some Gatorade and Tylenol. My eyes are hot with sickness at this point and my body feels so sleepy and heavy. I just want to curl up in a ball. But I can’t right now. There’s work to do.

Finally, my name is called and I go into the crammed casting office to audition. There’s a part in the sides where my character has to snort, and I have so much snot built up in my nose that it catches and makes this long, disgusting, sinus-infected snort-noise. The casting director doesn’t seem to notice. She says I did a great job.

I go in for a callback the next day, still sick. This time, instead of in the bungalow, I audition in a more spacious room in one of the nice buildings near the soundstages. It’s just the casting director again, and she doesn’t videotape me, which means there will have to be another callback. Casting directors rarely choose the actor for a role unless it’s a very small one. They typically do the narrowing down process, and then the producers and director decide on the person for the part.

I get called in for a second callback a couple days later, on Friday. Luckily, my fever’s almost gone by now. Only 99.6, I’ll take it. The director, a British man in a baseball cap and a button-down shirt, watches me. The snort goes by without too much snot, and the rest of the lines go well. He tells me I did a good job, gives me some direction on a few of the lines, and has me do it again. He tells me I take direction well. I leave and report all of this to Mom.

My third callback, fourth audition all around, comes the following Tuesday. I’ve never had so many auditions for a one-episode role on a TV show, but apparently this role has been very tricky to cast and they want to make sure they cast the right girl since it’s a demanding guest lead (upgrade from guest star) opposite Carla Gugino and Robert Forster. Mom found this information out from Susan, which made Mom repeatedly say what a good decision it was to sign with her.