My dream was finally coming true, only now it seemed more like a nightmare.
For years I labored trying to get a break in the theater. I worked dinner theater, summer stock in godforsaken places, small community theatres and even off-off-off Broadway. I eked out a living doing the usual waitressing and temp jobs. Sharing a rat-hole apartment in New York with three other struggling actors, I was the guest at more pity-on-me dinner parties than I could count. My small circle of friends tried to make sure I wouldn't starve. One thing helped me maintain my sanity—my ability to talk with my best friend, Max.
My plight began when my excuse of an agent called about a major role in a real off-Broadway production. It was a new play by a Tony award-winning playwright. The producer was a top Hollywood star who, according to him, wanted to assure the world or herself that she was a true talent. This same woman would be playing the lead. My agent was sketchy on details, I think his feeble mind stopped working when he heard about the director and producer/star— and that he might actually make some money off me. He told me to show up at the theater at 10 for an initial read.
I asked him if this was going to be a cattle call. He laughed and said, "No, sweetie, the part is yours if the read goes well."
I screamed and just about wet my panties. I was going to be on Broadway—well, Ok, off-Broadway—but still freakin' good. I was also going to get Equity pay and I might actually be able to buy something to wear and have food in the cupboard. God, if the play had a good run, I might get out of the hellhole I lived in.
"Slow down," I told myself, "this is only a reading. You probably will screw it up and not get anything."
I pressed my agent on what the storyline was, but he just mumbled something about a love triangle. "You'll be great, sweetie. You'll kill 'em."
I asked how they chose me.
"Not sure, sweetie," he said and I knew he was puffing on his ever present stinky, cheap cigar. "The production manager called and said Miss Big Fucking Star wanted you. Maybe she caught you in one of your summer stock things."
I should have realized that my so-called agent wouldn't have busted his ass trying get me work. I recall reading that the producer/star lived in Connecticut and I did do a couple shows there last summer, so...
I didn't sleep a wink and the next day was showered and dressed in my best clothes, which I and everyone else knew were crap, and headed to the subway for the ride to mid-town. Arriving at the theater over an hour ahead of time I splurged my last ten dollars on a latte and a scone at Starbucks. "If I get this role, I can have this every day."
I entered the open lobby door and made my way down to the stage where a small group was casually standing and talking.
As I neared, I saw her, Abbie Evans. She looked so small and normal. Next to her was Rice Peters the writer. He looked like a playwright, with a black turtleneck, black pants, black-rimmed glasses and his trademarked shaved head. A couple others were there.
Abbie Evans turned and saw me, breaking into her universally recognized smile.
"Chloe, come here and meet your team."
I tried not to trip down the aisle and reached out to accept Abbie's extended hand. She introduced me to Rice, the director, the stage manager and production manager, all of whose names I immediately forgot. I was still stuck on "Abbie Evans knows my name."
Abbie then looked over my shoulder and smiled again.
"Ah, our leading man arriveth."
I turned to see Joe Quinn, the current star of one of TV's top cop shows, making his way to us. I felt weak in the knees. These were all A-listers and I felt like the skunk that wandered into the garden party. What the hell was I doing here?
Joe shook my hand and Abbie urged us onto the stage. We sat around a long rectangular table and the stage manager passed out scripts.
"So, Chloe, what do you know about 'The Pose'?"
I should have said something that might cover my total ignorance, but my mind was a blank.
"Not a frigging thing," I gushed.
They all laughed.
"Ok," Abbie said, "here's the Reader's Digest version. Joe is major artist. He's had mega shows at all the top galleries and his work hangs in all the right penthouses in Manhattan, plus some decent museums. His last show was, however, less than spectacular and the critics were getting their claws out and speculating he may have lost his edge. I am his wife, a bit older, obviously, and long-suffering, of course. I used to be his muse, but after we married the muse part slipped away and my ability to earn a paycheck as a successful art agent took its place. When I stopped modeling, he also began his slow spiral. So, he finds an ingénue, the lovely Chloe, who will be his model, his muse and the centerpiece of his new exhibition."
Abbie paused for effect. She knew how to hold an audience.
"So, I am jealous of you and pissed at Joe. I come to his atelier and find that you are not some succubus, but an innocent, engaging and beautiful young woman. I am drawn to you--your personality and your appearance. Joe, as men are want to do, also has desires on you. The rest is a tug-of-war to see who will win you, if Joe can complete his work and regain his status, if he and I will reconcile. And, if you will remain the unsullied maiden. All very 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolff meets A Star is Born' between Joe and me with a bit of sex to juice things up."
I nodded all through her recitation. And smiled when she smiled. In my mind I'm thinking, "Holy Shit, this is a three person play and I'm going to be sharing most of the audience time with two of the biggest stars in the business. I see my own Obie waiting for me in the wings."
My bubble burst with Abbie's next statement.
"I'm so glad you don't have a problem with the nudity or the love scene. You're a brave girl."
The Obie just fell off the table and smashed into a million pieces.
"Nudity? Love scene?" I couldn't even make a sentence.
"You mean your agent didn't tell you?"
I shook my head.
"Oh, Chloe, sorry. I would have told you differently if I had known. But, you must know that you play Joe's model and will be totally nude for a good part of your time on stage. And, you will have a rather explicit love scene at the end of act one."
Now, I am not a prude, well, Ok, I am a bit of a prude. Shit, make that a major prude. But, I recognize that actors sometimes have to make sacrifices for their craft, and to get a role. I thought about standing naked in front of theater full of people and my insides started to turn to Jell-o. I imagined my parents in the audience. Yikes! I thought about my favorite teacher being there, Sr. Mary Ann, who encouraged my acting and tried to see every play I was in. Double yikes!
I nodded slowly, pretending that I was comprehending what I had to do.
"So, you can do this, Chloe? You can handle the nudity?"
I again nodded, but didn't think it was my most convincing performance.
I said, "Sure." I giggled and said trying to be as lighthearted as possible, "But, I don't know about the love scene with Joe. That could be a challenge."
Abbie laughed. "Oh, don't worry about that. You don't have a love scene with Joe."
She paused and I looked confused.
Smiling she continued, "You have it with me."
I am not sure if there is really such a thing as a brain meltdown, but I think I had one at that moment.
"And, Chloe, just to ease your mind about being nude, I will be nude, too."
Yep, total meltdown. I thought I felt my brains oozing out of my ears and fought the temptation to stick my fingers there to prevent them from dripping onto the table.
The rest of the meeting occurred in a blur. We did a read-through, I think. Breaking around four we agreed to meet again in the morning for a discussion about the staging and another read-through. The director asked us to go through the play and make notes and questions.
Abbie walked me out of the theatre.
"Chloe, don't worry, you're going to be great. I saw you last summer and you've got the chops to carry this off. I'll be right here with you all the way. Call me if you want to talk." She handed me a card with her name and cell phone number.
I thanked her and wandered in the general direction of the subway stop as she stepped into the back of her huge Mercedes with a liveried driver holding the door.
My head was reeling. I needed to talk to someone. I had to see Max. I knew by the time I navigated rush hour and got to his place, he'd be home.
Max and I grew up in the same town in New Hampshire. He's years older than I am, and we had a low-key connection from being in the theater group in high school. He was a senior when I was a freshman. We both worked at the same ice cream place in the summers. That's when we hit it off and found we could easily talk with each other.
Now being in the city at the same time, we reconnected and became friends. We still had the ability to just talk. He really listened, a quality I was finding rare in the guys I met in the city and especially among fellow actors. Most of the actors were totally psychotic and wanted only to talk about themselves, the roles they had, the roles they almost had and mostly about the roles they should have had.
Max was doing pretty well, working for the public radio station as head of fundraising. He had a small, but decent, apartment on the West side. The doorman knew me and let me go up to Max's, saying he'd call up to let him know I was on my way.
He answered and welcomed me in. I rushed past him, flew to his fridge and pulled out a beer.
"I am totally fucked," I announced as I downed half the can.
"Well, nice to see you, too, Chloe."
I smiled and went to give him a hug.
"Sorry, I'm a bit worked up."
"So, I noticed. Want to share?"
"Share! God, you need to get out of non-profit and into the real world."
"Oh, acting is the real world? Interesting concept."
"Whatever," I shrugged. "Yeah, I need to 'Share', but first I need to pee."
I finished my beer and asked if Max would get me another and made my way to his bathroom. I rushed in and plopped down on the toilet. As I relieved myself, I looked around and almost shit instead. On the floor was a girl's bra and panties in a pile, next to a pair of girl's shoes. Now I noticed the bathroom smelled of a recent shower and the scent of a woman.
I finished and bolted out. Picking up my coat, I headed for the door.
"Hey, what's up?" Max called. "Where're you going?"
"Max, sorry. I gotta' go. I didn't mean to barge in like this. I shoulda' called. I hope I didn't mess anything up."
