Another lingering look and awkward pause.
“Goodnight, Cole.”
“Goodnight, Lisa.”
lisa
six
“Betancourt?”The unmistakable voice of a bored teenaged girl called into the waiting room. “Betancourt!”
“Yes, that’s me.” I jumped to my feet and followed her into the audition room.
This audition was my shot at redemption. My agency was reluctant to send me out again after my performance at the last one. Once inside, I scanned the room. There were four people seated at a long table with stacks of headshots, resumes, and who knows what else.
“Lisa Betancourt,” my escort announced to the room.
"Thank you, sweet pea," the woman, who must have been her mother, judging by their blonde hair and their uncanny resemblance, at the end of the table, replied. The exchange made me briefly think of the teenage summers I spent working at my dad's law firm against my will. "Sweet pea" rolled her eyes and left the room.
I smiled politely and waved as everyone introduced themselves. "Sweet pea's" mother was one of the producers. She was accompanied by a casting director, the director of the show, and one of the writers. I briefly focused my attention on the writer—one of only two women seated at the table. She was also a curvy, Latinx woman. It always gave me a small measure of comfort to see myself reflected in the casting room. I liked my chances until a yawn I'd been fighting to stifle echoed around the room as I handed the pianist my music.
“I don’t think we kept you in the waiting roomthatlong.” The casting director chuckled.
“Please, excuse me. I worked the late shift last night.” I laughed genially and plastered on a smile that I hoped would make me look more awake than I felt.
The truth was working the late shift meant helping my handsome neighbor put his baby brother to bed while simultaneously keeping him at arm's length. Arm's length was also the perfect distance to watch him dote on CJ, smell his body wash, or hear him laugh. Then there was the matter of CJ. It was telling that I'd gone to Cole's house four nights this week but didn't mention it to my mother or my therapist.
It's not like I was doing something wrong. I was just a good neighbor. Cole appreciated my help, and, other than that first night, we never did anything inappropriate, but deep down inside, I knew better. I was a grown woman who lay awake in her bed at night hoping to hear a baby cry, so I could hold him in my arms, fill my lungs with his delicious baby scent and see his face light up when I sang to him. I knew it wasn't healthy, but I didn't care. I was like a junkie, baby CJ was my fix, and I wasn't ready to justify my actions to anyone, especially myself.
"Lisa?" The producer called my name, and my stomach sank like a stone because it sounded like she'd been calling me for some time. I was yawning and daydreaming in an audition. "Are you ready?"
“Of course.” I swallowed nervously and nodded, trying to employ laser focus. “I’ll be singing ‘Burn’ fromHamilton.”
All four bodies at the table deflated. I chanced a glance at the piano player whose lips had pressed into a tight line. Clearly, I wasn't the first or the fifth to audition with that song today. I wanted to cry. It reminded me of the story one of my vocal teachers told me about the summer when everyone was singing "My Heart Will Go On" at auditions. The pianist began to play the opening notes, and my heart thudded. I had to save this and I had to act fast.
“Wait,” I said, silently praying to Saint Cecilia—and to Saint Jude for good measure—“Actually, I’m going to sing ‘Take Me or Leave Me.’”
“FromRent?” the director asked. “That’s a duet. Which part will you be singing?”
“Both.” I grinned and handed the pianist my sheet music.
The director crossed his arms and sat back in his chair with a nod. The producer picked up my resume and scanned it. The energy in the room had definitely shifted. At least they were curious. I couldn't tell if they were rooting for me to fail or succeed, but interesting was always better than boring. I'd worked on the arrangement for a few weeks, and I wasn't sure if it was ready, but after yawning and daydreaming in an audition… I had nothing to lose at this point.
The pianist gave me a smile and wink. At least he was on my side. I drew in a deep breath and nodded to the beat as the first piano chords filled the room. I parted my lips, and my soul came out. I momentarily forgot about Cole, CJ, my ex-husband, my asshole boss—everything else. Nothing mattered except the song. When I sang as Maureen, I slinked around the room, begging to be unleashed, and as Joanne, I strutted up to the table demanding order and control. Everyone in the room danced in their chairs and clapped along.
As I sang Joanne’s chorus, I slowly passed by the table.
“A control freak!” shouted the producer.
"A snob yet over-attentive." That was the director.
“A lovable droll geek,” drawled the casting director.
"An anal-retentive!" the writer and the pianist sang in unison.
Finally, I sang the words, “I’m gone,” and everyone jumped to their feet and cheered.
The director regarded me with evident interest and speculation. "That was a huge risk you took, but you definitely pulled it off."
