Participant Read online

  What? He’s not even going to ask for volunteers again? I close my eyes for a moment. I want to do well. I want to be good at this so badly. Please, please for once, let me be good at something. As I make my way towards the daunting X, my shoe catches on the apron leading up to the stage. My body lurches forward. Good job Alexis—nice way to start. When I turn around to face the class, I’m already burning with embarrassment before I’ve spoken a word. Pressing my hands against my sides to still them from shaking, I speak the first line of my dramatic monologue.

  I figured the more emotion the monologue required, the more I might be able to get into it and the better I might do. Or the alternative; I could fail miserably. But when I chose a dark piece, I was hoping for the former. “I never expected it to turn out this way,” I say in a small, sad voice. “This was never my intent and I need you to believe me when I say that.” I shake my head emphatically pleading with an imaginary person. “If you tell, my life is over. You know that, right?”

  I focus on emotion not lines. I’m not ‘big’ like I was asked to be for commercials. My tone and affect is quiet and still. I don’t rush words, and remember to down play the entire scene to allow empathy for my character to shine through. I miss a word or two here and there, but it doesn’t rattle me. Nobody can tell.

  By the time I utter the last line, my eyes are welling up and a tear threatens to spill over. My normal reaction would be to wipe it away before anyone can see it. I see it as a weakness, but I know the girl I’m becoming in this scene wouldn’t be afraid to express vulnerability and wear her heart on her sleeve. She’d let that tear slip down her face and hold her chin up high with pride as it curves around her cheek and drips onto her neck. I let the tear fall, so lost in the moment, I stand silently in a reverie of thought.

  Earl yells, “Yes, yes!” and paces back and forth in front of me with his arms flailing about in the air, eyes bugging out.

  I’m done. I finished my monologue without even noticing.

  “You committed to the character! You let the emotion behind the words dictate your response. That is what we must do. That is how you act. Acting is not acting at all, don’t you see? You, my dear, are an actor,” he says to me and I feel an immediate shift in the room.

  Tessa shoots daggers at me with her eyes, and Sabrina stares at me with an impressed look on her face. Mindy and Molly exchange quick glances. They have emerged as the class stars, but not even they have received praise this high from Earl. Nobody expected me to be that good, least of all myself.

  Lightning bolts of excitement ripple just beneath the surface of my skin and I want to do backflips down the long hallway outside the door, but I restrain myself because class is still in session and I’m not entirely sure I can still do them.

  Earl decides to ask for volunteers again, but no one steps up. Could it be that no one wants to have to go after me? Earl orders Tessa up to the stage. The first few lines of her dramatic monologue seem forced. Once again, she’s clearly trying too hard to be good and Earl tells her so.

  “You are so much better than that!” he yells, shaking his fists in the air. “Let go and commit to your character! You walk into an agent’s office with that hog wash and they’ll laugh you right out of the room!”

  Tessa’s nods her head, face falling.

  We’re getting ready to go over on time, but Earl wants us to watch the play backs, which is always excruciating because I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing my face on camera or hearing what my voice really sounds like. So far, we haven’t ever gotten out of class on time because the more he has to yell at us, the longer we stay. Karen, the sister and chauffer, sighs and fidgets her crossed leg even faster than normal, but it doesn’t bother me in the least because I’m getting my money’s worth.

  Lying in bed that night, I don’t know how I’m going to peel myself out of bed tomorrow morning, but I don’t care because I’m still riding high on the thrill of my successful monologue. I’m too wired to sleep. I keep replaying the scene from class over and over in my head, reliving how it felt to let words and the emotions behind them transform me in such a heart stirring way, remembering how it felt to be good. Maybe I was meant to take twenty-five years to figure out what I’m good at, and landed in the unlikely place of Chloe Dillon Modeling and Acting Center for a reason. You, my dear, are an actor. That’s what he said. Would Earl Warren say something like that if he didn’t mean it?

  Chapter 14

  The next day at work, I manage to corner Angela and Michelle in the break room when Sarah isn’t around. I dread approaching Angela, but I feel terrible about being a no show at Sarah’s bridal shower and want to make it up to her by throwing one for her at work. I pull up a chair and sit down at their table. “Hey guys,” I say, quietly looking around to ensure Sarah isn’t behind me. When I left my desk, she’d just started a recorded statement with an insured. She had to use an interpreter, so she should be a while, but I’m paranoid.

  “Hi,” Angela responds, nonplussed. She’s sipping on another one of her juice concoctions. Frothy bright green bubbles glisten at the top as she takes another sip. She’s on a juicing kick right now and brags about her liquid diet as if not eating solids is something to be proud of. I think dieting is a sort of hobby for her, but she never loses any actual weight and remains slightly on the heavy side.

  “So I was thinking that even though Sarah already had her bridal shower, it would be nice to throw one for her here at work too.”

  “Oh yeah, we were there. It was really nice,” Angela pipes up.

  This is clearly a dig at me, because we all know they went and I didn’t. There was no need to point it out. I ignore the comment and continue. “We can reserve one of the conference rooms and hand around a sign-up sheet for people to bring snacks and drinks. I can get the cake, and we can collect money for a group gift. It doesn’t have to be anything big, I just thought it would be something nice to do for her here.” Angela and Michelle exchange side long glances but remain quiet. Do they not want to throw Sarah a shower? I’m surprised but if they don’t want to help, I’m fine with organizing it on my own.

  “Well, if it’s not something you want to do, that’s fine, I just thought you might want to—” Angela cuts me off while Michelle, who always defers to Angela, squirms in her seat.

  “Actually, we’re already on it,” Angela says just a little bit too brightly. “We were planning to throw her a work bridal shower all along, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Oh, I see,” I stammer. I should’ve known they’d try to beat me to the punch even though I’ve known Sarah way longer and she was my friend first. I’ve never had any issues with Michelle, but Angela gets under my skin and it’s not only because she doesn’t like me. I’m pretty sure the rumors about her faking a pregnancy to snag her current husband are true, and it wasn’t until she caught wind of Sarah’s engagement to a successful, wealthy businessman that she started closing in on her. She’s a user.

  I doubt they want me to have any part in their shower plans, but I have to ask. “Well, if you need anything just let me know. I’d love to help out in any way.”

  “We’ll definitely let you know,” Michelle says, but Angela doesn’t say a word.

  I walk back to my desk, fuming because they know how close Sarah and I are. I didn’t attend her first shower and now she’ll think I couldn’t be bothered to help with this one. Annoyed, I sit at my desk and pick up my phone, dialing in for voicemail.

  “You have fifteen new messages.” I drop the receiver back into the base like a hot potato. I was only away from my desk for twenty minutes. I write Angela sucks on my message pad before crossing it out with heavy black digs, replacing it with Find your passion and be your own superstar. With a red pen, I circle it over and over while my phone continues ringing off the hook. Eve sent us on our way with this phrase after every personal development session. In blue, I add stars and exclamation points. If we’re at our desk, we’re supposed to a
nswer the phone, no exceptions. I sink lower into my chair so my head isn’t visible above my cubicle, defiantly ignoring the shrill tone of my ringing phone.

  Chapter 15

  Tuesday is our second to last class of the acting session, and we start out by doing the scenes Earl gave us last week in pairs. On the one hand, it’s nice not to have to be up there alone; but on the other hand, I memorized only my lines one after the other and having to remember which line comes next after my partner spoke theirs thoroughly confused me. I slink back to my seat, disappointed after receiving such high praise for my monologue. Earl stomps and yells after each set as, two by two, we ascend the stage in pairs and fail the assignment. Callie the would be model paired with Janine the actual computer genius, and they perform so poorly, Earl went so far as kicking them off stage. The only pair who does half way decently is Tessa and Molly. Unlike the rest of us, they manage to avoid awkward pauses while the other person struggles to remember their lines.

  “It’s not terrible,” Earl says with a sigh after they exit the stage. “I don’t really have time in this class to do scene work and deal with relationships as much as I would like to. Today is just a basic overview to give you an idea of what it’s like to work with another actor. I offer an intensive class that is almost exclusively scenes in my studio if anyone is interested in taking their acting to the next level. See me after class for more information. No homework for Thursday. We’ll be doing agency and marketing.”

  Always the first to leave every single class, Tessa makes a beeline for the exit without a word. I step aside to let her pass, then follow Sabrina out the door.

  “Hey, I’m having a few friends over tonight. You should come over.”

  “On a Tuesday night this late? What’s the occasion?”

  “It’s not late!” she sputters. “It’s only 8:30 p.m., and no reason really. I was bored and just felt like inviting people over. So come.”

  “I have to work early tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” Sabrina begs. “It’ll be fun. You don’t have to stay too long. Just come and have a drink then you can go.”

  I’m not much for spontaneity under the best of circumstances and especially not on a week night when I really want to go home, put on pajamas and go to bed. Sabrina runs ahead to catch up with Talya inviting her too. She nods her head enthusiastically as I catch up.

  “Are you coming too?” Talya asks.

  I sigh. I really don’t want to be a stick in the mud, but they don’t have jobs and I do. “No, I better not. I’m just not up for it tonight.”

  “C’mon Lexi. Just come!” Sabrina begs. “Live on the edge for once. It won’t kill you to stay up late just one night out of the week. Just go to sleep right when you get home tomorrow.”

  Easy for her to say, but Sabrina isn’t going to leave me alone and I have to admit it is nice to feel included.

  “Fine. I’ll go! One drink and I’m out. Where do you live?”

  “Yes!” Sabrina says, pumping her fist at her side. “You can both follow me.” She links arms with Talya and me, skip dragging us down the hallway.

  I’m not exactly a social butterfly, so I’m already feeling nervous about meeting Sabrina’s friends and I already know I’m going to regret this tomorrow morning.

  I get into my car then follow Sabrina and Talya out of the parking lot. About five miles from Chloe Dillon’s, Sabrina slows down in front of a high-rise building and motions us to pass her. As I drive by, she yells out the window that she only has two parking spots in her parking garage and one belongs to her roommate, so we’ll have to find street parking. She’ll meet us in number Thirty-thirty.

  I drive around for about ten minutes, looking for a parking space I can actually squeeze into without leaving half my car hanging in the street, then make my way back towards Sabrina’s building, running into Talya at the entrance.

  “This should be fun,” Talya says excitedly, pulling open one of the heavy double doors.

  As we step into the lobby, I’m wondering if this a condominium complex or a hotel because it sure looks like a hotel to me; and a fancy one at that. The man in a bellhop type suit seated behind the front desk smiles, nodding his head in our direction. Are we supposed to sign in or something? We observe travertine floors polished to a high gloss, vaulted cathedral ceilings and elegant lobby furniture in awed confusion. I glance at the building directory enclosed in glass on the wall. Concierge, Gym, Movie Room, Club house... The man behind the desk says nothing so we keep walking until we see a silver plated sign with the word Elevator on it. Talya and I glance at each other with wide eyes when we see that the Thirtieth floor is marked penthouse.

  “I didn’t know she was rich,” she says as the elevator doors close behind us.

  I knew she was well off but this...well, this is definitely rich. The elevator bell dings as we reach the top. I walk the wrong way immediately as always, but Talya grabs my hand, leading me in the opposite direction.

  We follow the silver plates on two other numbered doors until we get to Thirty-thirty. The sound of loud music seeps into the quiet hallway from the other side of the door . I’m not sure anyone will hear the doorbell, but we ring it anyway then wait a minute or two, staring at each other in silence. Talya cautiously grasps the doorknob and turns, pushing the door open

  The doorway leads down a hallway with doors on both sides. I peak behind one door, revealing a small powder room. We keep going and the hallway opens up to a large living room and dining room combination. The cavernous living area sprawls to the right opposite a spectacular all-white kitchen with subway tile backsplash. The wall next to a large pantry with glass doors holds open, dark wood shelving for pots and pans instead of traditional cabinetry. A large, gleaming chrome range hood hangs suspended above the center island housing a six burner, restaurant quality cook top. This is seriously my dream kitchen. I’ve drooled over it a thousand times on HGTV and now its right here in Sabrina’s house. Not that I cook, but I swear I would if I had a kitchen like this. And that’s not even the best part. Straight ahead lies an amazing view of the San Diego Bay through giant floor to ceiling windows occupying most of the back wall. Gigantic french doors lead out to the balcony. Through spotless windows, the city skyline sparkles brilliantly against the dark night sky and the reflection of the moon bounces off the pitch black water amidst the twinkle of sailboats and yachts bobbing up and down in the bay. Is this the place where she wanted me to move in with her?

  Two girls holding wine glasses chat animatedly in the kitchen while a third lounges on the couch in the living room, talking into her cell phone.

  “Hey,” the brunette from the kitchen calls out to us. “Everyone’s upstairs. Appetizers are here but all the drinks are upstairs.” She turns back to her conversation.

  I admire her wild patterned leggings and black flowing top—the kind where the armpit area of the shirt doesn’t actually come anywhere near your actual armpits when you put it on—ensemble. I tried one of those shirts on once and it made me look big and frumpy, but it looks great on her.

  Talya and I approach the white marble kitchen island filled with an array of different appetizers to choose from.

  “Oh, yum,” Talya says, grabbing a plate. She hands one to me and we load up. My sandwich is long gone and I’m starving. I grab two sliders, a few golden colored balls speckled with green flecks, and a few rolled up looking things with toothpicks stuck in them.

  “How do you eat so much and stay so thin?” I ask Talya who has loaded her plate with about five of everything. Good thing the plates are real and not paper or it would collapse under the weight.

  “It’s all in the genes. Metabolism, I guess. I was skinny as a child. I hated it, but now I don’t mind because I get to eat whatever I want.”

  How many supermodels have I heard say that very same thing on TV interviews? I should be so lucky. I feel like I have to watch every single bite that goes into my mouth. If I don’t, my jeans literally feel tigh
ter the next day. Plates filled, we glance around, looking for stairs. The girl said everyone was upstairs, but I don’t see a staircase. I start toward a hallway off the living room.

  “The deck is outside,” the girl on the couch says.

  Oh. We head out the French doors. I’m immediately chilled by the cool air coming in off the bay and glad I wore my jacket.

  From the balcony, we make our way up the spiral stairs to a giant, well-lit rooftop deck with a pool at the far end. Chairs and side tables are neatly arranged into different seating areas with potted greenery scattered throughout. Everyone clusters around a giant, L-shaped wicker sectional covered in bright orange seat cushions and equally bright, multi-colored pillows. Talya follows me as I head toward one of the industrial sized heat lamps to keep warm. I’m not sure exactly what I would have worn if I’d known in advance I was coming here, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have been this. My old button up white shirt with blue and black vertical stripes, standard fare, wide leg, black work pants and black nylon jacket are outdated and plain amongst this fashionably dressed crowd.

  “Hey, there you are!” Sabrina says as she sashays her way through a cluster of people and over to us. “Come on, come on, let’s get a drink and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  Talya smiles enthusiastically, chowing down on one of her sliders, while I sigh inwardly. I was hoping to stay where I was by the heat lamp and keep to myself until sufficient time had passed and I could leave. Lured by the promise of a drink and not wanting to be left behind, I trail behind them as Sabrina leads us to a mini bar set up off to the side next to the outdoor kitchen. “Ben, we need you!” she calls out.