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The actress rushes out with a quivering lip and tears in her eyes. My heart breaks for her.
“You didn’t even give her a chance,” I mumble.
“I could tell the moment she walked in that she wasn’t right for the part.”
I frown. “How? She was gorgeous.”
“It’s not about looks, it’s about essence,” Hunter explains, perfectly calm and matter of fact.
“But her previous credits are amazing,” I argue. “It says here that she was a supporting actress in a Scorsese film. She speaks four languages!”
He regards me with something akin to amusement. I have to wonder if he’s making fun of me. “I’m sure she’s excellent when it comes to her craft, Eden, but I have a very specific image of the character in mind.”
“So you’re not even going to give a chance to finish the scene? That’s not fair. She probably worked really hard to prepare it for you.”
“Why are you taking it so personally?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. WhyamI taking it so personally? Maybe because I grew up seeing what rejection could do to a person’s dreams. I hated watching Dad wallow in self-pity when he struggled to land an investor for his films. I felt bad for Mom, who, after being on-hold for several bookings she would have been perfect for, was released from her pin at the drop of a hat. It sucked that no matter how hard they worked, no matter how bad they wanted it, the ultimate decision was out of their control.
“Never mind,” I mumble, doodling in the margins of my notepad. “I just think you could have been nicer about it.”
Beside me, Charlie laughs. “Nice? The boss doesn’t do nice. His word is law and all that.”
Hunter sighs. “Go get her, then.”
I gasp. “R-really?”
Charlie frowns. “Seriously?”
“Before she leaves the building,” Hunter confirms. “Go on. Go get her.”
I shoot up out of my seat and sprint, chasing the actress down the hall. She’s just about to leave through the casting office’s big glass doors when I shout, “Wait! Wait, please.”
She turns, dabbing at her eyes. Her mascara’s running. “Y-yes?”
“Sorry, there was a mistake. Mr. Stride would like to see you again, if that’s okay?”
Much to my surprise, she scoffs. “Are you kidding me? There’s no fucking way I’m going back in there. If he’s not going to respect my time, why would I do him any favors?”
My mouth drops open. “I stuck my neck out for you.”
“What? Am I supposed to be grateful?” The actress clicks her tongue. “I’ve been booked for the upcoming Coppola film. I don’t need this shit.”
She storms off with a snootyhmph, leaving me standing there with rage boiling inside me. All I wanted to do was help and give her a second chance. Now I feel like a damn fool. I suddenly understand what Hunter meant by having the right essence. It would have been a massive headache if she had landed the role and was a huge bitch to work with on set.
I trudge back into the casting office and take my seat, plopping down with a bitter grumble. “Just missed her.”
I think Hunter knows I’m lying, but he’s gracious enough to let it slide. Instead, he turns his back to the door and says, “Send in the next.”
I keep quiet for the remainder of the auditions, silently stewing while taking down notes for him. By lunchtime, I have the scene completely memorized. Every word, every beat, every tonal shift. Some actresses were super flustered, stumbling over their lines and timidly asking to start again. Others blazed through, confident and self-assured. After a while, though, the repetitive nature of auditioning started to grind on my nerves, especially because I wasn’t sure what the hell Hunter was looking for.
I must have written maybe eight names out of ninety-nine, over half of which Hunter didn’t seem that moved by to begin with. With only one more actress to go, my mind is just about ready to melt.
Hunter leans over and whispers in my ear, patting my knee just the once. “Stay awake.”
The contact surprises me. His bare palm against the thin fabric of my tights does little to reduce the heat of his skin. The touch, as fleeting as it is, sends a shot of adrenaline racing through me. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it, right? Like a pat on the back or a casual high-five.
So why did it feel sointimate?
