Audition (Blogophilia 20.13)

"Ow." Billy winced as the piece of floss stuck between his teeth.

The dental pick snagged the offending string. The gums aren't bleeding, at least. One last inspection. No zits, good. They can be fixed with a little foundation, but people need to look at the whole package. What else could happen this morning? First, he slept through the alarm, then spilled his coffee all over his pajamas. He thought about going back to bed until the car horn outside brought him back to his senses. He couldn't do that. 

This was the biggest audition in his life. He could hear his mom's voice berating him as he bolted out the door and onto the sidewalk. The voice telling him how useless he was. Why couldn't he just get a factory job and meet a girl? She never did understand acting. He could play out fantasies and be the rich, important man he wasn't. This new gig was the ticket to his dream job, being a working actor. 

In the two years he'd been in The Bronx, he figured out exactly when the trains left and he now had three and half minutes to get there. Ducking under the trees at the entrance, he made it with thirty seconds to spare. He found a seat and settled in.

The email from the casting company was kind of vague: White male, 30s, medium height, who had turned prematurely gray. It all fit him. But the last item was odd. Why not use spray color? It's quick and doesn't run under the lights. Whatever. It's their call. The notice didn't say anything about the size of the role, other than it was a live stage. That meant there would be at least some lines involved. As the train dove into the 125th street tunnel, Billy said the beginning line of his monologue:

"I not only use the brains I have but all I can borrow."

Nobody even looked up. 

Wilson was the only show Billy had been successful in. It ran for sixty-six performances and got pretty good press. The only reason it closed was the building the theater was in got sold for development. The new owner gave them three days to vacate. He tried to book it a couple of places, but no space seemed to be available at the time. 

The address was a black box on West 38th. He'd been there for auditions but never played. A lot of companies used it because of half-price rent. It was kind of a dump with an OK vibe and dangerous electricals. Billy wondered how much longer before the Trustafarians turned it into another empty glass tower. So far the owners preferred steady income over tax breaks. But that could change and It probably would get burned down. 

Herald Square stop was announced and Billy headed back into the sunshine. A violinist was busking with Mozart at the entrance to the station. Looking at his watch, he saw he had a couple of minutes and listened to the end of the piece. When it was done, he threw a five in the case and smiled. This is what Mother doesn't understand. When people leave a show, the goal is to make them say "I feel better now."

Hopefully, in an hour, he would get another chance.