caught Francesca glancing at me and gave her a reassuring smile. Ad-libbing at least meant we didn’t have to speed-learn lines, but it also meant that I had no idea how it was going to go. Then Dixon said that we’d be starting with the Isabel and Tony roles— my role.
And then he called Francesca’s name. Just as I’d suspected, we were up for the same part.
I saw Francesca’s face go pale. It looked for a second as if she was going to freeze there. I pushed through the crowd, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. “Knock ‘em dead,” I whispered in her ear.
She gave me a rabbit-in-the-headlights frozen grin and I gave her a gentle push forward. As she walked on trembling legs out in front of the cameras, I tried to imagine what it would be like, to have your very first TV audition be this crazy, ad-libbed scenario with an audience of other actors watching. I was nervous, and I’d done plenty of these, even if they’d only been for tiny parts.
As her scene started, my stomach went tight. A little voice inside me told me that this was ridiculous. She was up for the same part I was. I should be wanting her to mess up.
But I didn’t. I liked Francesca. Maybe because she was just straightforward and honest, the opposite of me. I suspected her background wasn’t much different to mine, but she didn’t have to lie about it like I did. She didn’t live in fear of her past—and her dad—catching up to her. She could tell the truth to all her friends and not feel like a complete fraud the entire time.
I wanted her to get the part. I stood there like a mother at a gymnastics gala, holding her breath as her daughter tumbled and flipped along the beam. Every pause in Francesca’s scene made me tense up—would she hesitate too long, grope for words in her head and come up with nothing?
But she was good. Nervous at first, but she rapidly warmed up. I could see that she was in the zone, the point where you stop acting and start being the character.
Her partner couldn’t match her. He wasn’t bad, and was actually kind of hot, with long dark hair and dark eyes—he had sort of a Mediterranean playboy thing going on. But I couldn’t buy him as a cop at all. He was smooth when he should have been gruff, and he used too many words when he should have just done it with a look. From Dixon’s expression, he seemed to think the same. But he was nodding thoughtfully as Francesca walked off. Did that mean she’d got the part?
“Okay,” said Dixon. “Next pair. We’ll have”—he consulted his notes—”Jasmine and….”
I barely heard my partner’s name because hearing Jasmine had made my heart rate double. I pushed quickly through the crowd and out in front of the cameras before I could freeze up myself.
Then a camera failed and Dixon ran over to talk to the operator. I was left standing there in the middle of the studio with everyone watching me. My partner—good looking, nice wide shoulders, but I could tell he loved himself, was vaguely familiar. The sort of actor who always winds up playing the buddy, never the hero. He was whispering away to his friends, totally relaxed. Come out here and stand with me! I thought desperately. But he seemed to be in no hurry.
I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, sizing up the competition. The lights were blinding, melting away every shadow, illuminating every inch of me. They say the camera adds ten pounds. What it really does is show you unfeelingly, without any of the tricks and flattery and feel-good mantras we use to get through the day. I could feel the nerves rising in me. The actors and cops and crew were all staring at me. Every woman I glanced at seemed to be stick thin, probably wondering what the hell I was doing there with my curves and my red hair—
Auburn, it’s auburn. Think Jasmine.
I can’t act, I can’t act, I’m a fraud, and it’s going to come out right now, recorded forever—
“Okay,” said Dixon. He clapped his hands together.
And then he called Francesca’s name. Just as I’d suspected, we were up for the same part.
I saw Francesca’s face go pale. It looked for a second as if she was going to freeze there. I pushed through the crowd, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. “Knock ‘em dead,” I whispered in her ear.
She gave me a rabbit-in-the-headlights frozen grin and I gave her a gentle push forward. As she walked on trembling legs out in front of the cameras, I tried to imagine what it would be like, to have your very first TV audition be this crazy, ad-libbed scenario with an audience of other actors watching. I was nervous, and I’d done plenty of these, even if they’d only been for tiny parts.
As her scene started, my stomach went tight. A little voice inside me told me that this was ridiculous. She was up for the same part I was. I should be wanting her to mess up.
But I didn’t. I liked Francesca. Maybe because she was just straightforward and honest, the opposite of me. I suspected her background wasn’t much different to mine, but she didn’t have to lie about it like I did. She didn’t live in fear of her past—and her dad—catching up to her. She could tell the truth to all her friends and not feel like a complete fraud the entire time.
I wanted her to get the part. I stood there like a mother at a gymnastics gala, holding her breath as her daughter tumbled and flipped along the beam. Every pause in Francesca’s scene made me tense up—would she hesitate too long, grope for words in her head and come up with nothing?
But she was good. Nervous at first, but she rapidly warmed up. I could see that she was in the zone, the point where you stop acting and start being the character.
Her partner couldn’t match her. He wasn’t bad, and was actually kind of hot, with long dark hair and dark eyes—he had sort of a Mediterranean playboy thing going on. But I couldn’t buy him as a cop at all. He was smooth when he should have been gruff, and he used too many words when he should have just done it with a look. From Dixon’s expression, he seemed to think the same. But he was nodding thoughtfully as Francesca walked off. Did that mean she’d got the part?
“Okay,” said Dixon. “Next pair. We’ll have”—he consulted his notes—”Jasmine and….”
I barely heard my partner’s name because hearing Jasmine had made my heart rate double. I pushed quickly through the crowd and out in front of the cameras before I could freeze up myself.
Then a camera failed and Dixon ran over to talk to the operator. I was left standing there in the middle of the studio with everyone watching me. My partner—good looking, nice wide shoulders, but I could tell he loved himself, was vaguely familiar. The sort of actor who always winds up playing the buddy, never the hero. He was whispering away to his friends, totally relaxed. Come out here and stand with me! I thought desperately. But he seemed to be in no hurry.
I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, sizing up the competition. The lights were blinding, melting away every shadow, illuminating every inch of me. They say the camera adds ten pounds. What it really does is show you unfeelingly, without any of the tricks and flattery and feel-good mantras we use to get through the day. I could feel the nerves rising in me. The actors and cops and crew were all staring at me. Every woman I glanced at seemed to be stick thin, probably wondering what the hell I was doing there with my curves and my red hair—
Auburn, it’s auburn. Think Jasmine.
I can’t act, I can’t act, I’m a fraud, and it’s going to come out right now, recorded forever—
“Okay,” said Dixon. He clapped his hands together.
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