My odds are too good. What if I fuck this up? How will I forgive myself?
I wait at an empty desk, reading over the script, whispering the lines to myself. Fuck. I am so rusty. But I have to fake confidence. I have to get this part.
A door down the hall opens. I can hear some pleasant conversation, but I can't make out the details. It's probably some other actress, some other audition, some other meeting. The assistant looks up at me. “Alyssa Summers, right?” she asks.
I nod.
“They're ready for you. It's the second door on the left.”
I nod, thank you, and walk down the short hallway. Deep breath. I try to slip into my best smile, my best attempt at Marie Jane. She is fun, charismatic, fearless. She is an amazing train wreck, all instinct and need. I can play that. I can get this part.
The room is drab and gray, empty except for a long table and two women behind it. One looks like a casting director—a woman in her 40s, in a sensible suit, serious look on her face. The other I recognize from her IMDB page—it's Laurie House, the showrunner. She's younger than I expected, in her early 30s maybe, black, with curly hair and big red glasses.
“Thanks for coming in,” she says, incredibly cheerful. She makes small talk and asks a few basic interview questions. Where are you from? What's your favorite TV show? How do you approach a role? Who inspires you? I try my best to answer honestly. Truth is, I've forgotten all my canned answers.
The casting director nods to me, “Let's take it from the top of the scene. I'll read with you. Whenever you're ready.”
I turn around and prepare. I try not to resort to my trigger. I try to picture the hot underage kid standing in front of the window, enticing me with his perfect body. There's a sexy, off limits escape in front of me, and I need it. I need him. I've never needed anything more than I need him under me.
But it's too generic. I don't feel anything. If I really want to nail this, I need to think of Luke. I need to harness that feeling in my body when he touched me… God, how did he make me feel like a nervous schoolgirl? How can I want him so much when I barely know him?
But Marie Jane barely knows this hot kid. All she knows is that she wants him. And all I need to know, all I need to feel, is how much I want Luke.
So I close my eyes, and I let the desire wash over me. When I open my eyes, I am not Alyssa Summers. I am Marie Jane and I want this hot kid. My only concern in life is convincing him to fuck me. Everything in my life will be perfect if I can kiss him and touch him and ride him until I come.
I recite my first line and lose myself in the scene. By the time I finish, my heart is thumping in my chest. My legs feel weak. I can't remember the last time I wanted something so much.
“Thank you, that was great,” Laurie says. “We want you to hold your availability.”
Fuck. Are they really considering me?
Does that mean I have a chance?
Does that mean I have to figure out how to tell Ryan?
I nod, “I will. Thank you,” and step towards the exit.
“I really loved you in Mahogany,” Laurie says on my way out the door. I hear the casting director scold her for such personable, unprofessional behavior, but I still take it as a good sign.
***
I take a walk around the marina—our condo, well, Ryan's condo really, is in a big, modern building on the water—but it doesn't help me calm down. I can't wait any longer for his permission. I'm so close. And, even if I don't get this role, I need to go back to acting. I need to have a life again. I need to feel again.
Ryan will call at 7. He calls at 7 every night, to make sure I've eaten dinner. Maybe I can keep him on the phone long enough to ask about this.
Or I could ask him now. I'm close to his office—his building is across from the water, less than a mile from the condo. I'm far too casual, but I need to do this now. He'll forgive the interruption. Hopefully.
Or do you want another chance to see Luke?
I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress as I enter the building. This should be easy. Ryan loves me. He is strict, but it's because he is looking out for me. He protects me. He takes care of me. He's not going to take away the only thing that makes me happy.
Is he?
I check in with the legal secretary. She looks at the schedule and tells me, “Mr. Knight is in a meeting,” as if I am not on a first name basis with my own fiancé.
“When will he be done?”
“He's very busy tonight,” she says.