Page 3 of Don't Quit the Day Job

“No, not at all.” I smile to show her I’m not genuinely sad. “I don’t even have a sister.” I hold up the stack of half-crumpled pages in my hand. “I’m trying to memorize lines for my audition. It’s for a TV show.” I try to keep the excitement out of my voice. “It’s a small role, but if it goes well, it could lead to more bookings at Telemundo.” I sit back, trying to make myself comfortable on the cold plastic as it presses into my thighs. I knew I should have worn a longer skirt. There’s also a distinct and unpleasant body odor in the carriage that I’m trying to ignore.

Riding the subway is not for the faint of heart. I stare down at my short navy shirt and bare skin and squeeze my thighs together. There’s a man standing to the left of me, holding onto the pole, and he appears to be licking his lips as he stares at me.

“Oh...” The older woman scratches her nose and I look away as she digs into her nostril. “I was going to tell you to light his shit on fire. Burn it all to the ground.” She’s getting agitated now. “Don’t let him get away with it!”

“It’s not real.” I say quickly as I glance back at her. Maybe it had been a mistake to rehearse on the train. “I think you misunderstood me. I’m an actress.” I pause to wait for her to ask if I’ve been in anything she’d know or possibly mistake me for someone famous, but she just stares at me, no excitement or recognition in her eyes. “I’m just reciting my lines. See they’re here on the page.” I push the page toward her. “I’m not burning anything down. I don’t even know a Rodrigo Alejandro Suarez.”

“Aha...” She nods and offers me a huge wink. “And I don’t know a Danny Johnson that lives in Florence, South Carolina. And officer, I sure don’t know how his car got all them scratches on it after he fucked around on me at the strip bar.”

“Uh, okay.” I push my papers back into my handbag and look around the train. The blue-haired skateboard hippie on the other side of us appears to be listening to music on his phone, but I can see his lips twitch as he keeps glancing at us. He’s eavesdropping.

Unless he's glancing at my handbag. It’s a real Chanel bag that my best friend, Zara, got for me when I moved into my own place a couple weeks ago. I stand up and head to the doors so I can get off at the next exit. I’m not taking any chances that I’m about to be robbed. Or molested.

The man who was holding the pole is now closer to me and trying to look down my shirt. It’s professional in that it’s a shirt, but the top two buttons are undone and I know boobage is showing. But the outfit is for the role: Maria Conchita Violeta Estella Diaz. Maria is a professional, but she likes to appear sexy. I am neither a professional, nor naturally sexy. I wish I had the sassiness that permeates the character on the page. Though, I don’t really like pervy men looking at me like I’m a piece of meat.

I really need to stop taking the 1 train, but it’s not like I can afford cabs and my hopefully-soon-to-be skinny ass has no interest in walking the four miles from 121st Street and Amsterdam to 9th Ave and 31st Street, where the audition is being held, in the hot sun. It’s an hour-and-a-half walk. In heels. Not going to happen. The next stop is Lincoln Center. I hesitate as the doors open. I’m supposed to get off at the Cathedral exit. I don’t really want to walk any farther than I have to, but as I look around the train, I see both the sketchy perverted man adjusting himself as he stares at me and the skater kid who is definitely eyeing my bag and hurry off and onto the platform.

I’ll just have to walk. And try not to die of exhaustion.

My phone rings as I head up the stairs and I smile when I see it’s Zara. I answer immediately. She’ll know how to calm my nerves.

“Hey girl,” I answer and take a deep breath as I get to the top of the stairs. “What’s up?”

“Why do you sound so out of breath? Did you go running?”

“Did I get a lobotomy? No, of course I didn’t go running.” I join the throngs of people leaving the subway and make my way to the street. “Though, maybe I should start running so I can get into better shape.” I take another deep breath. “I had to get off the train early and now I have to walk a billion blocks in those black heels I got on sale from Neiman Marcus and my feet are already killing me.”

“Where are you off to?”

“My audition, remember?”

“Oh yeah, where you have to sing Ale-Ale-jandro to your cheating ex?” Zara’s tone is light, but I know she wasn’t impressed by the script.

“Zara, look, I’m telling you that even though the show isn’t Shakespeare, it could lead me to getting a TV deal with Telemundo.”

“But you don’t speak any Spanish, Lila,” she reminds me. “Why on Earth would they want you?” She stops abruptly. “Wait, that came out meaner than I intended. I just meant that...” Her voice trails off and I let her stew in her contrition for a few seconds before I burst out laughing.

“It’s fine. I don’t actually think I’ll get the job. There’s a job fair in the building next to the audition, so I’m going to hit that up as well. Find me a way to pay the rent on my gorgeous new place in Morningside Heights.” I beam as I think of my 300 square-foot studio apartment. I only have an inflatable mattress so far, but I don’t mind.

“Lila, you know that Jackson is more than willing to hire you at his company…” she starts, but doesn’t continue. She knows that I don’t want any handouts from her new billionaire fiancé, Jackson Pruitt. He’s hot and I love him for her, but I want to make my way on my own. Or at least try for more than three weeks before I give up and go running home with my tail between my legs.

“No thank you.” I keep my tone pleasant because, even though I’m not willing, I’m still grateful for the offer. “I appreciate it, but?—”

“But you don’t like to take handouts and you want to make it on your own.” Zara sounds like she’s reciting lines from the Lila Haversham handbook. “I get it, so I won’t offer again, but if you need anything, you better come to me.”

“I will. I promise.” I continue my way down the street and avert my eyes from the pastries enticing me from the French bakery I’m passing. What I wouldn’t give for a pain au raisin and a double shot of espresso right now. However, I have neither the money to waste nor the time to give, as now that I’m walking to the audition, I will arrive about three minutes before schedule.

“You’ll never ever ever have my heart again, Rodrigo Alejandro Swore...ah shit, what was it again?” A young woman with long fiery red hair and green eyes curses under her breath as she passes me. I watch as she grabs a page from her handbag and reads what appears to be the same script that I’ve been memorizing all morning.

“Hey, Zara, can I call you back later?” I whisper into the phone. “I need to concentrate on getting there.”

“Sure thing. Break a leg, Lila.”

“Thanks.” I hang up and hurry to catch up to the redhead, who has now passed me, which is an admirable feat because she’s in heels even higher than mine.

“Hi,” I say as I step into sync with her. “Are you also auditioning for the part of Maria?” I ask with a warm smile, hoping she is friendly and not combative like some of the other actors I’ve auditioned against.

“Yes, I am.” She looks at me and I notice that her green eyes are in their own way just as fiery as her red hair. She’s striking and reminds me of some sort of Scotch-Irish warrior woman. She would have fit right in with the cast of Braveheart. “I doubt I’ll get it,” she says, giggling, and I’m immediately warmed by the sound. “I know I don’t look like the stereotypical Maria Conchita, and I can’t even remember the lines, but it’s all practice right?”

---