That's Showbiz

My most successful actor acquaintance in Chicago has always believed in me. I'm not totally sure why, but there are some people you barely know who just like ya. Sad was my first friend I saw on a TV show. She was in at all the big theatres--not constantly, but all of them--and she of all people was always championing me. I tried to become friends with her, and she wasn't interested. One fall I knew she was at a theatre near my office every day, but she never accepted a lunch no matter how many times I asked. But when we'd cross paths you'd never know she ignored those texts--always gushing. She set me up with an audition from her agent. She gave me a play by play of every moment of the future fifteen minute appointment. She described the agent's hair and how she tossed it, what she'd say to me, when she'd follow up with an offer. Sad met me for coffee (with ease when it came to furthering my career) and went over my monologue line by line. I've never seen someone so confident, the glimmer rubbed off on me.

I lost some weight before the audition, got a sub for my classes, printed a dozen headshots, and I went to a weird part of Lincoln Park mid-morning. I was nervous about getting there on time, so I showed up too early and sat in a Nordstrom Rack for a long time.

It's obvious from the way I'm telling this story, I did not sign with Sad's agent. I never even met Sad's agent. I showed up and nothing was the way Sad described. She couldn't have known of course. But it still shook me. The agent wasn't there and not explained for. The two young assistants (?) called me in (late), took one headshot (and looked with distain at the rest of the stack), and lead to to a small room where I wasn't sure if I was supposed to sit or stand. They were wearing jeans and t-shirts and I was wearing dress pants and a blouse. One of them said, "Okay so...who are you?" I said, "Yeah! I moved here two and a half years ago. I do comedy--just got back from touring with S___ C___ and doing a musical show. I do improv at i_ too." Girl said, "Okay. Go ahead." I did my monologue, fairly well I think, but she only gave a pinched smile. Then she said, "Okay...um...read this." The other girl, who hadn't spoken, handed me a slip of paper with ad copy on it about macaroni and cheese. The first girl said, "Read that then deliver it to camera." There was a little camcorder nearby. As looked over through the lines, she talked to her associate. "S___ C__, you know who they just cast in their new show? [Name of an improviser who was TWICE very rude to me]! She's so funny. We need to get her in here." I read the copy into the camcorder poorly. The first girl didn't acknowledge I did it. She simply responded, "Okay sing 16 bars." I felt a wave of panic rise in me but nodded, "Sure." She said, "You said you did a musical show, right?" My brain had nothing prepared, so I started singing the first song I thought of--a song that I myself wrote. I didn't know if I sang more or less than 16 bars. The girl looked over at her pal with "woof" eyes, said, "You'll hear from us," and did not look up as I left.

I walked back out into the cold day. It had been ten minutes that felt like a million. I'd already had a little plan of where I'd go to get a celebration treat. But I felt to punched in the face I just sat down, right on the curb, and ate the diet protein bar in my purse. Four days later the company emailed to say they unfortunately could not represent me.

I never told Sad but she found out herself, which also made me feel weird. What was said? By who? She texted me we could do another round of monologue work next season and try again. We never did. And yet, I really didn't miss anything.