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“Let’s begin with the top of scene two.” The big monologue. I take a deep breath and turn to face them, ready to begin. “Do you need a copy of the script?”
“No, I’ve memorized it.”
“Already? Weren’t you given it yesterday?”
“Yes. I have a photographic memory.”
“Oh,” Marsha says. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or not. Not that it’s all that impressive, but it makes my job so much easier. Instead of worrying about lines, I get to give my all to my performances.
“I’m a triplet. We all share the trait.” I don’t know why I’m telling them this. I know they don’t care.
“Jesus Christ, there’s three of you?” Tyson sputters. I turn to him and smile.
“Yes. Courtnee and Ashlee.”
“And you are from South Carolina,” he asks, picking up my resume.
“Yes. Though we don’t live there anymore.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I live here in LA and my sisters live in New York. Courtnee is married to a Vitali and she’s a teacher. Ashlee is a stockbroker.” God, so much word vomit that they don’t care about. Stacee… Get it the fuck together, I tell myself.
“A Vitali?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.
“Yes.” Everyone knows they are a major crime family from Queens, but they are the good guys if that’s even possible.
“Your brother-in-law is a mobster?” he asks, I guess looking for further confirmation.
“Yes.” My sister's new family motto is secrets get you killed, so while I would never divulge any more information than that, Ash and I know everything. We are a part of the inner circle. It’s nice, actually.
“Okay. Let’s begin, shall we?” Marsha says, interrupting Tyson and me yet again. Cock block much? Not that I know a damn thing about cocks, but I want to know more about his. For the first time, my eyes drop to his left hand. He’s not wearing a ring, but some men don’t, especially in LA. My mind wanders as I look back and forth between Marsha and Tyson. Are they an item? If they’re not, does he have a girlfriend or wife? Why does that thought piss me off so much? I don’t know this man, but God, how I want to. “Stacee?” she asks as she flips on a camera set up on the table.
“Sorry. I’m ready,” I say, clearing my throat. “Why did you lie to me? I would have helped you. I would have stood by your side, no matter what. Lies. Nothing but lies. Has any of this been real? I loved you enough, even though you never once said it to me. You stole kisses and nothing more. I should have known, but I was so blind. So naive. I would have done anything for you. Are you really just going to sit there and say nothing? Did I mean so little to you? Did she do more for you than I did? Does she know how you like your household to be run, milord? You never touched me, but you broke me just the same. At least there is that. At least I don’t have the memory of you inside me. I am glad I held you off. I’m glad you didn’t take what was not yours. You made me love you even though you had no intention of loving me in return. You are an unimaginable bastard, and I give you my notice. I hope you and your bride are happy, milord but I can’t be here to witness it.” Tears are streaming down my face. This scene is so heartbreaking. I worked with a dialect coach when I was on Bleary Manor, and I went with that English accent.
“Where will you go?” Marsha, as the bastard, asks.
“Anywhere but here. Anywhere where I can start over and forget I ever knew you.”
“Here, lass, take this. A ship is leaving for the Americas. You can start over. I did not mean to hurt you. If it makes you feel any better, if my father hadn’t decreed this, I would never have married the chit. I can’t be sorry that I did. I love her. You’ll understand one day that what we shared was nothing compared to true love.” I sob now.
“I shall take your coin because I must, but you’re a coward, Lord Dunshire. You must know that.”
“I do, Audrey. I do. Go. Now. You are too good to be a maid. You must know that.”
“I do, milord. Goodbye.” I stoop into a deep curtsey before turning away. That’s when Audrey flees the room.
“Sweet Jesus,” Marsha whispers at the same time Tyson whispers, my God.” Making me smile. My tears stop instantly, but my face is still wet. Marsha looks at me, slightly in awe.
“You’re hired,” Marsha says firmly, without consulting Tyson, but he’s just nodding.
“Awesome. Thank you. Any notes?”
“None,” Marsha says, smiling at me.
“So, now what? My agent usually handles my contract, but I’ve never been hired on the spot before.”
“We have some questions.”
