They were onstage at the ShubertTheater on Broadway conducting auditions for the chorus line of an upcoming newplay. Roz had completed her audition forthe lead in the big production, and had just come from backstage to hear theverdict from the casting director. Notall that long ago she thought her auditioning days were over. She thought she’d earned the right to beconsidered on her own merits based on her enormous body of work. But those days were gone. Now she was going through the meat grinderjust like everybody else, as if that body of work amounted to nothingness.
And she knew why. They’d deny it up and down the line, but sheknew the truth. It was all because ofthat thing called age. Roz was no oldlady, but they only wanted to hire the young ones now. And every year, it seemed to Roz, theirdefinition of young was getting even younger.
She walked down the sidesteps of thestage watching the group of teenagers and twenty-somethings try their best tostay in step with the choreographer. Sheremembered those struggling days when all she could get was chorus line gigstoo.
Evan, the casting director, sat onthe second row watching the young dancers intensely. Roz didn’t even see him blink. Evan’s five assistants sat on the front row,taking notes of each performer on stage. They had taken notes on Roz earlier, when she was on that same stagegiving all she had to be selected as the female lead. They had given their notes on Roz toEvan. But by the way he was checking outthe chorus line, he had already moved on.
Roz sat on the seat next to him. They went back a long way too. And for a long few seconds, they both werecontent to just stare at the stage.
Then Evan exhaled, as if he had madeup his mind. “They’re pretty awful,aren’t they?” he said.
Roz agreed, to a point. “Not all of them.”
“All of them,” said Evan. “Julliard scholarships. Classically trained. Have every advantage any young upstart shouldhave. The cream of the crop they tellme. But I don’t see cream. I see technique with no talent. Talent is gone, Roz.”
Roz crossed her legs. She knew Evan well enough to know he wasbeating around the bush. “Don’t tell alady who owns a talent agency talent is gone,” she said. “It’s malpractice.”
Evan grinned. Then looked at her. “How you been, Roz? It’s good to see you again.”
“You too. And congrats on your Tony win. I sent you an email.”
“Thanks. I got so many I couldn’t respond to themall.”
“I understand,” Roz said breezily.
“You do, don’t you, Roz? You know how it goes in this brutalbusiness. It’s what have you done for melately, not what are you doing for me now. You know that.”
Roz nodded. She knew.
“You’re still looking good, though,after all these years. And it’s beensome years.”
“Yes, it has. I started out in the business when I wasbarely twenty. Now I’m about to turnforty.”
“Damn, it’s been that long?”
Roz felt a kind of depression comeover her. “It’s been a minute,” shesaid.
“But at least you’ve got a talentagency to fall back on.”
“Barely,” said Roz.
“I know, right? Everybody’s moving their agencies either hereto New York,” Evan said, “or to L.A.. I’m surprised you haven’t moved too. Nobody wants their rep in Philly. What the fuck’s in Philly?”
Roz smiled. “You make it sound like Timbuktu.” Then she exhaled. “But you’re right. I’m losing clients hand-over-fist. I may have to make a move if I plan onstaying in the game.”
“You haven’t decided yet?”
Roz shook her head. “Not yet.”
Evan looked back at the potentials onthe stage. “Between you and me, I’d getout of the game. Lord knows I wantto. But it’s in me too deep.”
“Yeah,” Roz said. “Me too.”
“The thing is,” Evan said, stillstaring at the dancers, “talent is gone. It’s all about the faces now.” Helooked at Roz again, at her unblemished, smooth brown skin, her highcheekbones, her big, bright eyes. “You’ve got the face and the talent. That’s what these youngsters lack. You’ve got it. You’ve got the total package.”
Roz didn’t look at him because all ofhis faint praise meant one thing and one thing only: the news he was about todrop on her wasn’t going to be good. Sheknew him too well. “I have all of thistalent,” she said to him, “but?”
Evan hesitated. He knew it was wrong, but he didn’t producethe shit. He just handled the casting,and when it came to the lead roles they rarely wanted his input even then. “The producers want to go in a differentdirection,” he said.
That feeling in the pit of Roz’sstomach returned. She’d been getting alot of rejections lately. She should beused to it. But it was something younever get used to.
“You know how fickle producers canbe,” Evan kept talking. “If their lifeis going well, they love you, if it’sgoing not so well, they hate you. Theleast little thing and they worry about their bottom lines. But you had the best audition hands down,Roz.” He looked at her. “Honest you did. You can play that part in your sleep.”
Roz had heard that before too. You were the best. Can sleepwalk through that role. Nobody’s better. Five times in a row she’d heard thatbefore. “If I had the best audition,”she said to Evan, “then why am I not getting the part?”
“I told you why. It’s thosefucking producers. They want to go in adifferent direction.”
“A younger direction?” Roz askedbluntly, and then looked at him.
Evan couldn’t deny it. He respected her too much. “Yes. A younger direction. And I knowit makes no sense. You look younger thanmany of these young girls out here anyways! But you’ve been around for twenty years. That’s the part that scares them.”
Roz shook her head. “Experience scares them?”
“That’s how they are,” Evansaid. “It’s wrong, but it’s true. They’re all about the faces now. And the newer and fresher and, yes, younger,the better. But don’t take itpersonally, Roz.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Roz said witha frown. “How else am I supposed to takeit? I can’t
