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“Sorry for last night,” I said, bringing him the plate of eggs. I sat on the edge of his bed. “You tried to tell me it was a bad idea. I should have listened.”
“Thank you.” He took the plate and fork from me. “Now that you have apologized, I will admit it was fun.”
“And we didn’t get arrested!” I said. “Just like I promised.”
“I think they were too shocked to call security on us.” He took a bite. “You really gave them an earful. What was that about?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t like they way they made us feel. Like they were better than us.”
“Theyarebetter than us, sweetie.”
“I know! But they don’t have to be assholes about it.” I shook my head. “I guess I’m still upset about my last audition.”
“The one you bombed?”
I glared at him. “Thanks for being blunt. Yeah, that one. I got up in front of the casting agent and… I just didn’t have my best stuff.”
Maurice patted my leg. “Maybe Mr. Howard will have something new for you.”
“Maybe.” I looked at my watch. “You working the dinner shift?”
“Yeah, but I am going in three hours early. They want me to help train that new girl. The one with the bangs.” Maurice rolled his eyes to show what he thought ofthat.
We were both servers at a steakhouse near Disneyland, down in Anaheim. Not a nice steakhouse, either. A chain restaurant that rhymed withshoutback. It was about as glamorous as you would expect. But it gave us lots of acting practice: we had to spend every shift acting like we didn’t hate our job.
“If you want the extra hours,youcan train Mandy,” Maurice suggested.
I laughed and jumped up from the bed. “Hard pass.”
We ate our late breakfast, showered, and then left the apartment together. Mr. Howard’s acting studio was down in Boyle Heights, a half-hour drive away. But neither of us had a car. We had to walk four blocks, then take two buses, then walkanotherfive blocks to get there. It ended up taking an hour each way, if the buses were on time (which was far from certain.)
Mr. Howard’s studio was in a worn-down strip-mall between a vape shop and a CBD store. There were eleven other students there, most in their early twenties like me and Maurice. There were three rows of fold-out chairs facing a small stage, with another room adjacent to that which served as the costume and wardrobe room.
Before class started, I pulled out the diamond ring prop from my purse and put it back in the prop bin in wardrobe. No harm, no foul.
Mr. Howard—who insisted on being calledMr. Howard, because he was sensitive about his real first name, Eugene—was a short, eclectic man who wore skinny jeans along with a purple sweater. He had been an actor thirty years ago, specializing in daytime soap operas. He had two roles in B-movies that flopped at the box office, and he had done nothing since then.
Nothing except teach, that is.
Despite being stout and possessing pudgy little legs, he seemed to float around the room as he greeted everyone. “Seats! Seats everyone! It’s a minute to noon, and if you’re on time, you’relate!Seats so we can begin!”
Maurice and I sat in the back. Mr. Howard smiled broadly at the students from the stage.
“Okay everyone,” he said wistfully, “clear your minds. The world outside that door no longer exists! While you are in this room, you areactors, and actors must focus!”
For the next hour, Mr. Howard coached us on acting.Coached, not taught. He insisted that he was not a teacher, because acting could not be taught the way a card game could be taught. Oh no, Mr. Howardcoachedus on how to bring our already-present abilities to the surface. Like a football coach helping a gifted athlete learn to run a button-route.
The sports metaphor always felt strange from Mr. Howard, who was vaguely effeminate and looked like he had never set foot in a stadium. But it’s what he insisted, so it’s what we accepted.
We did speaking drills to help enunciate words more properly. We split up into pairs and rehearsed lines, first doing one character’s part, then another. Finally we took turns on stage, doing improvisation while members of the class shouted out ideas.
The last fifteen minutes of every class was reserved for one-on-one time with Mr. Howard, so we could get individual feedback. Maurice had his turn before me. He came back out of the office three minutes later.
“You want me to wait for you?” he asked before I went into the office.
He was being nice—I knew he wanted to get to the bus as quickly as possible. “You don’t need to wait. I know you have to get to work early.”
“Thanks.” He hesitated. “Oh, and I have a favor to ask. I have a date after work.”
