Life on the Naughty List, or What the Elf!

6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I let myself sleep in and finally dragged myself out of bed a little after 11:30 a.m. My first thought was, how did Carissra and Kirk get up so early in the morning and go to school? I remember being in high school and all the early mornings. Honestly, I don’t know how I got through those long days sitting at a wooden desk staring at teachers. Now, anything before noon seems painful. Admittedly, as a theater professional, my work rarely begins in the morning unless we’re rehearsing. And then, we only rehearse for six to eight weeks max, so it’s not like I have month after month of early mornings.

I walked into the kitchen, started my morning slash afternoon coffee, and picked up my iPad. I opened The New York Times app to see what was going on in the world. I bypassed the front page and immediately pulled up the entertainment section. I scrolled through the stories until I spotted one I wanted to read. “Asher Fraser Alexander Out!” the headline said. I clicked on the hyperlink and read.

“ Asher Fraser Alexander has been fired from a romantic comedy being filmed in Upstate New York. Producers for the Hallmark Channel movie, Tidings from a Christmas Prince , noted that the split had been amicable while the production company stopped filming in search of a new star. Sources close to the set said the producers found a conflict of interest between Alexander and the casting agent who hired him for the project. ”

That’s it? Oh, come on. I knew there had to be more to this story, so I pulled up The New York Post app. I flipped to their entertainment section and searched out my favorite columnist, Michelle Bouvier. Michelle was an “entertainment columnist” and not a “critic.” Basically, the label let her write about shows before they ever opened. She considered herself an objective reporter, but everyone knew she was a gossip columnist focused on the entertainment industry. Sure enough, Bouvier’s headline was way more salacious. “Alexander Slept His Way into the Role?” I quickly skimmed through the article and found out that the assistant to the casting agent had been fired, so the assistant contacted the producers and told them Asher had an illicit affair with the casting agent during auditions, which led to Asher being hired for the film. The producers immediately investigated and fired Asher because they didn’t want their brand tainted by a sex scandal. Hallmark Christmas Movies are known for being squeaky clean, so any hint of impropriety could be a huge problem.

After reading the story, a sense of glee filled me, and I couldn’t have wiped the smile off my face if I had to. Finally, Mr. Alexander appeared to be getting his comeuppance. I was auditioning for a new Broadway musical and Asher was getting fired. Maybe people would see past his matinee good looks and see the creep that existed inside. Between the article and the cup of warm coffee, I had a warm, tingly feeling inside. Maybe I shouldn’t feel nearly as giddy about the story as I did, but there was something pretty satisfying about it.

After catching up on other celebrity gossip and a little actual news, I went into my bedroom, pulled out my pre-determined wardrobe for the day, and set about getting myself ready. Thankfully, I gave myself plenty of time. After revising my wardrobe twice, I settled on a sleek black pantsuit and red four-inch heels. I wanted to be more muted this time. Also, I didn’t know what the callback would entail, so I wanted to make sure I could move if I needed to. I once had a callback and didn’t realize until I got there that the callback would involve dancing. I’d been dressed in a miniskirt, which wasn’t a smart move. There was no way I could complete the choreography in that outfit. I had tried to reschedule my audition, but that hadn’t been allowed, so I ended up bowing out altogether. Ultimately, it was a good thing because I landed the second national tour of Wicked the next week, so it all worked out.

I left the apartment and walked the few blocks to Actors’ Equity. Thankfully, there was no rain this time, so I showed up at the building completely dry. I headed up again to the sixteenth floor. This time, a woman sat outside with a clipboard. I walked over to her.

“Erika Lynsay Saunders,” I said, giving her my full name, which was required for Equity purposes. There had already been an Erika Saunders at some point, so I had to use my middle name professionally to avoid confusion.

“Thank you,” she said without looking up. “Here you go.”

She handed me a sheet of paper. Across the top, in bold print, read, My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)–William Shakespeare.

“I think there may be a mistake,” I said. “I’m here for the Beyond Tomorrow callback. This looks like a one-sheet for a Shakespeare audition.”

From the look she gave me, I wasn’t the first person who’d questioned this today. “You’re in the right place. When they’re ready for you, they’ll call you.”

Okay, then . I took the sheet over to a chair and started reading over the sonnet. Personally, I’m not a huge fan of poetry. Sure, I know it’s supposed to be lovely, but I don’t get it. I like things to be straight and to the point. Why do so many hidden metaphors and more profound meanings need to be buried in poetry? In college. I starred in a production of W;t. The long, drawn-out passages about poetry nearly bored me to tears when I learned them. I’d never heard of John Donne and had never read his work before the show or after. If someone can place so much emphasis on a comma or semicolon, then I’m not that interested.

“Erika Lynsay Saunders,” a voice called, bringing me out of my haze.

I stood up and walked into the room. The table had been extended, and a few new faces sat at the table.

“Thank you, Ms. Saunders,” a middle-aged woman said as I entered the room. “We’re glad you join us for a callback so quickly.”

“I’m happy to be here,” I said. Even though I would have uttered that phrase if I hadn’t been happy to be there, I was genuinely glad to be in an audition room again. As anxiety-provoking as auditioning was, there was always something purely electrifying about the experience.

“I’m Rebekka Eldridge,” the woman continued. “I’m the lead producer on this project. For a little background, my late husband, Bernie, had the idea for this show years ago. Before he died, he’d been buying up real estate to build a brand-new Broadway theater. This show will be its first production.” She introduced everyone at the table. To her immediate left was the show’s director, Asier Zlota San Nicolás. I’d heard of San Nicolás. He’s a Spanish director who had made a name for himself in London’s West End. To his right was Divya Philomena Kappel, the show’s choreographer. Beyond those three new faces, the other faces were the ones I’d seen the previous day, the casting agent and the creative team.

When Eldridge finished introducing everyone, I said, “It’s a pleasure meeting all of you.”

I stood there awkwardly for a moment, not sure what to do. Finally, San Nicolás looked up from his legal pad and said, “Let’s begin.” He stood up and walked around to the front of the table, then leaned against it. “Today’s callback will not be traditional ,“ he rolled the l for added emphasis. “When you got here, you were given a simple sonnet from the grand maestro of the theater himself, William Shakespeare. I will have you read the sonnet to us, but either Ms. Kappel or me will call out directions. We want to see how you respond in the moment. So, let loose, and roll with the directions.”

“Okay,” I said. I tried to say it with as much assuredness as I could muster, but I really had no idea what the man meant.

San Nicolás clapped his hands together once and said, “Let’s begin!”

I sucked in a breath before reciting the first line, “My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun.”

“With anger,” San Nicolás said.

“Coral is far more red than her lips’ red,” I said in a guttural voice.

“With passion!”

“And with a lyrical body movement,” Kappel added.

“If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun,” I said, dropping into sultry. “If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.” I let my arms move fluidly as I received the lines. I wasn’t sure if I hit passion or not, but I went for it.

“Like you’re royalty.”

“With the grace of a ballerina.”

“I have seen roses damasked, red and white,” I stood taller, trying to remember how Helen Mirren looked when she embodied Queen Elizabeth in The Audience on Broadway. “But no such roses see I in her cheeks.”

“Like a New York Police Detective.”

“Make yourself larger than life.”

“And in some perfumes is there more delight,” I gritted out in a farcical Bronx accent. “Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.”

“Like a mouse.”

“Move like a cartoon character.”

“I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,” I said, getting down on all fours and squeaking in a high falsetto. “That music hath a far more pleasing sound.”

“Read like a Vaudevillian.”

“Move like a Follies Girl.”

“I grant I never saw a goddess go,” I read in my best Mae West impersonation. She was a Follies girl, wasn’t she? “My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.”

“Give me sex!”

“Move like a Pussycat Doll.”

Okay, that one threw me. I paused to figure out what moving like a Pussycat Doll meant. Finally, it hit me. I think she means to move like a pop star diva . My Pussycat Doll may have been more Madonna with a hint of Britney Spears than the sex on a stick that is Nicole Scherzinger, but I gave it my all as I read the last two lines of the sonnet, “And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare, as any she belied with false compare.”

As the last line came out of my mouth, there was a stillness in the room. Finally, San Nicolás started clapping and said, “Bravo!” The others joined in. Kappel jumped to her feet and let out her own “Bravo!” The rest of the table stood as well and clapped. The only person who didn’t seem overly impressed was the producer. I looked her straight in the eyes and gave her my best, winning smile.

“Silence!” San Nicolás suddenly yelled. I almost laughed as the group immediately stopped applauding and sat down quickly. “Sing the 12 Days of Christmas .”

Without waiting for a cue from me, the rehearsal pianist started playing. It took my mind a second to catch up and join in. “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…” The pianist quickly adjusted and caught back up to me. Thankfully, he was a true professional and knew how to make a singer look and sound great.

“Faster!” San Nicolás whispered seductively.

The piano sped up as I launched into the second verse, “On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two turtles doves and a partridge in a pear tree.”

“Higher.”

The pianist modulated, so I did the same.

“On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.”

“Louder!”

And that’s how it went through all twelve days. San Nicolás went back and forth among louder, faster and higher. By the time the song finished, I was belting in my falsetto at a frenzied pace. “AND A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREE!” I heard myself screech the final lines. I was breathless. I wiped away a bead of sweat from my forehead.

“Thank you,” San Nicolás said as he whipped a tear away from his eye. “That was beautifully brilliant. You have the power of a bear, the stamina of a racehorse, and the lyrical quality of a lark in the sunset of its life.”

I smiled and did not know what to make of the compliment. Was that a compliment?

“Thank you. We’ll let you know,” the producer said from behind the table.

And just like that, I was summarily dismissed. The team didn’t even wait for me to say goodbye before they started having hushed conversations behind the table. I grabbed my bag and left the room. What was that? I asked myself as I exited. The woman sitting outside the door didn’t look up from what she was reading. I headed to the elevator bank. I was surprised to find no one else in the waiting area. Maybe they scheduled us apart so we wouldn’t know who else was auditioning?

My feet hit the pavement, and I started walking home. Part of me wanted to head next door for mojitos again, but I refrained. My phone rang.

“Erika,” I said without looking at the caller ID.

“Hey, love,” Brice said.

“Well, that was different.”

“How so?”

I described the audition process. He was subdued when I talked about the experience. When I finally finished telling him about a partridge in a pear tree, there was silence.

“They offered you a role,” Brice said.

“What?” I asked in absolute shock. “Already?”

“Actually, the show’s lawyer called during the middle of your audition.”

“Huh?” I apparently was having a problem forming complete sentences.

“Yep.”

“I don’t even know what auditioned for.”

“You have been offered the role of Michael O’Brien.”

“Michael?”

“From what the lawyer told me, the source material is being reworked for a modern audience. The role you’ve been offered is the central character, but not necessarily the lead. Did you watch the movie?”

“No,” I admitted. “I haven’t had time.”

“Okay. Basically, three industrialist tycoons help bring a couple together. But they die and come back as ghosts. You’re the lead tycoon slash ghost.”

I knew what I was doing the first thing I got home. Brice’s description really didn’t help me at all.

“So, what’s the offer?” I asked.

“They’re willing to pay higher than Equity minimums. They expect six weeks of rehearsals leading to an opening in early December. When the show opens, you’ll be earning $3,123 a week. While in rehearsals, you’ll be making $2,168. They also offered a guaranteed one-year contract if the show runs.”

“Okay, so what’s the catch?”

“None that I can see. I’ll have our lawyers look over the contract once we get it, but these people sure don’t know how to negotiate. They really didn’t investigate the standard rates on Broadway. I wish all my clients had these kinds of dream deals.”

“Where is my name placement?” I asked.

“Great question. You will not receive top billing, but your name will be above the title.”

I exhaled and noticed the foggy tendrils in the cool air. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath.

“So,” Brice started, “what do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” I admitted. “This is all so sudden and unexpected. I’m still trying to process.”

“Don’t process too long. They want an answer by the end of the day.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they are looking to get into rehearsals next week, so they want all the contracts signed before the weekend. This is one production team that isn’t messing around.”

“I don’t know—“

“Erika, let me be frank with you,” Brice said matter-of-factly. “You don’t have anything else lined up, and no one else is banging down the door to offer you a role like this. Take it.”

I took a breath in through my nose, rounded my lips, and let it out. “When do I need to come by the office and sign?”