But whatever.
I was taking my shot at this now and thanks to some killer photos I’d sent in and a video of me playing Sandy in Grease in my high school play, I’d already lined up two auditions for tomorrow and a third one next week.
I walked to the bedroom and the floor creaked like it was waking up from a long nap. Stopping in the archway, I rubbed the back of my neck; a dresser backed up against one wall and a full-size bed with a nightstand next to it lined against the opposite one. Thank God there was a window in the center wall, though. I managed a small smile as I looked out at the sunny blue sky shining over the sidewalks and shops—you didn’t get much of this in Iowa in November. The apartment might have been a three, but the view was an eight.
I went over to the dresser and started putting my clothes away. My eyelids got a little heavy as I stuffed the last of my sweaters in the bottom drawer and I figured I’d better catch a quick nap before going out again. I walked over to the bed, crawled onto the hard mattress, and lay down on my back. I stared at the dented white ceiling.
Nine thousand in the bank and no immediate income. What the hell was I doing?
I woke up to feel the bed rattling. An earthquake! My heart pounded as I hopped out of bed.
The rattling stopped instantly.
“Much better,” I said and went into the bathroom. I took a quick shower, threw on my yellow ISU Gymnastics t-shirt and one of my seven pairs of faded Levis, and hustled out of the apartment. The iron stairs echoed as I jogged down them; when I got to the bottom I pushed the door open and walked out onto the sunny white sidewalk.
I wandered the street for a while, grabbed dinner from a little Thai place, and headed back to the apartment. The day was catching up with me again and my first audition was atnine in the morning so I figured I’d better crash early. I watched some TV on my tablet for a while and fell asleep in the middle of Gilmore Girls.
I woke up to a scraping sound.
It was coming from the living room closet.
Pulling my sheets tight, I held my breath and listened as the noise got louder like it was trying to either get out or get in. A few seconds later it stopped and I drifted back to sleep.
When the alarm went off at 7:30 a.m. I checked my phone. The studio had left a voice mail. I hit play.
“Hi, Ashley. This is Lauren Roberts from Triumph studio. I would like to reschedule your audition for some time next week. Please call me back when you get a chance so we can arrange a day and time. Thank you.”
Great.
The second audition wasn’t until five and I fell back to sleep. I didn’t wake up until almost noon, when I slid out of bed and hit the shower. I twisted the hot nozzle farther than the cold but even after a couple of minutes the water was still icy. I turned the heat up but the water just got colder.
Enough of this.
I shut the water off and shivered as I stepped out of the shower. The tile floor felt like a slab of dry ice and the whole bathroom was freezing.
This place really sucked.
I pulled on my skirt and v-neck sweater and then went out to grab some lunch and check out the area some more. When I got back to the building it was a little after 3:00 p.m. and I called a cab on my iPhone to pick me up in an hour. I didn’t want to sit around the apartment, so I waited outside. The cab showed up at 4:00 p.m. on the dot; I got in and told the bald cabbie to take me to Sun Star Studio.
The guy chuckled. “No problem.”
Twenty minutes later I was walking up to the receptionist’s desk at Sun Star. She looked up from whatever she was reading and smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, hi. My name’s Ashley Sloan. I have an audition with Rachel Michaels.”
The woman typed into the computer. “All right, yes, you do. Five o’clock appointment with Rachel. If you want you can take a seat and I’ll let her know you’re here.”
I walked over to one of the chairs and sat down. Twenty minutes later the door opened and a stocky woman with thick, black-rimmed glasses stepped out. “Ashley?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said as I got up and held out my hand. The woman shook it.
“Nice to meet you, Ashley. I’m Rachel Michaels. Come on in.”
I followed her into a gray-carpeted office with two silver-framed chairs with black leather cushions sitting in front of a burgundy marble desk.
“Have a seat, Ashley,” she said. I did; Rachel sat down in the other chair.
I took out my script.
“OK, start as soon as you’re ready,” Rachel said.
I took a deep breath, exhaled, and began.
We did the reading and Rachel put her script down and looked at me for a second. “Can you hold on?” she asked, “I want to see if the film’s producer, Nathan Waters, is in his office. I would like for him to see you perform.”
“Sure,” I said, fighting to keep my mouth from turning into a huge grin.
Rachel picked up the phone and hit a button. A few seconds went by and Rachel gave me a little nod. “Hi, Nathan, it’s Rachel. I have someone in my office I’d like for you to take a look at. Great, see you in a few minutes.” Rachel hung up. “All right, Nathan’s on his way down. I’m just going to go check
