button, go down the way she came. But she didn’t. She didn’t know why. A wish maybe. A wish. She took a breath and walked across the room, letting the fart rip right outta her, saying
’Xcuse me
as she went past the folding chairs and the girls with their eyes glued to her stomach, past the sign that said CASTING in big letters and up to the desk where the white lady sat.
The white lady looked up and she said, What I gotta do now?
callback
18
When her turn came she walked into the room. Her mouth went dry, seeing five a them sitting at a long wooden table, light pouring in from the big window behind, their faces backlit and unreadable as she moved across the room.
You want me to sit here, she asked, trying to sound natural, not like she bugging out, noticing the Polaroid camera up on the table next to rows of casting pictures. Had to be thirty girl faces spread out across the table.
One a them stood up, reached out her hand, she said, Hi, I’m Alicia. AnnMarie shook it, said, Nice to meet you. Next one said, I’m Jenny, waving from her seat. AnnMarie waved back. Next one coulda said Mary for all AnnMarie heard, her mind going blank from nerves and a sudden self-consciousness. Grown-up white people, all looking her way—can they tell she pregnant? Punked-out lady with dyed black hair, saying she was the casting director. Her voice husky and deep. Go on, AnnMarie, you can sit, make yourself comfortable, do you want something to drink? Alicia, get her something to drink. Punk lady got a pile a bracelets that jangled on her wrist.
AnnMarie took the cup a water. She said thank you, then the man in the middle start talking. He said his name was Donald, Dean, something like that, and he was the director. AnnMarie shifted her gaze from her water cup to the tall white dude withglasses, looking mad serious as he asked his questions, How old is you, what school do you go to, who your favorite singer, what your favorite movie … And AnnMarie took a breath and answered. I’m fourteen years old. I go to Ida B. Wells, that’s in Queens. My favorite singer is Brandy but I also like Whitney Houston for R&B and Missy Elliott for the more rap style she got going on. I’m a singer too. We got a all-girl group by the name of the Night Shade. In Far Rockaway. That’s where I live, Far Rockaway, Queens. Y’all heard of it?
White dude was jotting things down on a sheet of paper, glancing up at her smiling, nodding his head. She wondered what he writing. What words he putting down on the page.
De-scriptive
language. Her mind drifting back to 8th grade, Ms. Henley class … when she heard him say, If you got stuck in an elevator, who’d you want to get stuck with.
She said, Say what?
Donald Dean said, If you got stuck in an elevator, who would you want to be with?
AnnMarie frowned. She said, I don’t wanna be stuck in a elevator. That don’t make sense.
And they all bust out laughing. AnnMarie felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She bit down on the urge to scrape back her chair and go. Why they laughing. What they laughing for.
But she looked him in the eye and said, What I miss. What’s funny.
The man Donald Dean said, You didn’t miss anything. We like your personality, that’s all.
Then he stood, came around the table and pulled a chair up next to her. He showed her some pages with typewritten words on them. He called it a scene. He said, Take this home and memorize the words.
All of it? she asked.
No, just here—where the name Joycelyn is written. This is the dialogue, he said, for the character Joycelyn. We’re calling you back to read. Just be yourself and you’ll do fine.
Be myself, AnnMarie thought. I can do that.
19
Over the following six weeks, they called her back exactly four times. The baby getting big inside, her days filled with clinic visits and Ida B. schooling. Chasing down Darius who was out more than in. She hadn’t told him about the tryouts. She’d kept quiet after she heard Teisha
’Xcuse me
as she went past the folding chairs and the girls with their eyes glued to her stomach, past the sign that said CASTING in big letters and up to the desk where the white lady sat.
The white lady looked up and she said, What I gotta do now?
callback
18
When her turn came she walked into the room. Her mouth went dry, seeing five a them sitting at a long wooden table, light pouring in from the big window behind, their faces backlit and unreadable as she moved across the room.
You want me to sit here, she asked, trying to sound natural, not like she bugging out, noticing the Polaroid camera up on the table next to rows of casting pictures. Had to be thirty girl faces spread out across the table.
One a them stood up, reached out her hand, she said, Hi, I’m Alicia. AnnMarie shook it, said, Nice to meet you. Next one said, I’m Jenny, waving from her seat. AnnMarie waved back. Next one coulda said Mary for all AnnMarie heard, her mind going blank from nerves and a sudden self-consciousness. Grown-up white people, all looking her way—can they tell she pregnant? Punked-out lady with dyed black hair, saying she was the casting director. Her voice husky and deep. Go on, AnnMarie, you can sit, make yourself comfortable, do you want something to drink? Alicia, get her something to drink. Punk lady got a pile a bracelets that jangled on her wrist.
AnnMarie took the cup a water. She said thank you, then the man in the middle start talking. He said his name was Donald, Dean, something like that, and he was the director. AnnMarie shifted her gaze from her water cup to the tall white dude withglasses, looking mad serious as he asked his questions, How old is you, what school do you go to, who your favorite singer, what your favorite movie … And AnnMarie took a breath and answered. I’m fourteen years old. I go to Ida B. Wells, that’s in Queens. My favorite singer is Brandy but I also like Whitney Houston for R&B and Missy Elliott for the more rap style she got going on. I’m a singer too. We got a all-girl group by the name of the Night Shade. In Far Rockaway. That’s where I live, Far Rockaway, Queens. Y’all heard of it?
White dude was jotting things down on a sheet of paper, glancing up at her smiling, nodding his head. She wondered what he writing. What words he putting down on the page.
De-scriptive
language. Her mind drifting back to 8th grade, Ms. Henley class … when she heard him say, If you got stuck in an elevator, who’d you want to get stuck with.
She said, Say what?
Donald Dean said, If you got stuck in an elevator, who would you want to be with?
AnnMarie frowned. She said, I don’t wanna be stuck in a elevator. That don’t make sense.
And they all bust out laughing. AnnMarie felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She bit down on the urge to scrape back her chair and go. Why they laughing. What they laughing for.
But she looked him in the eye and said, What I miss. What’s funny.
The man Donald Dean said, You didn’t miss anything. We like your personality, that’s all.
Then he stood, came around the table and pulled a chair up next to her. He showed her some pages with typewritten words on them. He called it a scene. He said, Take this home and memorize the words.
All of it? she asked.
No, just here—where the name Joycelyn is written. This is the dialogue, he said, for the character Joycelyn. We’re calling you back to read. Just be yourself and you’ll do fine.
Be myself, AnnMarie thought. I can do that.
19
Over the following six weeks, they called her back exactly four times. The baby getting big inside, her days filled with clinic visits and Ida B. schooling. Chasing down Darius who was out more than in. She hadn’t told him about the tryouts. She’d kept quiet after she heard Teisha
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