A Tale of Two Centuries

Romeo and Juliet. I realize you may have already prepared your own selection, but I prefer watching your process. It gives me a better grasp of how quickly you are able to think on your feet. This workshop is going to be a whirlwind, Miss Forlani, and I need actors who can keep up with me. You have five minutes to review the new material. Good luck.”

My copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream thumps noisily on the hard floor as I snatch the stack of papers closer to my nose. My poor heart takes residence in my ears, and I can hear nothing other than my racing pulse.

If ever there were a time for one of those colorful words I have heard Cat mutter under her breath, now would be it.

My knowledge of Romeo and Juliet consists of knowing it is set in Italy and is about a pair of star-crossed lovers who take their lives. At least that is what the first page said, which is as far as I got last night before sleep overtook me.

The highlighted monologue Ms. Kent selected is from Act Two, Scene Two. As I anxiously pore over the words, the familiar cadence of the language rushes over me. My tense shoulders and rigid spine lose some of their starch. I find myself in those few emphasized words, in Juliet. Particularly in the line, I’ll prove more true than those that have more cunning to be strange.

Yes, Juliet was a kindred spirit, too.

With a smile, I step into the circle of light in the middle of the floor. Remembering my cousin’s suggestion to act more modern, I lift my chin and say, “I’m good.”

“Begin when ready, Miss Forlani.”

I take a deep breath and let the light falling on my skin infuse me with warmth. I close my eyes and the sounds of the wide, open theater fill my head: the creak of a chair, the stomp of a shoe, the gentle murmur of voices waiting. I imagine the space filled with people, all there to see me. I open my eyes and begin.

…

Walking back into the well-lit waiting room, it feels as though my feet are walking on air, like I am floating and am no longer in need of solid ground beneath me. Cat jumps up and pulls me into an embrace.

“So,” she asks, her head still buried in my hair, “how did it go?”

At first, I cannot find my voice. Describing such an experience seems an impossible undertaking. But then I meet the contemptuous smirk on Kendal’s face, still in the same seat I left her. “They asked me to stay for the next round.”

The smirk falls, and a look of pure hatred washes over her face. Somehow, and it is wretched to admit, it makes me feel even happier.

Cat’s laugh borders on the demonic as she leans back and pumps her fist in the air. “I knew it! I told you— didn’t I tell you?” She hugs me tightly again and pulls me down into our seats. “Never doubt me, girl. You’re a natural.”

I shake my head and grin so big, I am sure Mama can see it back home.

The next two hours trickle by in an endless stream of hope-filled people walking in to audition and then leaving the theater despondent or in tears. And as each person leaves dejected, it is even more wretched to say, my confidence and belief in myself lifts a little more.

What kind of person does that make me, a person who finds joy and confidence in another’s misfortune? My cousin seems to think it makes me normal. I, however, am not so convinced.

After the last girl leaves, tissue in hand, and all that remains in the previously crammed waiting room are a handful of hopefuls, my eyes meet my cousin’s. The pride in her smile fills me nearly to bursting.

“They’re gonna call you back again soon, but remember that you’ve got this. You own this. I can say without a doubt that no one else here is a better fit for these roles than you.” A haughty laugh erupts from beside me, and Cat’s eyes narrow. “No one.”

When the door opens again, they call all five of us back together: loathsome Kendal, the sweet girl in front of me, two others who seem pleasant enough, and me. We fall in line, of course with Kendal taking the lead, and file down the long hallway and back onto the marvelous stage.

The man hands us each another stack of papers. When I look at mine, I am relieved to see the same words from my previous round. I sneak a glance at the two scenes on either side of me and realize they have given us each something different. The younger girl from the lobby has a scene from Hamlet, with the lines from Ophelia highlighted, and my neighbor to the right is reading Olivia’s lines from Twelfth Night.

A graceful woman crosses the stage, the one who had until now sat in the middle of the table, and at once I know it must be Ms. Kent. She meets each of our eyes with an encouraging smile, and though I have lost feeling in both my fingers and toes, the act of support bolsters my spirits.

“Ladies, this round we would like to see how you interact with other people. The chemistry you can create with another actor, one you probably have no relationship with or have ever seen before. In addition, depending on the scene we have selected for you, we will be looking for a particular trait or skill. Since the male casting call won’t be held until tomorrow, a few brave volunteers have stepped up to help.”

She tilts her head, acknowledging a group of people sitting in a nearby row. I squint, but can barely make out their vague outlines in the darkness.

“Don’t worry. We’ll only be judging you in your scene, not how well our good- natured assistants perform. They are simply here to give you something to react to and play off in your scene. Sound good? All right.” She glances at a clipboard in her hands and then back up, directly at me. “Miss Forlani, you’re first.”

And just like that, my bolstered spirits plummet.

First?

With everyone watching?

In the small part of my brain that is still thinking logically, I realize that the four other actresses and the handful of volunteers seated in shadow are hardly an audience. But I am still terrified.

I hear a snicker and know without having to look that it is Kendal.

Ms. Kent motions to someone in the wings, and I hear footsteps approach. This must be my Romeo. I scan my page and see a much larger section now highlighted. As my eyes skim the wildly romantic banter, my cheeks start to warm. And when I glance up to see the volunteer step out of the shadows, my blush turns into a full-on inferno.

“Austin?”

Bathed in the glow of the overhead light, Austin’s bright blue eyes look deeper. His gaze bores into mine, and my heart begins pounding against my breastbone. My body tenses. Heat pools in my stomach. My breathing escalates. Again, I am overwhelmed by the wealth of foreign sensations and am shocked to discover this is what rage feels like…strangely, it is almost pleasant.

“Miss Forlani, this is Mr. Michaels. He will be your Romeo for this scene, reading the highlighted section on your pages. This is an extended sample, so for this round you will be allowed to use your script when needed. You have five minutes to familiarize yourself with both the lines and your partner. Good luck.”

The first time she expressed the sentiment, I had been gratified. This time, however, I find myself a touch annoyed, as I will need far more than luck to salvage this audition.

I sidle up to my so-called partner and whisper tersely, “Are you here just to vex me? I assure you, you did quite a thorough job earlier today. There is no need for you to follow me so.”

Austin blinks. “Vex you? Did you really just say that? Damn, you take this Shakespeare stuff seriously, huh?”

He smirks, and my gaze is inexplicably drawn to his mouth. I shake my head and move it back to his eyes, berating myself for my verbal weakness. His continued presence today has me so disconcerted, I am forgetting to watch my language.

“But no,” he continues, “I’m not here to vex you. I’m here for my sister.” The muscles in his stubble-covered jaw clench as a rapid-fire series of emotions washes across his face: affection, anger, sadness, and then back to cool aloofness. “My dad’s assistant got stuck on the freeway, and Jamie needed a ride. So here I am.”