by Lia London
“I was wearing them the whole time, silly,” she said, her teeth clamped on the handle of her brush while she fastened something on the back of her head. She took the brush out of her mouth and tapped Milo on the shoulder with it. “You never notice anything, Milo.”
He gave her a half-hearted “you win” smile and looked around. Similar transformations had taken place all around, and he figured this proved they’d all done enough theater to be good at fast costume changes.
Someone wheeled over a giant spotlight and Milo turned to see their shadows climb higher on the side of the building, big and bold.
“Swirl me?”
Milo squinted in the bright beam. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Pick me up and swirl me?”
“What does that even mean?”
“When I was really little, my dad would pick me up and swirl me for good luck—you know, on the first day of school or something. It was like the only time he ever did anything special with me.”
“That is … a very interesting tradition.” Why am I complaining? He picked her up and twirled her around. She laughed and looked at him with so much trust that he almost leaned in to try a good-luck kiss—
FLASH!
Milo saw sparks and almost dropped Jill instead. Why, why, why was the universe conspiring against his pursuit of happiness?
“Oh, that’ll be a great shot for the promos,” said a male voice.
“Come on, Milo!” Jill slid smoothly to her feet and tugged his hand. “The line’s moving. Let’s go!”
They shuffled with the masses around the corner, up some steps, and through the double glass doors. Inside, the faint scent of industrial cleaners and old hot dogs filled the air. Milo had never been in the Moda Center with all the lights dimmed. It felt bigger, and the sweeping angles and curves cast grotesque shadows.
Most of the auditioners handed glossy black-and-white photos to a guy typing their names into a data base. When Milo got to him, the man barely looked up. “No headshot?”
“Um, what?”
“Over there, please.” He jerked his thumb.
Milo stepped over to a lady with a huge camera tripod standing in front of a brightly lit white screen. She glanced over him with an indifferent shrug, motioned for him to stand in front of the backdrop and clacked a picture before he could figure out what was happening. As she fidgeted with her camera, she said, “What’s your number?”
“My number?”
She squinted at the viewfinder. “Never mind, I got it.”
Milo spotted Jill nearby, and she dragged him back into the slow-moving line. They filed into the stadium, but the basketball floor was gone. Just plain concrete. The area closest to them had been set up with folding tables and benches. On the far side of the floor, a curtained barrier had been set up, creating a separate room there. Another guy in a black t-shirt stood in a hydraulic cherry-picker poised above a gap in the curtain, obviously trying to fasten a glittery arched sign that read Who Wants to Be a Soap Star?
A woman with a clipboard did a two-finger whistle, and the room settled to near silence except for the guy fighting with the sign. “All right, everybody, I’m Parker.” She tucked her clipboard under her arm. “As director of Team Northwest of Who Wants to Be a Soap Star?, I’m the boss of you while you’re here. Now listen up for how this is going down. You’ll be called up in groups of ten, numerical order.”
She could pass for Jill’s cousin, mused Milo.
“Oh my gosh, Milo, pay attention.” Jill’s hiss woke him up, and he tuned in with extra wide eyes.
“You’ve got one minute—and for the love of peanut butter, I mean one minute—to wow them with your acting. When the full set of ten has gone, they’ll send you out and grab the next batch. Those selected for the local team will be notified by noon. Do not—I repeat, do not bug me before then.”
A perky blonde up front raised her hand. Parker stared her down. “Jelly beans, girl, are you that stupid?”
“I … um.” The blonde lowered her hand and a few people snickered.
“Besides not bugging me…” Parker’s glare could have stopped cars in the Indy 500. “Do not—and holy Moses’s guacamole dip, I mean this—do not bug the legit actors and celebrities you may see at this audition. If you ask for one autograph, I will personally sign a warrant for your immediate execution by the winos under the Burnside bridge. No one will ever find your body.”
“You can’t—” someone blurted.
Parker didn’t skip a beat. “I can.” She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and pointed vaguely to the tables. “Keep the volume down out here. It echoes like crazy. You can sit out here on the floor or in the first three rows of the stadium seating, but don’t go further up as that may distract the judges. Distracters get disqualified. Water bottles are available in the red coolers. If you use the restroom and miss your call time, you’ll be bumped to the end of the line. I have no idea where the bathrooms are. Don’t ask. This is adult daytime drama, not kindergarten.”
With that, she marched off toward the black curtains on the far side. The guy in the cherry-picker froze as she passed, then hooked the arch in place when she disappeared. He lowered the platform to a smattering of light applause and climbed out. Two seconds later, the arch fell and cracked in half.
“I get the feeling she doesn’t like her job much,” whispered Milo.
“Huh? Who?”
“The whistling lady. Parker.”
Jill dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “Oh my gosh, what a show! She’s got her part down.”
“You think that was an act?”
“Can anyone really be like that?”
Milo shrugged and glanced at Jill. “Oh, for the love of peanut butter,” he said, mimicking Parker. “You have raccoon eyes with all that make-up.”
Jill tore open her purse. “Really? Oh no, and I’m in the third group, so I—” She backhanded Milo while studying her reflection in a little mirror in her other hand. “I do not have raccoon eyes. I look fine.”
“You look better than fine.” He sighed. “You look like a soap star.”
While Milo went and sat in the courtside seats to take a nap, Jill decided to walk the room and check out the competition. She left her purse and street clothes on Milo’s lap and removed the stilettos—no point in risking a twisted ankle slipping in someone’s spilled water. Besides, dangling from her fingers, they made a perfect prop, especially since she knew how to work the skirt. At least half the guys leered and half the girls scowled, so she knew she had the sway just right.
After a lap, Jill still needed to burn off some nervous energy. The burly guy guarding the entrance dropped his unibrow at her approach. She feigned penitence. “If Parker hadn’t mentioned bathrooms, I wouldn’t … you know …”
He leaned back against the door to open it just wide enough so she’d have to press against him to get through.
Jerk. “Which way?” Jill’s stiletto heel “accidentally” scraped his forearm.
He opened the door wider, grumbling. “Closest bathroom is that way. To the left.”
She fluttered her fingers at him innocently and scurried around the corner. The hall stretched in a wide, shallow arc, getting darker as she moved away. Her bare feet beat a quiet tattoo across the cold floor, but then she heard another noise: heavy breathing and the rustle of cloth.
Halting, she calculated the pros and cons of walking up on a couple doing their thing, but then she heard a distinctly feminine voice whisper, “Five, six, seven, eight …”
Curiosity pulled Jill forward, though she veered up against the inner wall, as if it could afford protection from the counting phantom. In a few more paces, she stopped again. A stunning young black woman leapt with the silent grace of swirling smoke in some kind of dance move. The safety lights further down the hall illuminated her from behind as she spun on her toes and thrust her arms in Jill’s direction.
“Oh!” Her long, elegant limbs folded back in and she s
tood panting. “Sorry, I … It helps me relax.”
“Wow.” Jill didn’t know what else to say. “You dance when you’re nervous. I just pee.”
The woman laughed, a throaty, pleasant sound, and retrieved her shoes from up against the wall. “I do that, too. I think the bathroom’s just over there.”
Jill stole a sideways glance at her before slipping into the bathroom. Gorgeous without even trying. “My name’s Jill.”
“Amaya Jefferson.” She waved. “Nice to meet you, Jill.”
In the bathroom, motion sensors cued the lights, and Jill examined her reflection, generally pleased. Milo hadn’t approved so much of this outfit, coughing and blushing at its length. She posed and mused. “Milo, you’re like a kid. You still think farts are funny but you don’t know what to do with a woman. Maybe someday, I’ll give you some pointers.” She winked at her reflection. “Oh, but then I’d ruin you for all the other girls. They’ll fall in love with you, and you’ll be all, ‘I’m sorry! My heart belongs to my kissing teacher!’” Jill snickered and touched up her lipstick.
As she went into the toilet stall, she realized that Monday he would kiss her as part of their Acting final. He’d probably fall over himself in the process and ruin their grade. That mental image kept her nerves about the audition at bay until they called her number.
“Contestants 21 through 30!” Parker shouted through a megaphone.
“We’re up!” Jill pinched Milo’s arm and stood up.
“Good luck!” He gave her a thumbs-up.
“Oh no, you don’t!” She reached down and grabbed his wrists. “You can’t back out on me now!”
Milo stared with horror at the 24 wrinkling on his chest. “That wasn’t for crowd count, was it?”
With a snort, Jill shouldered her purse. “And you’re supposed to be the smart one.” She marched with perfect poise at top speed across the floor.
Milo followed, trying to form an excuse. All he managed was, “I am totally unprepared.”
“Just do something from Acting class,” she whispered. “This is fun!”
Jill’s idea of Fun and Milo’s idea of Total Humiliation often coincided on paper, but her interpretation often won out in the end because … well, it was Jill.
Parker’s warning about not bugging the celebrities made sense as soon as they stepped behind the curtain and barrier. Sitting behind a long, folding table was Slick Patton in the flesh, his arms folded, reeking superior British attitude. Next to him was Kamilah Krussman, probably the oldest soap diva in captivity and a regular on the supermarket tabloid covers. Both looked bored, but Kamilah must have shined her teeth with Vaseline, because she kept smiling no matter what. Maybe her face was surgically altered to do that.
Parker motioned for the contestants to sit in a row of folding metal chairs to the side.
The first man to audition must not have read the fliers because he was totally in the wrong mode. Instead of mimicking the likes of Cleon, he was trying a humorous monolog. When his minute ended, an awkward silence followed. The contestant shifted his weight.
“You’re very funny,” droned Slick.
All eyes in the room popped wide open. “Really?” The contestant stood a little taller.
“You’re very funny to think you have any talent.”
Milo leaned into Jill’s ear. “Ouch. Poor guy. Should’ve come prepared.”
Kamilah gave a half-hearted shimmy, making her huge earrings clink against the hair-sprayed helmet of hair. “We’re looking for dramatic actors, darling. It’s for daytime drama, after all.”
“Number 22,” said Parker, pointing to the woman on the other side of Jill.
As she rose, Slick mumbled, “If this doesn’t get better soon, I’m leaving.”
“Steady, Slick. We just got started.” Kamilah examined her nails and found some flaw that intrigued her.
The contestant got up, but just stared at the judges until Parker made an exaggerated coughing noise. “You have one minute. Please start.”
She exploded into hyper drive speech. “Oh wow, it’s really you! You’re Slick Patton. Wow! And you’re Kamilah Krussman. Wow! You’re beautiful! I can’t believe it’s really, really you!”
“Most of it isn’t real anymore,” muttered Slick.
“The guy is a jerk,” whispered Milo. “A funny jerk.”
Jill widened her eyes with a shut-up grimace, and Milo stifled his laugh, leaning back in his chair.
“Forty-five seconds left,” prompted Parker.
The girl launched into a monolog that seemed to feature several voices. Her short, black hair was the only part of her that didn’t stay in constant motion, and Milo couldn’t understand what she was saying because it was all so fast.
“Honey, honey! You’re making me dizzy.” Kamilah whirled her hands in a circle. “That’ll do. We get the idea.”
The girl fell silent and Slick rubbed his eyes. Kamilah continued smiling, and Parker flicked some lint off the sleeve of her black t-shirt.
Kamilah gave a little hiccup. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is it my turn to start?” She folded her hands and looked thoughtful. “Well, you certainly show …” She paused and began again. “The ability to play two parts at once is very important when you have to play your own evil twin, like I did for three seasons.”
“I guess I don’t remember that,” said the girl.
“Before you were born,” said Slick.
“Number 23!” Parker yawned and looked at Jill.
With a little squeak, Jill crossed her fingers and gave Milo the wish-me-luck look. He twirled his finger in the air and hoped she knew he referred to her dad’s tradition of swinging her around and not that he was saying she was cuckoo or something. Well, that, too.
Bounding forward, Jill stood in all her shapely, little-black-dress glamor and addressed the panel. “I’m Jill Ripley, and believe it or not, I am the hottest new soap star!”
Meanwhile, the fast-talking contestant plopped down into her chair and began sniffing. Milo wanted to watch Jill, but this woman was going to ruin everything if she started bawling, so he gave her a thumbs-up and searched in Jill’s purse for some Kleenex. By the time he’d gotten her settled down, the room had gone silent.
“Yes, Miss Ripley,” said Slick. “We’d love to see more of that. Thank you very much for restoring my hope in this show.”
Jill screamed for joy, others gasped, and Milo stared. My Jill got a compliment from Slick Patton!
Parker nudged Milo with her clipboard. “Number 24. You’re up.”
Jill pulled Milo to his feet. “Your turn, Milo. Knock ’em dead, Romeo!”
“Oh. My. What?!”
She pushed him forward, and he gaped at Parker helplessly. “I just came to support her. I’m not actually …”
“Go for it, Milo!” called Jill.
The Sanity switch inside his brain short-circuited and Milo turned to the panel of judges. “Hi. I’m Milo Halsey, and …” He glanced back at Jill’s beaming face. “I guess I’ll be doing the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet.”
Slick looked at the ceiling. “Not another one.”
Milo dropped to one knee and reached for Kamilah, mostly because she was the only one smiling. At the last second, he realized he couldn’t go all Shakespeare, so he modernized it on the fly. “But wait! What’s that light in the window? It’s the east, and Juliet is the sun! Come out, you beautiful babe, and kill the jealous moon. It’s already sick and dying of jealousy because you’re so fine.”
Kamilah managed to blush through her layer of make-up, so Milo figured he was doing all right. Taking a risk, he rose and took her hand, but then he had no idea how to translate the next part. Stupid Shakespeare. “Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it—”
“My vestal livery is sick and green, too,” said Slick.
Kamilah straightened in her seat. “Oh, shut up, Slick. I think he’s lovely!”
Milo squeezed Kamilah’s hand and whisper
ed, “An actor is only as good as his inspiration.”
“Oh my!” Kamilah fanned herself with her free hand.
“Oh please,” said Slick.
Still holding Milo’s hand, she winked at him, which at first felt reassuring right before it felt super creepy.
When Milo came stumbling back over in a daze, Jill couldn’t stop grinning. “Who are you, and where did you put my best friend, Milo?” She made a show of peeking in his ear. “Is there an alien in there?”
“Wrong show,” he muttered. He sat with a thunk on the seat beside her, his mouth hanging open a little.
“They liked you—well, at least Kamilah did—but hey, you’ve got a judge in your corner. This is so exciting!”
“That’s one word for it.”
Milo’s whole aura threatened to pass out just sitting there, so Jill took his hand and squeezed it while they watched the last six auditioners in the set. By the time Parker dismissed them, Milo looked better.
“Can you walk?” Jill checked for signs of wooziness.
He glanced down at their clasped hands. “I can fly.”
“Good boy. You did a great job.”
He smiled, and they walked out.
The woman named Amaya came in with the next set, and Jill gave her a good luck grin before following Milo back to his seat on the sidelines. Kicking off her heels, she gave in to the adrenaline crash, and the two of them settled in for the long wait. Jill wasn’t sure which of them fell asleep first.
***
A few hours later, Jill’s stomach growled and brought her out of a dead-rat sleep. A few crying clusters of competitors made their way for the exits.
A shrill whistle echoed, jolting Milo awake next to her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention, please?” Parker had leapt up onto the snack table with a megaphone in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
Jill felt every muscle tighten. “Oh my gosh! The list! They must have the list!”
“Should we sit or stand?” whispered Milo.
Jill considered the assembling crowd for a moment. They looked eager, and potentially violent if they weren’t happy. “Let’s hang back here.”