Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(15)
Once upon a time, I had a dream to become an actress. I enrolled in a few acting workshops after high school but abandoned them, discouraged that a full-figured girl like me couldn’t succeed. And hence, I went to an occupational school and became a certified masseuse. But working for Brandon and helping him with his lines gave me another taste of the craft. A yen. The more I despise my new job, the more the acting bug gnaws at me. I apply to several local acting schools—mentioning my former experience (I throw in the fact that I played Adelaide in my junior high production of Guys and Dolls to make my resumé look longer) and the fact I was the personal assistant to a major Hollywood star (I’m not allowed to disclose Brandon’s name because of our confidentially agreement), and include a headshot. Rejection after rejection. Disheartened, I’m about to give up when I get an invitation to audition for one of Hollywood’s most prestigious institutions. The Bella Stadler Academy of Acting!
My audition is on a Saturday. I wake up bright and early, shower, and dress. I choose simple jeans, sneakers, and a short sleeve crew-neck tee. My online research told me to dress conservatively and to not wear a skirt (my first choice) to avoid the possibility of pulling a Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. Nope, that wouldn’t look too good, especially with my thighs. With the monologue I’ve chosen in a manila folder, I head over to the Academy which is located off Hollywood Boulevard, a mere ten minutes from my house. I have the lines memorized, but go over them in my head during the drive. My heart gallops with both anticipation and apprehension. Lead your dreams and land them. I so want to be accepted.
What I didn’t count on was the lack of parking spots and the congested traffic due to construction on every corner. The Bella Stadler Academy of Acting doesn’t come with valet parking. Every nearby meter is taken. Crap. The last thing I want is to be late for my audition. Anxiety pulses through me. Finally, after circling the school three times in stop and go traffic, I eye a van pulling out of a spot a few blocks away. I whip into it and fly out of my Mini, running to my destination so I won’t miss my audition. Somewhere between Yucca and Las Palmas, a rather shady area populated by drug dealers and addicts, I realize I’ve left my monologue in the car. Shit. I’ll have to live without it. There’s no time to go back for it.
The Bella Stadler Academy of Acting is a narrow, non-descript two-story red brick building sandwiched between a Greek yogurt joint and a deli in the middle of Las Palmas. You’d never know it was a prestigious acting school except by the name of the school on the marquis and the fact that there’s a long line of hopefuls that look my age lined up outside, all studying their monologues. Breathlessly, I survey them and a ball of intimidation curls in my gut. Everyone looks so Hollywood beautiful and stylish. Of course, no guy comes close to Brandon, but the girls are all tall, bronzed, wafer thin want-to-be starlets with lustrous manes that look like they belong in a L’Oréal commercial. Katrinas. My skin bristles at the thought of her. Maybe I should have dressed up more and worn something different. Going back home, however, is not an option.
“Um, uh, excuse me,” I ask a stunning Emma Stone lookalike, who has her nose buried in her audition piece. “What do I do?”
Shooting me a dirty look for breaking her concentration, she tells me I need to go inside and sign in at the reception desk. And then get in line. Her voice is as cold as dry ice. She immediately returns her attention to her audition piece. I check in and then head to the end of the line. I breathe in the intensely competitive air.
Finally, after almost two hours of waiting in the rising heat, it’s my turn. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and my heart’s racing. You can do this, Zoey! I’ve practiced my monologue a gazillion times, both aloud and in my head. I’ve got it down pat. The receptionist, a jovial effeminate man, tells me to head down the long corridor to Audition Room 3. My heart thumping, I take anxious steps until I’m there. I turn the doorknob, feeling like I’m about to jump out of a plane. Oh, please God, don’t let me forget to pull the chord of my parachute. I’ve got to make it through this and score a landing.
The high-ceiling audition room is a mini-theater, with a small stage and several rows of vintage, ruby-red velvet theater chairs facing it. A shocking, familiar throaty voice greets me as I take in my surroundings.
“Well, Miss Hart, I certainly hope you can do a lot better than the dilettantes I’ve seen thus far,” she huffs, scanning my pathetic resumé.
Oh my God! It’s legendary Bella Stadler herself! Brandon’s mentor! The beautiful woman I met at the Joshua Tree spa. She turns her head and my gaze meets hers. She’s seated in her wheelchair in an aisle at the end of the front row. Her crinkly, gray eyes sparkle at the sight of me. Instant recognition.
“How lovely to see you again, my dear.”
“The same,” I stutter, so in awe of her. She’s clad in a bohemian, ankle-length lavender dress with a paisley shawl that complements her smooth olive skin, deep-set eyes, and loose, waist-long silver hair. Despite the tremors, she looks healthier and more stunning than I remember. The Ayurvedic spa treatments must be working.
“So, my dear, did it work out with your gentleman friend?”
My breath hitches in my throat as a wave of sadness washes over me.
“Unfortunately, it didn’t,” I reply, not letting her know that it was Brandon, one of her most illustrious students. I don’t want anything to jeopardize my chances of getting into her academy. Nor do I want to embark on a conversation about my personal life and my former boss. I banish him to the back of my mind.