Beneath The Skin(132)

Quite suddenly, whatever wrinkle of guilt I was feeling is long gone.

“I got the part!” I say elatedly into the phone when I’m by myself in the corner of the lobby, just outside the auditorium doors.

“Of course you did, doll,” sings my mother’s fluid voice. I hear wine glasses and silverware tinkling in the background, wherever she is. “Now, it’s important that you put in an actor’s worth of work. No, I’ll take another chardonnay. Please, with some brie.”

I smile as I stare out the tall glass windows of the lobby, letting my mom talk to whoever else it is who’s got her attention. I’m watching some sweaty guys throwing a Frisbee back and forth in the courtyard outside, too happy with the news to be bothered by my mom’s distracted attention to it.

As a side thought, I genuinely wonder if Cece would be happy for me and have some nice words. She’s not used to me having any sort of success. Maybe I should call her up, too.

“An actor’s worth of work?” I prompt her when it sounds like she’s free. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know, doll. Listen to your director. Make interesting choices. Don’t upstage. Excuse me, this is not the chardonnay I drank earlier. Where’s the good stuff, sweet thing? Get Geoffrey, he knows what I like. And don’t forget the brie.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Brie, yes. Brie. This’ll be good for you, doll,” she says, returning to me. “You really need to find that special voice in you. Put in the work and you’ll get as much as you give. Call me after your first rehearsal.”

Silence greets my ear when she hangs up abruptly. I see a flash of my mom’s headshot on the screen before my phone goes dark.

I feel so damn invincible suddenly. I could take on a hundred auditions, even with my tiny little nothing embellished piece of crap résumé. I’d brave any tiny circular stage at any random piano bar and sing my heart out. I can do anything.

And then I see Clayton’s face in that piano bar. I recall how I made him squirm on that barstool—and then how he left so abruptly after I made my move.

A heaviness settles right on top of all of my joy. He couldn’t hear my singing. Maybe he didn’t know what I was doing. Maybe he thought I was mocking him. Maybe he hates attention. Who the hell knows what he was thinking after my little performance?

I want to make things right. Excitement invades me again. An inspiration, if you will. My heart grows lighter just thinking about it.

I can make this right.

Driven by my idea, I rush to the computer lab at the library just down the road from the School of Art. It’s pretty crowded for a Monday, but I manage to find an unoccupied computer right in the middle of the madness. Typing quickly, I log in and run a little search in the browser. I study the pictures that come up, curious. With a click, a video fills the screen. I move my hands, carefully trying to imitate what I’m seeing. There’s a few students nearby whose attention I’ve caught, but I pay them no mind, the performer in me ignoring the unintended audience.

The smile returns to my face. Today is just the best day ever.

The sun beams on me as I cross the campus later, heading for the University Center for a bit of lunch. Since Victoria forgot about our plans, I opt to eat by myself. I’m far too happy to feel bad. It’s not my fault I got cast and she didn’t. If I could give my part to Victoria, I totally would, but what would I have, then? The whole point of attending this university is to get a normal college experience and hone my craft. I’m sure Victoria will understand; she just needs time. Hell, maybe in a few days’ time, she’ll even help me with my lines. Victoria’s a good, kindhearted person.

After I pay for my turkey sub sandwich, which comes with a bag of baked potato chips and a soda I didn’t want but accept anyway, I search for an empty table. Noon is just the worst time to eat; this place is so packed, I can’t even hear my own thoughts.

When I come around the corner, I spot a booth with a familiar face. Sam, my roommate, is eating all by herself. Or, rather, she’s not eating at all. She’s seated there with a textbook spread out in front of her, looking bored as ever. Those ugly thick-rimmed black glasses swallowing half her forehead, she looks up, her beady black eyes finding mine. Her lips stretch into a long line, which I think is her trademarked version of a smile.

I plop down across from her. “Hey there, Sam!”

“Hi.” Her eyes drop down to my sandwich.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. “What’re you studying?” I ask, opening the crinkly wrapping to my turkey sub.

“Theory.”