Big Time (2 page)
I wake up to Poppy nudging me.
“Line's moving,” she says. “Time to get a move on.”
I yawn and sit up. All around me, blearylooking people are stretching, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. I hope I perk up soon, because it seems unlikely that I'll pull off much of an audition in this condition.
Once the doors are opened, the process is surprisingly quick. At the top of the steps, we're handed pins with numbers on them and herded into the giant entry hall.
Inside the building, there's no time to sit and sing. A man with a bullhorn tells us to look at the maps of the building that are taped to the walls around the room.
“Find the floor and room number that corresponds to your pin and go to that room. I suggest you move quickly. We'll be starting auditions soon, and if you aren't in your assigned room when we start to call numbers, you're out of luck.”
My pin reads
5
and Poppy's
18
. The map tells us we're in totally different parts of the building. She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Go get 'em, Gerri Jones,” she says with a wink. She heads into the crowd, and I take a deep breath and head off to find my room.
Room 5 is a classroom on the main floor, looking out toward a parking lot. I get there and grab a seat at a desk, watching as people fill up the spaceâabout thirty of us by the time people stop trickling in. I'm happy to see that cute guitar guy is also in this group. He sits on the other side of the room, carefully leaning his guitar against the wall beside him.
The room is full of nervous energy and, unlike last night, nobody seems to feel like singing.
The girl in front of me turns around. “Do you think they're going to audition us in here?”
“I doubt it,” I say. “They must have a room set up somewhere with cameras and lights and stuff.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You're right. They'll probably take us out of here one at a time.”
After about half an hour, a young blond woman with a clipboard and a headset hustles into the room. She drops a stack of paper and a bag full of pencils on a table at the side of the classroom and claps her hands for our attention.
“Okay,” she says, “you guys are up in fifteen minutes. Here's how it's going to work. You each get to sing just a couple of lines from one song, so make it count. There will be no redos. Any questions?”
The girl in front of me puts up her hand. “Is Maria here? Or Tim and GG? Are they going to hear us?”
Maria, Tim and GG are the
Big Time
judges. Maria Tillerman is a Canadian pop star from the nineties who is always nice to contestants, even when she's telling them they suck. Tim Canon is the mean judge. He looks kind of like Count Chocula and frequently makes people cry. GG, short for Gurmant Gupta, is the quiet judge. He sits back and only gives criticism when he has something to say.
“No,” says the clipboard lady. “This is the first round. You'll be singing right here in this room for someone from the production staff. If you make it through this round, you'll have a chance to come back tomorrow to sing for the judges.”
A buzz runs through the room at the news.
“How come we don't see that on
TV
?” asks a guy at the front of the room.
“Because that would be boring,” she responds. “The judges don't have time to listen to a thousand people in a day, so we narrow the field for them.” She looks at her watch. “You guys have ten minutes. I suggest that you use the time to figure out what you're going to sing. Remember, just a couple of lines. We need to keep things moving.” She taps on the pile of paper at the front of the room. “Feel free to write down the words. If you make it through to the judges, you won't have the lyrics in front of you.”
She leaves the room and closes the door behind her. Immediately, the room explodes with nervous chatter.
“What's going on?” asks one girl. “This isn't what I expected!”
“It makes sense, doesn't it?” someone responds. “The judges don't have time to see all of us individually. Besides, there's not much we can do about it, right?”
I stare at my paper for a while, thinking through the songs I've been practicing for weeks, trying to figure out which one has the best opening. A couple of lines isn't much material to make a good first impression. By the time the door to the room opens again, it's obvious from the sounds of scribbling and scratching that a lot of people are pretty stressed out, myself included. It feels like we're writing a pop quiz.
Clipboard lady comes back into the room, followed by a tall gray-haired man in jeans and a rumpled, untucked dress shirt. He drags a desk to the front of the room and perches on the edge of it, facing us.
“So,” he says, smiling. “Are you guys nervous enough yet?”
He seems genuinely pleasant, and people laugh a little bit, but nobody says anything.
“My name is Bill and I'm the production manager on season nine of
Big Time
.” He gestures toward clipboard lady. “I know that Kelly here has given you guys a rundown, so let's get started. I'm going to randomly point at people. When I point at you, stand up, give me your name, your age and the song you'll be singing from, and then go for it. Remember, you only have one chance to impress me, so do your best. Don't be nervous, just relax and have fun!”
Easy for him to say
, I think.
He points at a tall girl with braids. She stands up slowly, obviously unhappy to be going first, and tells him that her name is Martha, she's seventeen, and she'll be singing from “Falling,” by Alicia Keys.
Smart
, I think.
If she can pull it off, she can drag those first lines out and really make an impression
. That style of singing, with runs and acrobatics, isn't up my alley, but I kind of wish it was.
It turns out that Martha can't pull it off, and Bill politely thanks her and points her to the door. She grabs her bag and hustles out of the room. She is soon followed by another girl, who attempts to sing something from the Beatles and forgets the words, although they're right in front of her. Next up is a boy who does what I think is a pretty decent job of a One Direction song. Bill doesn't agree, apparently, and the boy grabs his bag and follows the other two out the door.
The next singer is a weird-looking girl with a husky voice. She's wearing a straw hat, a tutu and a T-shirt with a picture of a kitten in a wagon on it. She informs us cheerfully that she's nineteen and her name is Babette Gaudet, and then she proceeds to totally butcher “Any Man of Mine,” by Shania Twain. She's shrill and loud and totally off-key, and I have to resist the impulse to cover my ears, but to my surprise, Bill claps and tells her to stay.
Cute boy is called upon, and I learn that his name is Keith, he's seventeen, and he's even cuter when he's singing. He has a nice deep voice and does a great job of a Jack Johnson song. I look across the room and smile at him when he's asked to stick around, but I'm not sure if he notices me or not.
By the time we're about halfway through the auditionsâa process that has taken less than half an hourâmore than twice as many people have been asked to leave as have been told to stay. Suddenly, the girl ahead of me turns around to look at me, and I realize that I'm up.
I slowly stand and force myself to smile, hoping I don't look as nervous as I feel.
“Hi, I'm Gerri,” I say. “I'm sixteen, and I'll be singing âThe Best Us We Can Be,' by Marla Belle Munro.”
Bill nods and I take a deep breath. I can feel all the eyes in the room on me, but I try not to notice.
I've been thinking a lot about you,
I've been paying attention to meâ¦
I've sung this song a million times with my granddad, and the lyrics come naturally.
I've been spending lots of time daydreamin'
about how we can be the best us we can beâ¦
My impulse is to keep going, but I realize my chance has come and gone in what couldn't have been more than five seconds, and I stop singing, my mouth still hanging open as if it's confused and wondering why my brain has stopped the show so quickly.
The few moments seem to last forever, and then I realize Bill is smiling and nodding at me.
“Nice job, Gerri. Please take a seat and stick around.”
I'm moving on to the judges' round, and I can hardly believe it. My head is swimming, and I feel my heart take a luxurious dip into my stomach before lifting back up into my chest and starting to slow back down to normal.
“Nice work!” whispers the girl in front of me, and I smile at her. I glance across the room at cute Keith and realize that he's grinning straight at me, a thumb held up in congratulations.
On the big day, my mom goes through my closet with me to help me figure out what I should wear. I don't want to wear something boring again, so we pick out an embroidered blouse, a short (but not too short) denim skirt and my favorite calf-length brown leather boots. I'm not sure what to do with my hair until Mom suggests I pull it back with a simple red band. I don't look flashy, but I look pretty good, if I do say so myself.
Dad follows us out to the car as we're leaving and gives me a big hug.
“Go get 'em, tiger!” he says.
“Keep your fingers crossed,” I tell him.
“You don't need luck, sweetheart. Just be yourself and you can't help but charm them.”
The final auditions are in a fancy hotel downtown. Once in the lobby, we follow the signs into a large ballroom, and I'm happy to see that Poppy is there, although I had no doubt she'd make it through. She spots me from across the room and waves excitedly, then moves through the crowd toward us, dragging a tall handsome guy by the hand.
She gives me a big hug. “I'm so excited that you made it!” she says. “This is Jericho, my boyfriend.”
Jericho shakes my hand, then my mom's. “I guess we're here for moral support, hey?” he says to my mom.
“I don't know,” says Mom. “I kind of feel like she needs to support me. My nerves are shot!”
Poppy looks as good as she did when I met her, maybe even better. She's wearing a long tapestry skirt and a flowing olive-green top, and she has several chains and amber necklaces draped loosely around her neck.
“So what do we have to do?” I ask her.
“You need to sign up at that table over there,” she says, pointing.
A production assistant finds my name on a list. “Gerri Jones,” she says. “You're in the first group. Come on with me.”
Mom and I follow her out of the ballroom and onto an elevator, then down a couple of long hallways. Outside some double doors we find a bunch of chairs, full of contestants and their friends and families. I recognize Babette Gaudet right away. Her hair is in two giant braids and she has on a full cowboy outfit, complete with fringed vest, sequined boots and an enormous cowboy hat.
“Mercy,” my mom mutters. “That girl took the wrong turn on the way to the rodeo.”
“You guys have a seat here,” the production assistant tells us. “They're going to start calling people in soon. You're one of ten contestants in this first batch.” She points out some duct tape that makes a half circle in front of the doors. “When you stand inside this line, you're on camera. They want to be able to catch the reactions of everyone as they come out of the room. You have your song ready?”
I nod.
“Great. Try to relax. It's pretty easy when you get in there. There's a pathway marked in tape, and a large rectangle on the floor with the
Big Time
logo on it. Just walk right up and stand directly on it. They'll tell you what to do from there.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Good luck,” she says and walks away.
Mom and I grab seats. Nobody is speakingâeveryone's too nervous. After what seems like an eternity, the door opens and a young man sticks his head out.
“Frank Polito?” he asks.
A tall guy sitting a few seats over gets up, gives the guy he's with a high five and saunters into the audition room.
Everyone in the waiting area is on high alert for the next few minutes, leaning forward in their seats and trying to hear what's going on. It's useless thoughâthe hotel walls are just too thick.
Finally, Frank comes out of the room. He looks really sad at first, but then he jumps in the air and hoots. “I made it!” he yells. His friend runs over and they hug and jump up and down.
“I'm not doing that if you make it,” my mom whispers.
Next up is Babette Gaudet. She cheerfully flounces into the room, and she's in there for a long time.
“I can't for the life of me imagine what she's singing,” says Mom.
Finally, the door swings open and Babette stomps out, ripping her cowboy hat off.
“If you just wanted someone to make fun of,” she yells back into the room, “you could have let me know and saved us all a lot of trouble!”
One of the show workers hurries up and ushers her out of the waiting area.
I don't have much time to register all of this, because a production assistant sticks his head out of the audition room and calls my name. Mom squeezes my knee and I stand up, trying not to show my nerves as I walk through the door the PA is holding open for me.
It's a relatively small room, but there are a lot of people and even more equipment crammed into it. I glance around quickly and see that there are several cameras, a bunch of lights on stands and cables everywhere. At the back of the room is a table, set up in front of a large window with a view of the harbor. The judges are sitting there, expressionless, as I come into the room.
I walk between the taped-off lines and stand on the
Big Time
logo like I was told.
“What's your name?” asks Tim Canon abruptly.
