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He hands me the cup of coffee and points me to the packets of cream and sugar. I dump one packet of sugar into my cup—one can't hurt—and take a long sip. His eyes are still on me, big and wide and full of enthusiasm.
I feel breathless again. My heart beats faster and louder.
“I should let you get back to work,” I say.
“You can stop by anytime. If Ryan won't see you, I will.”
“You're really after that black eye, aren't you?”
“Well, it would be a badge of honor,” he says as he walks me to the door.
His hand brushes against my back and, once again, my body surges with electricity. What would his hands feel like on my bare skin? What would they feel like on my ass or my chest or between my legs?
***
I arrive home to an urgent email from Corine. All her emails are “urgent,” but this is interesting at least. It's a breakdown of the show and an audition scene.
Model Citizen is a single-camera comedy by writer Laurie House. After burning every bridge in the modeling industry with her drunken antics, Marie Jane gets out of rehab and moves in with her stuffy sister.
Marie Jane: female, mid 20s. Pretty but worn out. A fun-worshiping party girl with no desire to stop drinking. She must suffer through hours and hours of community service while trying to get back on top.
It sounds cute enough, even if it's a bit cliché. I can play a woman like Marie Jane, and I can use my reputation as a practically has-been actress to my advantage. Not that I'm famous enough to have much of a reputation.
I spend the rest of the night studying the scene. Marie Jane has just arrived at her sister's place, and she is dead set on ogling the hot 17 year old boy across the street. She is dead set on convincing the hot 17 year old boy he wants to fuck her. She could not care less that he is only 17. She could not care less that it will ruin her sister's reputation.
It's a scene about desire. And, if I want to impress the casting director, I need to find the desire, the thing I want more than anything. I try to think of Ryan, of our first night together when I was desperate for him to think of me as more than a friend. But it doesn't work. That was a sweet, dull want born out of companionship. This Marie Jane is not a companionship kind of girl. No, she's a jump in headfirst, fuck-me-now-or-I'm-going-to-scream-fire, the word “reckless” is not in my vocabulary kind of girl.
I try to channel my thirst for the part, but it's not enough. That's a strong need, but it's sensible, more or less. I need something that could consume me. Something that could destroy me.
Something like Luke. Not that I want him. But what if I did? He's my fiancé’s business partner. Anything between us, even a kiss, would be bad news. It could destroy my life. It could destroy his business. He is handsome, yes, and something about him is so appealing. It would make sense if I wanted him, and it wouldn't be wrong. A want is just a want. It doesn't hurt anyone.
What did the call sheet say? Marie Jane is fresh out of rehab. So it's not so much that she wants this 17 year old kid. She wants an escape, something to make her forget who and where and what she is for 15 minutes. And what could be a better, more self-destructive escape than fucking your boyfriend's business partner? Would there be any better way to ruin your life without resorting to drugs or alcohol or binging and purging?
Chapter 3
The days before my audition are painful and slow. Ryan comes home late every night, and he goes straight to bed. In the mornings, he's glued to his computer, clearly uninterested in discussing my acting career.
All day, I practice. I read my lines until I can recite them backwards and forwards. And I use Luke as a trigger every time. I shouldn't—I'm going to feel so tempted when I see him again—but I can't help it. No one else works, and the thought of him rouses something in me. I can't describe it. I can't even think about it. I just need to get through this audition and never think about him like that again.
The morning of my audition, I am a nervous wreck. Ryan senses something is different, but he doesn't say anything. He only warns me he'll be home late again as he kisses me goodbye.
I agonize over my clothing for hours. Skirt or shorts? It should be something low-cut, something showy. She's a showy kind of girl. But she'd never worry like this. She probably slaps on whatever outfit she finds on top of her suitcase. She probably does her hair and makeup in the car, flicking liquid eyeliner across her lids at red lights. But I'm not so good at liquid eyeliner. It takes me three tries to draw a straight line.
I check the clock. Another two hours until I need to leave. I try to relax, but watching TV doesn't help. Reading doesn't help. Playing games on my phone doesn't help.
Might as well leave early.
There's no traffic on the road. I get to the production office an hour early and hide out in my car. My stomach is butterflies and it doesn't respond to deep breaths or slow sips of water. This isn't a normal audition. It's a chance to get the fuck out of the doldrums of my boring, housewife to be life. It's the dif
ference between long, lonely days doing nothing and a career. I had a career once, and it was going well. I was on TV, a second lead on a cable show, but it was still TV. It paid well. And, better yet, I loved it. I was in movies, a bunch of tiny movies with limited releases, but still they were movies, and I had a few starring roles, and I totally killed it with my performances.
I take a deep breath. I can do this. I can do this. Can I do this? Fuck, can I actually do this?
I can leave. I can drive back to the condo and spend the rest of the day with my Kindle. I won't have to lie to Ryan. I won't have to convince Ryan. I can do it. I can leave. The condo is safe. It's quiet. I can't get hurt there. I can't be rejected there. I can't fail there.
But I have to do this, even if I'm going to fuck it up.
I get out of my car and walk to the entrance. It's all so familiar. White walls, beige carpet, air conditioning on full blast. An assistant sits at a desk in front. She looks up at me, only vaguely interested by my presence. “It will be a few minutes,” she says. It's an important enough audition that no one else is here. They're probably not seeing many people. My odds are good.
