At least I could relate to that line. I gave the director a meaningful look. I’m relating to the character, I tried to convey, wordlessly. I’m starting my life over, too. But I knew I was bombing. I could feel it. Bombing. I was talking too fast, but I didn’t know how to stop myself.
“No, Claire,” the director said, with a little more feeling. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll do anything.” You know you’re in trouble when the casting director is a better actor than you are. Get out of your head, Faith!
“No you wouldn’t, Drake. You wouldn’t do anything.” I gestured dramatically, then second-guessed myself, dropping my arms to my sides. “I’m going to walk out that door, and you’re not going to do anything at all. I know you, Drake. I know you all too well.” Dramatic pause. I eyed the director, to see if he was buying it. “You’re going to be just fine without me.”
Who the hell would actually say any of this stuff? I turned, as the script directed, and took two steps stage right. Then I turned back, snapping back to myself, expectantly searching the faces of the director and the others for a reaction. Nothing.
“Thank you, Paige. Next!”
“It’s Faith. And … is that it?” I was surprised it could be over so quickly. “Is there anything else I can show you?”
The director looked at me as if he’d already forgotten who I was. “That’s it. Thanks for coming in. We’ll be in touch.” Oh no. Kiss of death. It was the don’t-call-us-we-won’t-call-you routine. He turned away from me, toward the next girl, who was just coming into the room. A taller, blonder, tanner, thinner girl. A real California girl.
“Thanks.” I tried to catch his eye and give him one last great smile, but he obviously wasn’t interested. Yeah, thanks for nothing.
Defeated, I walked toward the door, but turned when I heard the next girl’s voice.
“I don’t know, Drake,” she said. She looked at the director like her heart was breaking. “I just don’t believe you. You’ve lied to me too many times before.” Her voice caught, like she was actually going to cry. I watched, enraptured. She wasn’t reading from the script. She didn’t even look like she was aware of any script. She was just feeling it.
“I’m not lying, Claire,” the director said, grinning broadly. “Nothing happened, I swear to you. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
The girl looked like she wanted to believe, wanted so desperately to believe. Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Drake,” she said. I’d seen enough. I ducked out and closed the door quietly behind me to the sound of the director saying, “Beautiful! That was gorgeous. Now, the second scene.”
Second scene?
I sighed and headed back across the lot to the commissary, bought a cup of black coffee, and sat at one of the small tables.
So that was it. That was my big audition. I’d invested hundreds of dollars in looking the part, and I couldn’t act my way out of a sack. I’d missed nights of sleep memorizing those stupid unrealistic lines. All for five minutes with a director who obviously wasn’t buying what I was selling. What a waste.
Mia walked in and I waved to her.
“I just auditioned,” I told her, putting my head in my hands. “I totally sucked.”
She patted me on the back. “Oh, honey, it’s OK.”
“No, it’s not OK!” I whined. “This was my big chance. I feel like I disappointed Larry, and you, and myself. I wish I could have another chance. The girl who auditioned after me just blew me away.” I didn’t mention that I also felt humiliated about letting down Vince Beck. I didn’t want her to know Vince was the one who told me about the audition. Thank God he wasn’t one of the people watching my ridiculous performance!
Mia sat down. “Faith, look. I’m going to be honest with you because I like you and I think you deserve to hear the truth. They were never going to give that part to you. You have no experience, you’re not a draw, you’ve never done any acting work except in high school and a couple of scenes in college. They just let you audition because you’re a friend of Larry’s.”
“What?” I felt betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell me? I just humiliated myself in front of—”
“In front of who, five or six people you don’t even know? Listen, Faith, consider it a good experience. If you want to do this acting thing, you’re going to have to get used to rejection. It’s most of the business. Even the best actors blow plenty of auditions. And even if you were great, that girl after you has guest starred on a dozen different prime-time shows, and before that, she was Binny Pines.”
“The child star?”
She nodded. I felt a little better, but also a little angrier. I’ll take righteous indignation over humiliation any day.
“How can I compete against Binny Pines?”
“You can’t,” Mia said. She looked at me sympathetically. “But that’s OK, because every audition, every screen test, every contact can teach you something,” she said. “Take what you can from it and keep going. Whatever you do, make something out of it. Learn something. The more you know, the more you’ll be able to find your truth, and where you fit in to this crazy business. You’re one of the quickest-thinking, wittiest people I know. You’ll get there. You just have to be patient, and never assume anybody is better or smarter than you. Whoever gets that role was just more experienced, and experience comes with time.”
I wondered if Vince Beck had set me up. “Vince told me about it,” I confessed.
Mia sighed. “I know.” She knew? “But it’s not Vince’s fault. He has no influence over casting this show. He probably really was trying to steer you in the right direction. But it’s not the right direction for you yet.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Still, I wished I would have known I wasn’t really going to get it. Then I wouldn’t have practically peed my pants in there.”
Mia laughed. “Even if you had, I’m sure they’ve seen it all.”
“I think I need to take some acting classes.”
“Then go take some acting classes,” she said, standing up again. “But before you do, could you make ten copies of this script?” She handed it to me. “See you back at the office.”
After work, I couldn’t wait to get home to our little two-bedroom apartment. Although it was Spartan compared to my father’s house, it was such a relief to be on my own. I missed Brooke in some ways, but it was also nice to get a break from her. Here, I could breathe.
I liked Perry. She was a good support system, and she kept to herself. She encouraged me to go out with her to auditions, and she had just the body I wanted—tall and superslim. She was obsessed with dieting and she was militant about what she ate. Since moving in with her, I’d already lost two pounds.
When I walked in, she was sitting on the floor flipping through Casting Call. She looked at me.
“Well? How did it go?”
I covered my face. “Let’s just say I sucked.”
“That bad?”
“Ugh, don’t ask for details, please. They won’t be calling me.”
“You never know,” she said, encouragingly.
“Yes, I know.” Still, I knew I would bounce back. I always did. There had to be a reason it happened like this. Something better would come along.
“Well… maybe you’re more of a business person. You love your job. You rock that job.” Perry patted my shoulder sympathetically as I collapsed on the couch behind her.
“No, that’s not it!” I knew in my heart I was an in-front-of-the-camera person, but acting still didn’t feel quite right. It didn’t feel like me. Saying those lines had felt false and strange. A voice inside of me protested whenever I pretended to be someone else. “I wish I could just be myself up there. I don’t know how to be someone else.”
“Maybe you just need to figure out how to find yourself in the characters,” Perry said.
“I don’t know. I think I just need more training. I’ve wanted this for so long. My job is ending soon, and I thought this was my big break.”
“Then maybe you should take it a little more seriously,” Perry said. “You don’t ever want to go see any plays. You hardly ever go to movies. You haven’t invested in acting lessons. Acting isn’t easy, you know. You don’t just automatically know how to be good at it. It’s a craft. It takes a lot of training and skill and tal—” She stopped herself.
“Were you going to say ‘talent’?” I asked.
“No. I was going to say … I was going to say … OK, I was going to say talent, but I’m not saying you don’t have it. It’s just … undeveloped. You’ve still got a lot to learn.”
“I don’t see you starring in any movies lately,” I said, meanly.
She looked hurt, but didn’t take the bait. “It takes a while, Faith. We both have to keep trying. Why don’t you join Meisenburg with me?”
Perry had recently enrolled in the part-time six-week program at the Meisenburg Theatre & Film Institute, and it was all she talked about.
“I can’t afford that. And I don’t have time, I have to work.”
“It’s part time, you can do just two classes a week, and that’s cheaper anyway,” she said. “Ask your dad to pay.”
“That’s hilarious. I guess you’re going to be a comedian now instead of an actress?”
“Do it with me! You keep saying you think you need to take acting classes. Where better?”
Maybe she was right. I considered. Maybe it was time for a change. My job was ending anyway, and that had largely kept me distracted from really trying to make it. I thought about what Larry Todd had said: I had to focus on progressing in my career, not just on a job that wasn’t taking me anywhere. Obviously, I needed to be doing something differently. Maybe the acting classes could open doors, show my commitment to learning the craft. Give me the credibility I needed to own what I was trying to do.
“Maybe …” I conceded, “maybe I could put it on my credit card. But if I do that, then you have to go to a party with me tonight. After today’s disaster, I need a night out.”
“Sure,” she agreed. “That sounds fun.”
Gorgeous Sandra and her expensively bejeweled posse had just told me about a pajama party that night in Beverly Hills, and I thought it would be a perfect tame outing with Perry, who wasn’t fond of my wild lifestyle and didn’t drink much or do any drugs. I imagined us meeting some cute guys wearing boxers and T-shirts, and playing truth-or-dare. Or spin the bottle. I had just the pair of cute new flannel cow pajamas and fuzzy slippers.
We parked outside the house and walked through the damp grass to the front door, me in my new PJs with a big teddy bear, and Perry in a modest silk robe. Perry stepped back and let me go first, since she didn’t know anyone at the party. I opened the door, peeked inside … and immediately slammed it shut again.
“Shit.”
“What!” Perry stared at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Take off your clothes!”
“What?” she looked alarmed.
“It’s not… exactly the kind of party I thought it was going to be.” I’d been picturing PJs and nighties. What I’d seen were thongs and bras and teddies and pasties. This wasn’t going to be about spin the bottle. This looked more like spin the penis. I should have known. Sandra wasn’t exactly the flannel-pajama type.
I dragged Perry back to the car, tossed the teddy bear I was carrying in the backseat, and pulled off my pajama pants and slippers. Thank God I had a pair of high heels in the backseat for emergencies. “Quick, switch bras with me!” I demanded, as Perry hesitantly disrobed.
“What? Why? What did you see in there?” she squeaked.
“Everybody’s in their underwear,” I hissed. “I cannot possibly wear this bra, do you understand? My jugs are hanging out like a porn queen.”
I hadn’t planned on showing anybody my bra, so I’d worn an old one that was too small and made me look giant and saggy. Would I ever learn? I knew Perry would be wearing something more modest, and her perky little bumblebee breasts would look just fine in the skimpy sling I thought of as my beater bra.
“Are you kidding me?” she said.
“I’m deadly serious.”
Perry looked like she might be sick, but she did it. She handed me her cute black lacy bra, and I put my arms through and hooked it in front. I was still busting out of it, but it was definitely better than the one I had been wearing. Mine looked cute on her—pink and strappy and skimpy, almost angelic.
“But I’m wearing black underwear!” she said.
“We’re not trading thongs—that’s where I draw the line,” I told her.
She rolled her eyes. “At least you have standards.”
“If we’re both wearing pink and black, we’ll match each other. It’ll be cute,” I reassured her, slipping on my heels. She was already wearing sandals, and they worked with her long legs. “OK, let’s try this again.”
Self-consciously, we walked back across the lawn in our underwear. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Perry said. “I thought you said this was going to be fun.”
“You’ll thank me later,” I said. “I saw some really hot guys in there.”
But it wasn’t fun. As soon as we walked into the crowded room, I was conscious of how thin and fit everybody was compared to me. And I thought I’d been doing so well, starving myself and haunting the gym. I was going to have to try harder. I sucked in my stomach and looked around for the liquor. A bartender in a black thong and a bow tie was making drinks in one corner of the spacious great room. I dragged Perry with me and ordered two margaritas.
“I want a glass of wine,” Perry said.
“Fine, then. One margarita and one glass of white wine.”
“Certainly, ladies,” he said, professionally. I tried not to stare at the silky black tube of fabric encasing his sizable package.
We took our drinks. The ice in mine was shaped like little penises and boobs. Cute. I looked around for Sandra. I could only imagine how perfect she looked. All I could see around me were firm tan butt cheeks and perfectly shaped, artificial breasts and a lot of sleek muscles. One table had a tray of cupcakes with fondant nipples on them, and another tray offered a selection of dildos and a bowl of cock rings and anal beads. Was it someone’s birthday? Were these party favors? I picked up a dildo and examined it. Veins and everything. Very realistic. Then I wondered if it might have been used, and quickly put it down. “This party gives new meaning to the word cock-tail,” I whispered to Perry. She giggled nervously.
Then I saw Babette, wearing red lace and little else, fitting in perfectly, looking so comfortable. She waved at us and came over. She looked Perry up and down dismissively, and I wondered what made me so special that they didn’t all look at me that way. “Faith, I’ve got someone you must meet,” she said in her cute French accent.
Perry looked awestruck. She stared at me and mouthed the words “Who is that?”
We followed Babette over to a small group of men with dark skin and jet-black hair, wearing what looked like Speedos. They were definitely hairier than most of the other people in the room. “These guys look pretty excited to be here … if you know what I mean,” I whispered to Perry, who was obviously trying not to notice that one of them was getting visibly hard in his Speedo. She sucked her lips in, trying not to laugh. “Maybe they have a full-figured-woman fetish,” I said, glancing down at my stomach.
Sandra stood with the men, and had one of them by the arm. She was laughing and absolutely stunning. She seemed to be completely at ease in a room full of nakedness. She smiled when she saw me. “Faith! So good to see you. I want you to meet Azwan and Erick.” She gestured to the man whose arm she held and to the man standing next to him.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, extremely conscious of their eager eyes on my barely contained breasts. They all nodded and smiled.
“We’re flying to Singapore tomorrow for a vacation. Would you like to come?” Sandra asked lightly, raising her eyebrows. She always asked. I always declined.
“Who, me?” I said.
“We would love to have a beautiful woman like yourself to join us,” said the one I think was Erick, in some sort of accent.
I could sense Perry behind me, holding her breath. “Singapore, huh? Wow. Thanks so much, it sounds amazing, but I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
“A woman like you shouldn’t have to work,” said Azwan.
“Well, tell that to my landlord,” I said.
Relieved, Perry left me to find us a couple of stronger drinks. I knew I was going to need one. I turned to check out the crowd and see if I recognized anyone else. A woman in a champagne-colored slip holding a martini came up to me. “Are you one of Farrah’s girls?” she asked.
“Whose girls?”
“Farrah’s. One of them,” she said, gesturing toward Sandra and Babette.
“They’re friends of mine, if that’s what you mean, but I don’t know who Farrah is,” I said.
“Farrah,” the girl said, gesticulating impatiently with her martini glass. “You know. The Farrah?”
“Wait,” I said, suddenly thinking of a news story from a few years back. “You mean …” I looked around to be sure I was out of hearing range from Sandra and the other girls. “The madam?” I whispered. “The Hollywood madam?”
“Of course,” she said. “You aren’t …”
Now it was all beginning to make sense. Farrah Hughes was notorious—Hollywood insiders were serviced by her girls. The “talent agency.” The expensive clothes and jewelry. The luxury apartments where they all lived. Sandra and Babette and their friends were the highest of high-end call girls. Somehow, I realized I’d known it all along. It’s why I’d always kept just enough distance.
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