Skinnydipping (13 page)

“Yes.” I felt like I was saying yes to more than the audition, but I didn’t care. Let him take me! Vince Beck could be the one. Rich, successful, ambitious, inappropriate, a party boy—like me, but with more money and an established career and the motivation to send me straight to the top. He was probably thirty-five, so he was definitely older than me, but not
old
old, not needing hand-holding like most of the men out here who I seemed to attract like a magnet. Vince Beck didn’t need to be saved. And he wasn’t interested in saving anyone else, either. He just wanted to have a good time, and he needed someone who could keep up with him. We’d be a power couple. Me, the TV star. Him, the producer. We’d get married in a small ceremony, barefoot on the beach.

“Does this new show have a name?” I asked.

As he stuck his tongue in my ear, he murmured, “
Ocean Avenue.
”

“I like it.”

“I like
you
,” he said, nuzzling my neck.

Suddenly I noticed the car had stopped and we were in front of my father’s house.

“I guess we’re here,” I said. “I’m sorry I can’t ask you in.”

“That’s OK, darling. I’ve got to be up early,” he said. “Until next time.” He gave me a long, slow, sloppy kiss, then told the driver to open my door. I wondered what the driver must think. Oh hell, he probably saw this kind of thing all the time. I got out, then looked back into the car. Vince seemed to be passed out already. But that was fine. I’d gotten a real audition.

chapter seven

I
might as well have been naked.

Standing in front of the director and the small group of strangers responsible for casting
Ocean Avenue
, I was so self-conscious, I could feel my face getting red. Suddenly, I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

“Your name please?” The director sounded bored, like he was doing some family favor—not a good sign. I smiled, rolled back my shoulders, and tried to look more confident than I felt.

“Faith Brightstone.” I enunciated the words the way Perry had advised me to. We had moved into a small apartment in West Hollywood just a week before, and she had stayed up with me the past few nights helping me memorize the audition script, or in Hollywood speak, “the sides.” I knew it wasn’t necessary to memorize it, that the director just wanted to see how well I could act, but I wasn’t confident about the acting part. I thought I would make a better impression if I showed them I could memorize anything.

“Just act natural,” said the director, who was short and balding with glasses and a bland face. I was pretty sure I’d never seen him on the set. They must have hired someone new for the
Hollywood & Highland
spin-off. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I cleared my throat, and then I panicked. For a moment, I forgot everything. How do I not have this? I read those sides a million times.
Breathe, Faith. Breathe.
Then I remembered my first line. I shifted my weight and threw my hair back over my shoulder, trying to remember what Perry told me:
Just find yourself in the character. Relate to the character. Make it real.
I wasn’t exactly sure what she’d meant by that—I had no idea how the character was feeling, but at least I’d figured out what I thought she would wear. That had taken me another few hours of contemplation, until I’d decided I had to go shopping and buy a new dress. And shoes. And get a facial. And have my hair done. Because aren’t those the things that get you the really good roles?

“I don’t know, Drake,” I said, in my best California voice. It sounded too loud. I cleared my throat again, then lowered my voice a little. “I just don’t believe you. You’ve lied to me too many times before.”

“I’m not lying, Claire.” The director read the line back to me in a monotone. “Nothing happened, I swear to you. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

I wanted to laugh at his deadpan delivery, and also at the clichéd script, but I tried to stay in character, whatever that means, as the jilted lover, constantly deceived by her no-good boyfriend. “Oh, Drake,” I said, trying to convey some kind of passion. “I want to believe you. I do. After all we’ve been through, you’re everything to me. I can’t imagine my life without you.” Gag. “But … but I’ve got to go. I’ve got to find myself. I’ve got to start my life over, somewhere far away from here.”

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.