Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 22937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Why do you want to be a Broadway actor/actress?
I write the same answer I always give—a simple “I’ve always loved performing,” but only because the truth is far worse.
And it doesn’t fit on one line.
“I’ve spent my entire life slithering into fictional characters’ skin, so I don’t have to face what comes with sliding around in my own…”
Taking my seat, I watch audition after audition, feeling my confidence drop with each one.
“Actor sixty-seven-eleven!” The guide’s voice echoes off the theater’s walls after an hour. “Sixty-seven-eleven?”
“That’s me.” I stand up from my seat. “I’m here.”
“Well, hurry up and take your place backstage,” he says. “Do you need a miniature version of the script?”
“No, I have Wicked memorized like the back of my hand. Thank you.”
“Today’s auditions require warm readings from various Shakespeare texts, miss.”
Oh. “Well, I have most of those memorized, too.” I shrug and move forward.
Dropping my card at the judges’ table, I take my place onstage and wait for the stage director to hand me a sheet.
Juliet’s monologue
Act 2, scene 2
Romeo & Juliet
Ugh… I try not to groan as I stare at it.
“Actor sixty-seven-eleven, you may begin when the lights dim…”
I nod, taking a deep breath as the house lights fall away.
“You can step into the spotlight and start now…” the actor across from me whispers.
I move and open my mouth, but no words fall from my lips.
I can’t even clear my throat or cough.
Romeo, where art thou Romeo? I attempt to will the words from my brain to my lips, but it’s no use...
I’m choking…
Just like the last audition and the twenty-one before it, my dreams slowly slide off the stage and run the hell away from me.
They know there’s a reason they can’t come true, that chasing them under my circumstances is pointless, and they’re just waiting for me to realize it.
“Romeo, where art thou, Romeo?” the guy whispers from behind.
“I…” I swallow and look right into the spotlight. “I…”
“Is there a problem with her mic?” someone in the theater asks.
“Is she in the right place?”
“Yo…” the guy behind me coughs. “You alright?”
“No.” My voice cracks. “No, I’m not alright. Thank you.”
I rush offstage and grab my purse, heading straight for the back exit.
Stepping outside, I’m met with an afternoon drizzle and no umbrella.
I walk to the closest awning and silently thank the raindrops for masking my tears.
Pulling out my phone to call the temp job agency, I notice a new email. From Jameson.
How…?
Subject: Your Shoes
Scarlett,
Upon getting my car detailed this afternoon, the specialist found a pair of stilettos under the passenger seat.
He also found further proof of your poor survival skills as you left a contact card with this email address on it as well…
Confirm your address is the one below (as I suspect you didn’t give me your real one), and I’ll have my assistant mail them to you Monday afternoon.
Jameson
He has an assistant?
There was no byline, nothing in his email address that pointed to where he worked. Just a simple Jameson@personalbusiness.com
Subject: Re: Your Shoes
Jameson,
Thank you for letting me know.
I can come pick them up from you, or we can meet up.
Thank you,
Scarlett
Subject: Re: Re: Your Shoes
No.
Just send me your address.
Don't respond with anything else.
Jameson
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Your Shoes
I’ll respond how I CHOOSE…
I’m having a really fucking rough day, and I don’t need your rudeness on top of it.
I’m not giving you my real address.
I can come pick them up, or we can meet up.
My phone number is below.
Call me whenever you decide.
Thank you.
Scarlett
555-6712
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your Shoes
In that case, I suggest you buy a new pair.
You have until Monday to give me your address or they’ll be dropped into a donation box.
Jameson
BIAS (N.):
THE PREDISPOSITION OF A JUDGE, ARBITRATOR, PROSPECTIVE JUROR, OR ANYONE MAKING A JUDICIAL DECISION, AGAINST OR IN FAVOR OF ONE OF THE PARTIES OR A CLASS OF PERSONS.
JAMESON
“Iwas beginning to think you died, Mr. Tate.” Rachel places a bagel on my desk Monday morning. “Please don’t scare me like that again.”
“What?” I look at her. “What are you talking about?”
“You never showed up to the hotel’s grand opening,” she says. “And you didn’t start answering my emails until late last night.”
Shit. I’d forgotten all about the hotel thing.
“Someone—I mean something—came up as I was heading out to the event,” I say. “Send Helen my congratulations with champagne and flowers.”
“I did that on Friday because I knew you’d change your mind.” She shrugs. “Anyway, here’s the docket you need for the Goldsmith case, and then you need to give me an update on Marbury. After that, you’ll have to…”
Her words come muted, and the walls in my office dissolve, giving way to the same view I’ve been trying to forget all weekend.
Scarlett.
It’s been three whole days, and my mind refuses to relinquish her face from its memories.
There’s no reason to continue holding on; nothing of value was exchanged between us, and she was in and out of my life within an hour.