Page 7 of Broken Romeo

I make it through my audition song and half of my monologue before I stumble, voice stuttering as my gaze sweeps across to his face.

Or rather, his scowl.

In the shadow of the audience, his eyes are as dark as onyx beneath his low, glowering brows. When I stumble, his gaze darkens even more.

He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, both fists pressed to his mouth, barely hiding his frown. His knee bounces ever-so-slightly, the rustle of his pants against the arm of the chair is the only indication of the movement. His merciless expression pins me.

Words sputter out of my mouth like a dying engine, and next thing I know, I’m standing there, mind blank, searching for my next line.

“I… I…” Fuck. What’s my next line in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?

“Stop there,” Holden’s voice booms, echoing off the walls.

He shoves to his feet and stalks back to the table, where he and the other producers huddle and confer for the longest sixty seconds of my life.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief moment. It had been going well. Right up until that moment when the house of cards came crashing down. No, cards were too harmless. This was a house of glass.

Maybe my audition was good enough. Maybe the strength of my singing voice and the beginning of the monologue outweighed my fuckup at the end.

Holden stalks back toward me to the edge of the stage, holding out pages from the script.

“Change of plans,” he says. “I want you to do a cold reading of this scene.”

I glance down at the page. Neon yellow highlights my lines, and I skim them as quickly as I can. It’s a love scene—or rather, a confession. My character is professing her love for the first time to the romantic lead.

Not just professing… Begging. And apologizing.

Fuck. You.

I glance up to where Holden has reclaimed his position, sitting in the front row. He lifts a challenging eyebrow in my direction.

This is just what he wants. He wants to piss me off; he wants me to storm out. He’s trying to get under my skin, but I can’t let him. I can’t let him rob me of this role, too.

I need this part for the sake of my apartment. My career. And Jill. I’ve been aching for the opportunity to show Holden he didn’t ruin me. Well…

Here. It. Is.

In order to do this scene, I have to reframe this hatred for Holden as love. I need to imagine being the one who was in the wrong; the one begging him to take me back.

Basically, I need to be Holden.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

“Ready, Kate?” Maggie asks.

I nod. “Ready.”

Maggie reads the first line—the character of Zach. “I can’t even look at you.”

She reads it in a dull monotone, without any emotion. It’s pretty typical in an audition that a stage manager or non-actor reads the other character like this. It’s a test to see how well you can emote while acting off a brick wall.

“Please don’t walk away from me,” I begin, focusing on the glowing exit sign at the back of the room rather than Holden’s searing eyes. “You can’t honestly tell me we’re over.”

“There’s not a single thing you can say to make this better,” Maggie deadpans. “There’s no coming back from this.”

I shake my head and bite the inside of my cheek. Hard. Forced pain in order to bring tears to my eyes for the sake of the scene. Blood pools below my tongue, and a bit of moisture fills my eyes. I blink and lift my soft palate, trying to draw those tears nearer to the surface, brimming over the edges of my lashes. “I know how this looks, Zach. But it’s not what you—”

“Stop!” Holden’s shout comes loud and sharp, fracturing the focus I’d had.

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