To Be or Not To Be: The Actors

by Cathrine Goldstein

  Desperately needing to look at something other than him, she glanced at the script in his hand. “Oh. Is that the edition we’re using?” Jenna pointed to the script. “It’s my favorite, too. The Royal Shakespeare Company uses that.”

  There. Poof. The words were gone, and she couldn’t take them back. In one moment she had completely made an ass of herself. We’re using? The RSC uses that edition? There was nothing to do but turn around and leave. She hadn’t said hello to him or the casting directors or anyone else at that large table against the far wall. She had simply told him, Trevor Hughes, a man who had been a success in this business since before she was a smart-mouthed, Sartre-reading teenager, that she approved of his edition of Hamlet. And that it was used by the most famous acting troupe on the planet. Like he didn’t know.

  Good God. Why not add he’s a fraud? Blood rushed to her cheeks. There was nothing she could do now but set her jaw, try her best to calm her butterflies, and like any good actor, wait for her cue.

  Chapter Two

  Oh, crap. Trevor looked away and immediately back again. His gaze fell over her shoulder-length black wavy hair and her barely made-up face, settling on the tiny diamond stud on the side of her nose. Her skin color was indescribable—tan, maybe? She had the complexion of a Disney princess hiding in the shadows of a New York City subway station. Damn, damn, damn. Trevor ran a hand through his hair, dragging it down across the scruff on his chin. A woman like this could only be trouble to a man like him—a man who was supposed to be engaged to the daughter of the producer of his daytime drama, the same daytime drama that made him a multi-millionaire.

  She was stunning but in a raw and honest way, like when you stumble upon the one real, sparkly diamond sitting on a dusty tray at a pawn shop. He never knew women could look like this. He had had spent so much time with Maggie—and she was beautiful, no doubt, with her long blonde hair. If her curves were a racetrack, they would have challenged the most experienced racecar driver in the world’s most responsive car. But that’s what it came down to. He wasn’t responding to Maggie the way he needed to…the way he wanted to. When they started dating four years earlier, Maggie claimed to have no interest in a relationship, just like Trevor. Through the years they had separated a few times—each seeing other people, but both finding their way back to the other when Maggie’s father thought it would be good for ratings. And because Maggie’s acting talent had definite limits, he was here, staring at the likes of gorgeous Jenna Joyce and feeling pretty freaking guilty about it. Damn.

  This girl had to be at least ten years his junior. What could someone so young offer? He needed an Ophelia who could make him shine. If only Maggie could handle the role, then everything would be fine. But she couldn’t.

  Trevor unclenched his jaw. He was sick of being a pawn in someone’s game—that’s why Hamlet was his and his alone. She stared at him, waiting for her cue. He had to audition her. She had asked about the acting edition they were using, something no other actress had picked up on. That was intriguing. She appeared so very different from the overly made-up, sexually overt actresses he had seen that day, and something about this girl made Trevor so very aware…of his acting and of himself. He jumped off the stool and stood up taller, fighting for his rightful place but was that on the stage or beside her?

  Wait. What the hell was he thinking? This was getting way too complicated, but the good thing was, she would probably be a disappointment, just as everything and everyone else was.

  Something stirred deep inside whenever he looked at her. And the way she stared at him, with those giant hazel eyes, really unnerved him. “Yeah,” Trevor finally answered. “Glad you recognize the edition.” He needed to regain control, so he smiled his most charming smile and watched with satisfaction as her cheeks turned a bright pink. So there, she wasn’t so different after all. She was just as easily manipulated by the charms of Caspian Locke as was every other woman out there. “I’m sorry to say you are the only actress we’ve seen today who knows of this acting edition.”

  “Actor.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.”

  Trevor took a step closer as this small, ethereal creature put her head down, blushing.

  Damn, she wasn’t predictable; he liked that. He moved closer still, letting his size intimidate her a bit. “Tell me.” Trevor cocked his head, trying to see into her eyes, trying to understand her. He felt like a kid at an aquarium, desperately wanting a turn at the touch tank. Everything was right there, beneath the surface, but his ticket didn’t allow him access. She looked so sad and misplaced, Trevor wondered if anyone, anywhere, had ever held that ticket.

  She looked up at him. “Actor. Um, nobody really says ‘actress’ anymore.”

  “Really?” He waited for her to make eye contact. “Guess I’m showing my age.”

  She gave a small smile.

  It was the segue he needed. “And speaking of age, how old are you?”

  “Twenty-two, well, almost twenty-three.” Jenna snapped her fingers and cursed. “Damn it. Sorry. I’m only supposed to give you an age range, which my agent tells me is sixteen to twenty-one. Seems ridiculous to me I don’t look old enough to play the age I am, but that’s the business.” She shrugged. “I mean, if I’m twenty-two, then at least one twenty-two year old looks like me, right?”

  An uncontrolled grin spread across Trevor’s face. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He had no desire to fight her convoluted logic; he was just glad she was over twenty-one and only one tiny decade younger than he. But he shouldn’t be glad. Not at all…

  She looked over at the casting table and shuffled from foot to foot. They were all waiting on him and it was time to act. Moving across the room and toward her, he could hardly slow himself down. He wasn’t walking; he was very nearly pouncing at her. There was something about her…something that made him want to know more. And maybe, was it possible an audience would feel the same way?

  In his business, snap decisions were made all the time. As an actor you have only a few moments to make the casting directors like you and today, on the opposite side of the table, he realized how difficult a casting director’s job was. Then Jenna walked in and suddenly Trevor’s job seemed very, very easy. Something about her, her awkwardness in her simple dress, her petite but strong features, her tiny, perfect shaped nose, and giant hazel eyes, made Trevor want to know more. He was curious and watched, spellbound, as she bit the corner of her full, pouty lower lip. His heart rate increased; he had to get a hold of himself. As nonchalantly as he could, he strolled to the casting table, picked up her résumé, and read it over. “You study with Don Oleesa.” He turned to Jenna and raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes.”

  Larry cleared his throat. “Hi Jenna, I’m Larry Mills, the director.” He nodded to the three other people sitting beside him. “This is Rachel, the casting director, and this is Megan”—he pointed to a sixty-something woman with gray hair—“and Nolan”—he motioned to a man around Trevor’s age—“two of our producers. Don Oleesa is by invitation only. The best in the city. Where’d you make the connection?”

  “He saw me perform at school.”

  “At school?” Larry sounded impressed. “He saw your exam plays?”

  “No, my friend’s exam plays. I was a first year working with the seniors.”

  “Excuse me?” Larry peered at Jenna over the top of his glasses. “You began working with Don Oleesa when you were a first year at school?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Don only works with professionals,” Larry countered. “I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

  “I’m just lucky, I guess.” Jenna shrugged.

  “I see.” Larry turned Jenna’s résumé over, nodding to Trevor.

  A zap of electricity shot from Trevor’s core, out through his arms. Learning she was a student of Don Oleesa made Trevor want more. Much more. He waited for Jenna to move, but she remained perfectly still. Too sti
ll.

  “Are you okay?” Trevor’s eyebrows knitted.

  Jenna nodded. Trevor studied her, amazed, as this odd little creature leaned down and slipped off her shoes, tossing them and that beaten up bag she clutched, aside. Her toenails were painted a bright pink but the paint was chipping. She rolled her toes under, cracking them.

  “I’m sorry.” Jenna held her arms out to her sides. “My agent made me dress up. I would have been in jeans and a t-shirt too.” She tossed her head toward her shoes. “Those stupid things are killing me. Do you mind if I’m barefoot?”

  “Uh, n-no.” Trevor stumbled on his words, completely caught off guard. He was so used to life being controllable, predictable, and she was throwing everything off—like finding a piece of pink bubble gum in a pack of chocolate candies. He smiled at her, for some reason liking the image of her as pink bubble gum. He looked down at Jenna’s bare feet once again. To all six-foot-two-inches of him, Jenna’s feet looked no bigger than a doll’s. Everything about this girl was unsettling.

  Jenna stood back up, clutched her script, and dared him with a raised eyebrow. So she was no fragile doll; she was in this for the fight. It was time to do something.

  With his gaze locked on hers, Trevor walked to Jenna and gently pulled the script from her hands. It was damp; her palms were sweating. Was it because of nerves or him? What the hell was he thinking? Trevor inhaled sharply, trying to concentrate.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” He tossed her script onto his stool. It landed smack in the middle. “Let’s see what you remember of the scene. We can always improv.” He winked. Yes, what he was about to do was amateurish and unorthodox, but he felt compelled to do it, anyway. Besides, fuck it. It was his show and his money, and if anyone didn’t like it, they were free to leave, although honestly, no one ever did.

  “Okay.” She nodded delicately, and her cheeks turned an even brighter red.

  Suddenly all Trevor wanted was to touch her. He lurched forward and slipped his arm around Jenna’s tiny waist. She drew a breath.

  ****

  “ ‘Get thee to a nunnery…’ ”

  Why was he touching her? Jenna exhaled and forced her shoulders from her ears, trying to relax. Maybe this was how they did it in his world, although with every second that passed, as his strong arm muscles tightened around her waist, she was more and more certain she wanted nothing to do with his world.

  Jenna closed her eyes. She needed this job. She needed to play this game. Forcing her eyes open, she was caught. His gaze bright and smart, was locked on hers. So she would play. It was only an audition, not a marriage proposal. Jenna rested her weight in his arms, letting the warmth of Trevor’s body envelope her. He held her tighter. She closed her eyes and breathed him in. His scent made her nearly giddy; he smelled like the faintest combination of laundry soap and light masculine cologne. She let her Ophelia give over to his Hamlet completely, until her body became nothing more than a warm, malleable ball unsure of its ownership.

  Once again she stared into his eyes that were such a light blue, they were the color of her favorite, most worn pair of jeans. The pair she wished she had on right now. Trevor reached out toward her face. His fingernails were rough and jagged, not manicured as she had expected. His hand rested gently on her cheek and her breath raced in and out. She was feeling things: desire, anger, confusion—things she should not have been feeling because he was crossing lines he should not have been crossing. The problem was she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop. And worse, she didn’t know if it was her character Ophelia who didn’t want him to stop…or her? Damn it. Jenna turned her gaze down, away from his. She was too good at living in the moment; she had to remember this was all an act. She was livid with herself for letting him get to her, even for a second.

  Trevor leaned down, close enough to kiss her, and whispered, “ ‘Where’s your father?’ ”

  Jenna narrowed her eyes. Yes, this was a completely inappropriate response for Ophelia, but this audition was quickly becoming uncomfortable and unprofessional. “ ‘At home, my lord.’ ” Jenna’s words were a mere whisper.

  “ ‘Farewell.’ ” Trevor broke his hold on her. “ ‘To a nunnery, go.’ ”

  He walked away and Jenna’s arms flailed by her sides as she fought to steady herself. She needed to do something to save this audition. How dare he do this to her? How dare he? Ire rose up as a burning sensation, needing a release. Before she could stop them, hot, heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to speak, her voice weak and muffled. “ ‘O, what a noble mind is here…’ ” The words were barely audible through her shaking voice. No. She couldn’t blow this. She had to pull it together. Jenna dropped to the floor and sobbed for what felt like minutes—until it was all out of her system—whatever it was.

  She looked directly at Trevor whose icy blue gaze was fixed on her. Jenna drew in a breath and did what she did best—act. When she finished Ophelia’s monologue, she was a mess of tears and sorrow but she had done it. And it was over.

  Trevor rushed to Jenna. She gasped as he grabbed her and lifted her into the air as if she weighed nothing. He swept her legs up into a cradled position and bowed his head. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body tensed. How dare he do this? Who the hell did he think he was? She was right; he was a jerk. Just because he was some stupid soap opera god, he assumed he could do anything to anyone.

  Well, screw that. She glowered at him as he set her down and knelt in front of her, placing his head on her tummy. She sucked in a sharp breath and closed her eyes, forcing herself to do what was right. With a shaking hand she reached out and stroked his hair, softly, because that’s what Ophelia would do. He looked up, and his eyes changed—they were softer, now. Friendly. He smiled. Unrelenting heat climbed up from Jenna’s belly, straight up her torso, settling in her cheeks. Her arms suddenly weighed thousands of pounds. She needed to get out of there and go home.

  Trevor stood up. “Nicely done.” He held out his hand to shake hers.

  Jenna stared at Trevor’s hand and crossed her arms in front of her. “Nicely done? Really?” Anger swelled in her chest, churning like a ball of fire. “Listen. I don’t know what it’s like in your world, but in mine, you don’t just go grabbing people and lifting them without asking.” She tapped a nervous foot. His swagger, his cockiness, his smell, like the faintest sandalwood—it all read too-much-money-sell-out.

  Trevor tilted his head. “We were doing a scene and it was awesome.”

  “Awesome? Really? How old are you, exactly?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “And ‘awesome’ is your choice of word? When you’re playing Hamlet?”

  “I don’t understand.” Trevor stuffed his hands into his pockets. “The scene was—”

  “Yeah, awesome, I know.” Of course she was blowing any slim chance she may have but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to be involved in anything so unprofessional, and what’s more, she refused to be treated like a piece of meat.

  “Why are you so angry?” His sparkling eyes clouded over again.

  “Because you need boundaries. You can’t just grab someone without telling them first. It’s amateurish. You should be better than that.” Jenna turned to the table. Megan and Nolan stared at her, their mouths open. “I’m sorry for my outburst.” Jenna wanted to crumple to the floor but instead met each gaze steadily. “But someone had to tell him.”

  Jenna stuffed her feet into her shoes and grabbed her messenger bag that was caught up on a leg of a stool. “Damn it.” She cursed under her breath, nearly yanking the stool over. Feeling Trevor’s gaze on her, she stuffed some loose headshots into her newly freed bag and stormed out the door. She didn’t cry until she hit the subway platform.

  ****

  Jenna couldn’t go home. Thank goodness her diner was nearby, but not near enough according to her screaming heels. She ducked into a bodega next door, splurging on overpriced bandages for her aching feet. Standing next to the food bar that reeked of yesterday�
��s shepherd’s pie, Jenna balanced herself on one foot and then the other as she applied the bandages.

  With her oozing blisters finally covered, she hobbled to the Carlton Diner where she worked. Pulling open the door, she was accosted by the smell of homemade matzo ball soup and spanakopita, two smells that really didn’t go well together, but at least it was warm inside. Thankfully, she was there at just about the only time of the day the diner was ever empty—ironically, dinnertime. The diner’s location in the Theatre District made late nights every bit as packed as breakfasts, but New Yorkers were in too much of a rush to go home to deal with Broadway traffic around six. Jenna limped across the old-fashioned black and white tile floor, past the few patrons sitting on cracked, red plastic chairs tucked tight to white linoleum tables, and plopped herself onto a revolving stool at the nearly empty counter. She buried her head in her hands.

  Her best friend, Luis Statesman, was behind the counter. He walked up with a giant sugary-sweet chocolate chip cookie and a covered paper cup filled with milk. “Wow, the dress. Man. You pulled out all the stops for Trevor Hughes.”

  “Ugh.” Jenna rolled her forehead back and forth on the counter.

  “That good, huh?” Luis wiped down the counter around her head.

  Jenna lifted her head high enough to moan and dropped it back down.

  Luis stopped wiping and leaned against the counter. “Oh, come on. You were bad? I don’t believe it. Shakespeare’s like, your thing. You were incredible as Desdemona. Best I’ve ever worked with, and I’ve played Othello more times than I can count, since it’s the only role anyone gives a black guy who’s freaking good at Shakespeare.”

  The smell of the over-sugary treat got to Jenna. She lifted her head and picked chocolate chips from the cookie. “Want some?” She held out the cookie to Luis. “It’s perfectly stale—a Carlton Diner special.”

  He put up his hand and shook his head. “C’mon. What happened?”

  “He grabbed me during the scene and I lost it. I even told him off. Said he had no boundaries.”