Tangled (10 page)

My mom arranged for a car to chauffeur us around the city on Tuesday. The humidity skyrocketed Monday evening, so the last thing we wanted was to wind up in a sticky cab with a broken air conditioner. Two blocks into it, my hair would frizz and my nose would shine. Also, we were dealing with a tight schedule. We had to start in the Flatiron district for the boarding-school audition, complete with curls, camisole, and red lipstick. We were aiming to get out of there at noon, twelve-thirty if it dragged. My mom factored in a half hour for lunch. Then she booked an appointment at the Jon Regents Salon on Seventeenth Street to get my hair straightened. After my hair was done, I’d change into the other outfit. We went through my closet and selected a cashmere top, jeans, and low heels. Cute,
yet mature. Just right for a girl who’s banging a fifty-year-old man. After that, we’d hop back in the car and zip down to Tribeca.

So now all I had to do was remember my lines, look the part, act the part, and be that energetic and enthusiastic girl everyone wants.

The black Lincoln picked us up outside our building at ten. The traffic downtown was insane, so we didn’t make it to Gotham Casting until almost eleven. When we stepped onto Eighteenth Street, I felt carsick. I stood on the sidewalk, attempting to swallow the nausea as my mom held out a bottle of water for me to sip.

Finally, she glanced at her watch. “Ready?”

I was still queasy, but I nodded and followed her into the lobby. I leaned against the wall of the elevator and took some shallow breaths.

We hadn’t been to Gotham Casting for seven or eight months, but for a while we were coming here practically every week. As my mom secured a spot in the waiting area, I signed in. I wrote my name and Janet’s contact information. That’s how it works. She’s the one to call us with the good news and buffer us from the rejection.

Once I was done, I glanced around the waiting area. My heart sank slightly. I hate that moment when I’m psyched for a role, lines memorized, ready to go. And then I see four or five other girls studying their scenes just like me. I always check them out and I wonder, are they more talented? Prettier? Or am I prettier? Why will one of us get the part and not the other? People are constantly telling me I’m beautiful. I used to see it, especially when I was dressed up, going out somewhere. Sometimes I still do, but mostly I avoid looking into mirrors. It freaks me out to stare at myself, especially my eyes, and to know all those things I’ve been thinking inside.

One girl was with her mom, but other than that they were alone. That’s been happening more this past year, people coming to auditions by themselves, especially if they don’t have to drive in from New Jersey.

As I settled onto a couch, a blond girl across from me looked up. “Skye!” she said, smiling brightly.

It was Kate Meredith, from my second year at the Ron Clarkson Studio. She’s gorgeous with huge blue eyes, and she can cry on command like no one I’ve ever seen. We used to go out sometimes, Kate and me and a few other girls from class, to see a Broadway show or have lunch and get pedicures.

“Hey, Kate,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” she said. “I just booked a movie. It’s a romantic comedy. We start shooting in Toronto in three weeks.”

“Wow,” I said. “Congratulations.”

“How about you? What have you been up to?”

“I had an independent film air last week,” I said. “Other than that, lots of auditions. I have another one later today.”

“Yeah…for what?”

I could feel my mom staring at me. In this business you have to keep your cards close. Next thing you know Kate, or even one of the other girls listening in, calls their agent or manager and says, “Get me a reading for the Pete Fesenden film, too.”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing much. Just a student project.”

“Oh,” Kate said. “Well, good luck.”

“You too.”

“I haven’t seen you out in a while,” Kate added. “Have you been away?”

“Not really,” I said. “Just the Hamptons.”

“Listen,” Kate said, “I’m getting together a group of people to see a play at the Roundabout next Saturday. Want to come? I know a guy in the cast. We can
probably get backstage.”

“That sounds fun,” I lied. I’ve learned that it’s better to say yes now and back out later.

“Great. I’ll send you the details. Are you on ReaLife?”

I nodded, wondering how long I could keep up this conversation. It was exhausting.

“Me too,” Kate said. “It’s funny how—”

Just then, a youngish guy with streaked hair and wire-frame glasses came out and called Kate’s name. She sprang up and followed him inside. We all sat there in silence. I read over my scenes. My mom offered me water. I read my scenes again, this time mouthing the words.

When Kate came out she was wiping her eyes. I wondered if it was from nerves or whether she’d been crying in there. I tried to visualize the scenes they were having us do. Should I have built in a good sob? Damn. Too late now.

“Skye?” the guy called out.

I handed the water to my mom and followed him inside. As I walked through the cluttered casting office, my lower lip began to quiver. A few people glanced at me and waved. I waved back, telling myself,
You are calm and relaxed. You are calm and relaxed.
And then:
Okay, Skye, if you’re not calm and
relaxed, at least act like you are.

The guy with the glasses led me into the casting room. This was a first reading, so no one was there except him and April Johnson. She’s a casting director I’ve met several times. I’ve had good luck with April, probably because she has this way of putting me at ease. I’ve booked two commercials with her and a guest spot on a sitcom.

“Nice to see you, Skye,” she said, shaking my hand. “This is Maxwell. He’s reading for us today.”

The guy nodded as he settled into one of the chairs. I sat in the other chair, facing the camera, and placed my scenes in my lap. I memorized everything, but I still highlighted my lines in case I got lost.

“You’re looking all gussied up,” April said as she adjusted the camera on the tripod. “Very much the boarding-school slut.”

“That’s what I was going for,” I said, smiling.

“Really?” April laughed. “I just thought that was your look these days.”

I laughed along with her. “Oh, you know me.”

April reached for the camera, but then paused. “I thought we’d start with the scene where Maggie seduces Theo, and then warm up to the confrontation one.”

“Sounds good,” I said, tucking the second scene under my chair.

“Before we begin,” April said, “let’s all shout…you know…
blowjob
.” April giggled. “Just to cut the nerves. You cool with that?”

I smiled at April, took a deep breath, and shouted, “Blowjob!”

“That’s my girl,” April said, nodding.

“Blowjob!” Maxwell said.

“Blowjob!” April said.

My mom and I have this tradition where we don’t talk when I come out of an audition. As soon as she sees me, she stands up and we walk silently to the elevator. We don’t even debrief when we’re in the lobby or on the street. We always wait until we’re safely in the car.

After we left Gotham Casting, we slid into the Lincoln, which was idling at the curb. We were running early, so my mom instructed the driver to swing by a café for a light lunch. From there, we’d continue on to the salon. As the car pulled into traffic, my mom said, “So?”

“I think it went well. April laughed a lot. She said she liked how I did it, that I made Maggie seem more interesting.”

“Great,” my mom said, pulling out her phone to call Janet. “That’s great.”

I watched as she hit auto-dial. I knew Janet would be happy, too. Whenever a casting person uses the word
interesting
, that’s a positive thing. Just like when they say you made
good choices
. The worst is when they don’t comment. Just an obligatory
thanks
as you’re walking out the door.

Then again, sometimes I’m totally wrong. When I think they liked me, I don’t even get a callback. And when I’m completely sure I blew it, that’s when I book the job.

At a little before two, we were on our way downtown. My hair was blown out. I’d changed into my jeans and cashmere top. And we even had enough time to get my makeup done at the salon. I was supposed to be playing a fifteen-year-old, so the woman didn’t put on much. Just enough to accent my eyes and call attention to my lips.

The casting office of Fleming Golde Sullivan is in a tall brick building on Greenwich Street, a few blocks from the river. As I signed in, my mom took a seat in one of the chairs against the wall. There were two other girls waiting, but I didn’t recognize either of
them. Unlike this morning, neither of them was traditionally gorgeous. That’s a difference between television and film. For TV, you have to be perfect. But films prefer quirky, more like real life. I had this urge to run into the bathroom and rinse off my makeup.

A woman in a sundress and tall boots came out and called the first girl. We watched her go in. A few minutes later, she reemerged. Two other girls arrived and signed in. I recognized one from the audition circuit and we smiled at each other. My mom began chatting with another mom, nothing personal, just summer plans and the traffic out to Long Island. The other girl was summoned. And then, finally, it was my turn.

I grabbed my scenes and a few of the curly hair headshots and followed the woman through the office. I’d been here before, but I’d never read for this casting director, Stephen Golde, one of the owners of the agency. Janet said he’s a fan of my work.

When I got into the room, the woman with the tall boots sat in the reader’s chair. There were two men in the other chairs. The guy closer to the tripod was older and heavyset, with a tunic shirt and salt-and-peppery hair.

“Steve Golde,” he said, leaning out to shake my
hand. “This is Kara. And that’s Pete. He’s the writer-director.”

As Kara and I greeted each other, my lip started trembling again. Janet didn’t say Pete Fesenden was going to be here. It was just a reading, not a callback, so I assumed I’d be alone with the casting people.

“Hey,” I said, shaking Pete’s hand. He had close-set eyes and a ponytail. A white laptop was open in front of him. As I gave him a headshot, I added, “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s great to finally meet you in person.”

“Oh,” Pete said, glancing down at my picture. “Oh…thanks.”

“Do you have any questions before we begin?” Steve asked.

I shook my head. “I’m ready anytime.”

“Skye,” Pete said. “That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling widely. “My mom picked it. If I were a boy, she was still going to name me Skye, just without the e.”

God, I hated this. The schmoozing part. I used to love chatting up directors, showing them how I come across in organic conversation. I could always tell they were impressed, especially when I was younger. But now it was hell. Partially I was worried that without a script in front of me I’d screw it up. Also, it was all
I could do to play one role, the one I was auditioning for. Now they were making me pull off another, the old Skye, that girl I used to be.

“Let’s start with the scene where Corey meets William,” Steve said. “We’ll do the dad one next.”

I took a deep breath. I was about to channel a fifteen-year-old seductress when Pete said, “You don’t look like your headshot. You’ve got curly hair here.”

“Yeah.” I laughed lightly. “I can wear it both ways, curly and straight.”

Pete glanced at my face on the monitor across the room. Generally, if I’m going to an audition with straight hair, I give the curly headshot. That way a director sees I’m versatile, that I can have several different looks. But in this case, it seemed to be confusing him, which was not the best way to begin.

Back in the car, my mom asked how it went.

“Pete Fesenden was there,” I said glumly.

My mom gasped. “
Pete
was there? Janet didn’t tell us that. What was he like?”

“He was okay. A little weird. He said he liked my name, but he seemed confused by my hair.”

“Did he say anything else? How do you think you did?”

“He asked me to read the dad scene a second time,” I said.

“He did?”

“And he gave me notes. He said to remember that I loved my father, but I was hurt by him divorcing my mom.”

“Skye!” My mom reached across the seat and hugged me. “It sounds great. I think it’s been a successful day all around. Maybe Janet was right. Maybe this is just what we needed to turn things around.”

It did sound great. It’s always good when a director wants you to read something twice. It means they want to see more. It’s another thumbs-up when they give you notes, like they want to see you respond to feedback, get an indication of how you’ll be on set. But even so, I felt worn out. As my mom called Janet, I leaned my head against the seat and closed my eyes.

Later that evening, I was soaking in the bathtub when my mom knocked on the door. I pulled the curtain closed. “Come in!”

“Are you relaxing in here?” my mom asked.

“Trying to.”

“Well, you definitely deserve it after today.” I could hear my mom sit down on the toilet-seat lid and begin filing her nails. “I just got off the phone with Paula Gornik. Jena is coming into the city with some of her friends on Thursday. They’re seeing a show at eight, but I told Paula you’d meet them for dinner.”

I groaned and slid deeper into the water. If there’s one thing my mom and I don’t agree on, it’s Jena Gornik. Paula, Jena’s mom, has been my mom’s best friend since college. They sang in an a cappella group
and took some wild road trip to Texas. The Gorniks are from Westchester County, an hour north of the city, so Jena and I have been forced together our whole lives.

What my mom doesn’t understand is that Jena and I are opposites. She’s one of those compact, bubbly types. Casting directors would call her perky. She goes to an utterly normal suburban school, the kind you see in movies, with the pep rallies and the homecoming dances and the carwashes to raise money for band uniforms. Plus, Jena lives with both her parents and her older brother who’s always ragging on her but you can tell deep down he’s superprotective.

Back in April, my mom went out to dinner with Paula and invited her and Jena to join us on our trip to the Caribbean the following week. When my mom informed me, I freaked out. Matt had broken up with me, I’d just dropped out of Bentley, I was feeling like hell in general—and now I had to go on vacation with Jena Gornik? I told my mom no way, she had to take it back, but by that point the Gorniks had already purchased their plane tickets and it was set.

Mostly, Jena and I avoided each other on the trip, which was fine by me. But then she started hanging out with this guy, and I hate to say it but I felt jealous. Life came so easily to her, meeting a boy on vacation,
being all chatty and fun. Granted, he seemed like a total player, which I guess worked to my advantage because one day, when he and I were alone on the beach, I flirted with him and we ended up chilling for a few hours. I knew it was crappy, but I did it anyway. I just wanted to see if he’d like me more than her, or maybe I needed a post-Matt ego boost. In any case, Jena refused to talk to me for the rest of the trip. When we landed at Kennedy airport, she grabbed her bag and stormed off to meet her dad. We haven’t seen each other since.

As I sat up in the bathwater, I said to my mom, “Did Jena even say she wanted to have dinner with me?”

“I think so,” my mom said. “Yeah, Jena was in the background when Paula made the plans. She said Jena’s going to call your cell when they arrive at Grand Central Station.”

“You gave Jena my number?”

“Skye,” my mom said, “please do this. Jena’s grandmother had a stroke a few weeks ago. Remember Belle? Paula says they were really close, so it’s been hard for Jena. Anyway, it’d be nice for you to get out and help cheer her up.”

Me cheer
her
up? Now that’s funny. Jena is the queen of cheer. When we were at Paradise, Jena always car
ried around a quote book with that cheesy picture of the Parisian couple kissing on the cover. Once, while Jena was in the shower, I thumbed through her book. The most recent thing she’d written was
A day without sunshine is, like, night (Funniest bumper sticker ever!!!)
. I read that and I thought about how a day without sunshine is, like, my life. Which just shows how ironic it is that I’m being called upon to deliver the cheer.

My mom set the nail file on the edge of the sink. “Please, Skye?”

I scooped up some bubbles with my fingers. “Do I have any choice?”

“I booked you a table at Patsy’s for five thirty on Thursday. My treat. They have to be in a cab to the show by seven fifteen.”

“So the answer would be no?” I asked.

“That’s my girl,” my mom said, standing up.

I put my head under the water and didn’t come up until she closed the door.

On Wednesday morning, I was sitting at my desk. I was supposed to be doing practice math questions for the GED exam, but instead I was cruising ReaLife. Kate had already written me about the Roundabout show. I
dashed a quick response along the lines of
Oops, I forgot, I’m busy all weekend
. The twins wrote me again, complaining that I’m too far out of the social loop and insisting I go clubbing with them on Saturday night. I was like,
I’d love to but I’m really busy with an audition
. Then I checked out Matt’s page. He’d posted some prom pictures with him and Diana. I stared at them a long time, hating Diana for getting him, hating myself for letting him go.

The phone rang.

“Skye?” my mom called out. “It’s Janet. Pick up in your room.”

I closed Matt’s page and reached for the receiver.

“Skye, honey?” Janet rasped. “Luce, you’re still on?”

“I’m right here,” my mom said.

“I wanted to tell you both at the same time,” Janet said. “I just got off the phone with Steve Golde. You got a callback for the Pete Fesenden film!”

“Really?” I asked. “Seriously?”

“A feature film,” Janet gushed, “from a hot new writer-director. It sounds like Pete loved you. He said he always pictured Corey to be blond, but as soon as he saw you he decided ethnic would be perfect. Can you be there Friday at ten?”

“Mom?” I asked.

“Your day is clear,” my mom said.

“Steve said they’ll be doing the same scenes as yesterday,” Janet said, “plus one more with the dad. My assistant just emailed it to you.”

“I’m checking right now,” my mom said, clicking on her keyboard.

“It’s a tough one,” Janet added. “Very intense. You may want to do a session with Ron Clarkson. Work out the kinks.”

“I’ll give him a call,” my mom said.

“Keep me posted on that,” Janet said.

After we hung up, I could hear my mom printing out the new scene in her office. As I waited for her to burst through my door, I wondered whether this was it. My big break. The thing that’ll finally make everything better.