I ran down to my apartment complex's leasing office, hopped on one of the guest computers, and set it to print the audition information I had gotten just minutes before. My roommate Scott was at the front desk looking intense in front of the computer.
"Scott, Scott, Scott! You won't believe what I found in my inbox today. Some indie production is looking for a 5'3" or under, muscular blond who can play the string bass."
"You play string bass?" he asked.
"What is a cello but a tiny bass you sit down to play?"
He must have been stressed because he turned back to the computer without a smile and said, "Well, good luck with that."
"I need your help rehearsing, though! And the audition's in...two hours. Please?"
"Cutting it a bit close." He rearranged some papers and clicked around a bit, though I couldn't see his screen. "If you asked me earlier today I might've been able to, but everyone decided to dump their applications on me in the last half hour, so I've got to get to them, and I'm the only one on desk today."
I leaned my arms on the desk. "You're not still mad about the, uh, parking lot pantsing, are you?" (He wore a jockstrap that day. It was glorious.)
"Naw, man. All's forgiven--barely remember it. But I really am busy."
He didn't look busy; we were the only ones in the lobby, but I sensed that this wasn't the time to insist. He was usually up for these things.
"Well," he said, "I
can
send you up to the boss. He's off work, so I wouldn't bother him for help with applications, but he is always reminiscing about the good old days when he worked in film. It could be worth a try. 407A."
"Are you sure you can't help me?" I asked.
"I'm sure sure," he said. "Just get on up there. We're at one hour, fifty-eight minutes now."
Maybe if I impressed his boss I could find out what was going on with Scott.
~~~
I pressed the elevator button to go up to the fourth floor, but after a minute of nervous fidgeting, left to take the stairs. 407A was right above my own apartment. The welcome mats on the floor were a little different, but the hallway was similarly cool and shaded.
After knocking, I realised he didn't know the name of the guy I was asking for help me. I pulled out my phone and started to look up staff information on the apartment complex website.
"Good afternoon."
I looked up. I was expecting someone a little more washed-up, but the man who answered the door looked like he could be a veteran spy coming out of retirement for one last job, or the hot dad werewolf hunter in some teen show. Salt and pepper beard, scruffy but gentlemanly. Dad glasses.
He raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?"
"Oh, I, um...Scott. Scott told me you used to act, and I was wondering if you could help me with some lines, 'cause see there's this audition that's really soon but I only got the notice today, like five minutes ago, but it'd be such a missed opportunity if I, uh, missed it. So could you help me with the lines?" I held up the script. Not the best first impression.
"It's been a while since my acting days," he replied. Then nothing.
"Scott says you're a really good teacher, though, like in being his boss, so, you know, I was hoping?"
"He did, did he?" he said. There was something there that I couldn't quite decipher. He looked me over. "Come on in," he said, turning around. "You can call me Lucas."
Though his apartment layout was virtually identical to mine the floor below, it was a lot more sophisticated: paintings on the walls, a glass coffee table, leather sofa. A quilt of patchwork flowers caught my eye, lending a surprising air of coziness and something else.
"So what's in the script?" he asked.
"Actually, I haven't gone through it yet."
"Oh?" He gave me a quizzical look.
"I got the notice super late, but I have a bunch of specific qualities that they want, so I think I have a shot at this!" I said. "Don't worry; it isn't too long.
I placed the pages onto the coffee table. There weren't many lines for the audition, and upon closer inspection it didn't even take up an entire page (there were multiple pages because of contact/audition information).
Oh God. The character gets embarrassed after a wardrobe malfunction in an auditorium while trying to impress the love interest. It felt a little karmic. But they had camera tricks and nude-coloured underwear, right? I wouldn't actually be showing too much.
After going over the lines in front of Lucas a few times, it became clear that it wasn't really working out. He had a bone to pick with everything, it seemed. As nervous as I was while miming covering my exposed dick in his living room, he didn't think I was selling it hard enough. Which surprised me, given, again, my very real nervousness. The judges weren't usually this hot. Maybe it was because I was distracted thinking about Scott downstairs.
"Think of a time you were really embarrassed, then, if you can't become the character," he said.
"Uh...." Last week's checkup with the hot doctor, high school locker rooms.... They didn't seem appropriate to share, and I was trying not to get hard with him watching me so intently.
"If you can't come up with something then I have an idea."
Maybe it would be better than plumbing the depths of my mind for embarrassing memories.
"Sure. What did you have in mind?"
~~~
Scott liked to sell people on the apartment complex by pointing them to the lavish community pool outside the leasing office. The neighbouring buildings shielded it from the eyes and sounds of the street, giving it an air of a secluded oasis in the city's concrete. A group of guys were grilling something nice-smelling next to some picnic tables on a little lawn. After some tables and some reclining chairs, patterned tiles bordered the pool, which had at the deep end a diving board with a short ladder and at the other end an area roped off for aquatic volleyball. The water looked good on a sunny day like this one; Scott and I had enjoyed it often.
This time, however, I was wearing a bright red speedo that Lucas had on hand (new with tags!). He said it was too small for him, but it felt a little small for me and he was much bigger, so I figured it had been intended for someone else, but didn't pry. I was used to wearing board shorts with the liners cut out, though, so maybe it was actually the right size and the constant wedgie feeling was normal.
"So how are you feeling, Art?" Lucas asked.
"Uh, nervous," I replied.
He slapped a hand on my shoulder and leaned in a little. "Good."
My face got hot and I couldn't meet his eyes.