artist.’
I just hope Ashley isn’t starving for love.
This is what I think as Mr. Dolby announces that Billy’s been cast as the film’s lead and Ashley will be portraying his girlfriend. “Tyler, have you gone over the script?” Mr. Dolby asks.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to relax. It’s hard though. I’m lying and I’m not an experienced actor like everyone else in the room so I wonder if they can see through me. I find myself overheating.
“What are your thoughts on your character?” Mr. Dolby asks.
On my arms, beads of sweat form like islands, and I feel panicky. “I...I think he’s great. The dialogue moved me.”
“Can you be more specific?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, is the air on?” I rub my forehead. “I’m having a hard time concentrating.”
“It’s that air conditioner,” Mr. Dolby sighs. “Kimberly!” Immediately, the door opens, and Kim swoops in as if she’s been listening the entire time.
“Yes, Mr. Dolby,” she says.
“The air conditioner is broken again. Can you call the janitor?”
Kim’s brown eyes appear more vacant than when she’s taking a psych exam. “I don’t know the number.”
“Are you not my assistant director?”
“I am.”
“Then ASSIST!” He waves her off and she flees, though her muffled cries remain, just beyond the door.
“And here I thought she was devoid of emotion,” Mr. Dolby states. “I could barely get her to speak during her audition, let alone cry.” Chuckling, he sips his tea. “Oh, we’ll keep her, shall we? She does have industry ties.”
“Mr. Dolby!” Kim calls from the green room. “I can’t find the janitor’s number!”
Frustrated, Mr. Dolby stands with a huff. “I’ll handle this myself,” he says. Closing his script, he finishes his tea. “Ashley, my dear, please join me, will you? We need to discuss wardrobe. I have a dress design in mind for you, and I’d like to get your thoughts on the color green.”
“Awesome,” Ashley replies, in a kiss-ass manner. Black curls cover her back like licorice as she follows him out of the room.
“And you two,” Mr. Dolby says. He wiggles his stubby fingers at Billy and me. “Take time to study your lines. We’re shooting the bathroom scene tomorrow. Let the magic begin!”
Then (shriek!) Billy and I are alone.
Crickets, crickets, crickets.
Surprisingly, a tense eight seconds later, Billy speaks first. “So,” he begins. Then, he goes silent and I think, just this once, I wish he’d suffer a case of oral diarrhea. I mean, what does he want me to do with the word ‘so?’ How am I supposed to read into that? Does that mean he wants me to speak? Should I apologize for what happened on the playground? It wasn’t my fault! Harley set me up. I’m the victim!
“So,” I say, mimicking him.
“So,” he repeats.
“So we’re not going to talk about what happened yesterday, are we?”
“No.”
Well, this is going nowhere fast! What a jerk! How can he be so hot, yet so cold to me? And dear God, why do I find it so damn sexy? Look at him, my gallant redeemer of troubled children. My fair-haired film fox, how could he hold an ounce of hatred for me? I’m a messenger of love, totally worth the price of postage. Stamp me! Lick me! Package me! Just promise you’ll never ignore me. Promise you’ll handle me with care.
“Can we talk about anything else?” I ask.
“Harley lied. He told me,” Billy offers.
“Oh.”
“But that doesn’t excuse whatever else you were trying to pull.”
“What was I trying to pull?”
Billy leans in, and when he speaks, I smell peppermint on his breath. His green eyes, they glow like lanterns when he’s mad. “The flirting crap,” he says.
OH HELLS NO! I think. He should be thankful I added some spark to the equation. “Please! That’s what people do when they’re on a date,” I scoff.
“Yeah, but we weren’t on a date.”
“Yes, we were on a date!”
“Keep your voice down,” he urges. “And no. We
I just hope Ashley isn’t starving for love.
This is what I think as Mr. Dolby announces that Billy’s been cast as the film’s lead and Ashley will be portraying his girlfriend. “Tyler, have you gone over the script?” Mr. Dolby asks.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to relax. It’s hard though. I’m lying and I’m not an experienced actor like everyone else in the room so I wonder if they can see through me. I find myself overheating.
“What are your thoughts on your character?” Mr. Dolby asks.
On my arms, beads of sweat form like islands, and I feel panicky. “I...I think he’s great. The dialogue moved me.”
“Can you be more specific?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, is the air on?” I rub my forehead. “I’m having a hard time concentrating.”
“It’s that air conditioner,” Mr. Dolby sighs. “Kimberly!” Immediately, the door opens, and Kim swoops in as if she’s been listening the entire time.
“Yes, Mr. Dolby,” she says.
“The air conditioner is broken again. Can you call the janitor?”
Kim’s brown eyes appear more vacant than when she’s taking a psych exam. “I don’t know the number.”
“Are you not my assistant director?”
“I am.”
“Then ASSIST!” He waves her off and she flees, though her muffled cries remain, just beyond the door.
“And here I thought she was devoid of emotion,” Mr. Dolby states. “I could barely get her to speak during her audition, let alone cry.” Chuckling, he sips his tea. “Oh, we’ll keep her, shall we? She does have industry ties.”
“Mr. Dolby!” Kim calls from the green room. “I can’t find the janitor’s number!”
Frustrated, Mr. Dolby stands with a huff. “I’ll handle this myself,” he says. Closing his script, he finishes his tea. “Ashley, my dear, please join me, will you? We need to discuss wardrobe. I have a dress design in mind for you, and I’d like to get your thoughts on the color green.”
“Awesome,” Ashley replies, in a kiss-ass manner. Black curls cover her back like licorice as she follows him out of the room.
“And you two,” Mr. Dolby says. He wiggles his stubby fingers at Billy and me. “Take time to study your lines. We’re shooting the bathroom scene tomorrow. Let the magic begin!”
Then (shriek!) Billy and I are alone.
Crickets, crickets, crickets.
Surprisingly, a tense eight seconds later, Billy speaks first. “So,” he begins. Then, he goes silent and I think, just this once, I wish he’d suffer a case of oral diarrhea. I mean, what does he want me to do with the word ‘so?’ How am I supposed to read into that? Does that mean he wants me to speak? Should I apologize for what happened on the playground? It wasn’t my fault! Harley set me up. I’m the victim!
“So,” I say, mimicking him.
“So,” he repeats.
“So we’re not going to talk about what happened yesterday, are we?”
“No.”
Well, this is going nowhere fast! What a jerk! How can he be so hot, yet so cold to me? And dear God, why do I find it so damn sexy? Look at him, my gallant redeemer of troubled children. My fair-haired film fox, how could he hold an ounce of hatred for me? I’m a messenger of love, totally worth the price of postage. Stamp me! Lick me! Package me! Just promise you’ll never ignore me. Promise you’ll handle me with care.
“Can we talk about anything else?” I ask.
“Harley lied. He told me,” Billy offers.
“Oh.”
“But that doesn’t excuse whatever else you were trying to pull.”
“What was I trying to pull?”
Billy leans in, and when he speaks, I smell peppermint on his breath. His green eyes, they glow like lanterns when he’s mad. “The flirting crap,” he says.
OH HELLS NO! I think. He should be thankful I added some spark to the equation. “Please! That’s what people do when they’re on a date,” I scoff.
“Yeah, but we weren’t on a date.”
“Yes, we were on a date!”
“Keep your voice down,” he urges. “And no. We
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