Page 10 of Marisol Acts the Part
Suddenly, I feel overdressed in my pink leather miniskirt, matching ankle boots, and white silk blouse. I’ll admit the pussy bow on my top might be a bit much, but if I want to take myself more seriously, I’ve got to dress the part.
Clearly, Rune doesn’t feel the same way.
When he finally picks his head up, the intensity of his gaze nearly knocks the wind out of me. There’s a strange, wild look to his eyes—like he’s a starving predator on the hunt, and I’m his latest meal, served up on a silver platter.
“H-hi,” I manage to choke out, pulling my attention away from Rune’s piercing blue eyes and focusing on Marie instead.
The casting assistant bustles around me, muttering to himself as he fiddles with the camera. I readjust the pink bow fastened at the crown of my head, searching for something to keep my hands busy. While Rune whispers to Marie, mouth covered by his hand, I quickly glance down at the notebook he was writing in earlier. Coffee stains litter the worn pages of the Moleskine. Notes and drawings cover every inch of it, going beyond the laid-out margins and across the binding betweenthe pages. Some of it has even made its way off the page, pen marks littering the slips of paper beneath his notebook.
“Stand here,” the casting assistant says, not waiting for me to respond before physically moving me himself onto a black duct-taped mark in front of the camera.
I swallow hard and toy with my nameplate necklace while he adjusts the camera, then returns to the foldout table beside Marie and Rune.
“How are you?” Marie asks, her expression sympathetic when I jump at the sound of her voice.
“Good. Great,” I reply with my best attempt at a smile. The sweat pooling beneath my arms and across my face is getting harder to ignore. Obviously, my makeup will stay in place, but knowing my eyeliner will stay as flawless as ever doesn’t do anything to soothe the anxiety coursing through me like the venti extra dirty chai latte I downed on the way here.
In retrospect, five shots of espresso was definitely a bad call.
But in my defense, I barely got any sleep last night. Ever since Delia emailed me about this audition, I’ve been plagued by nightmares about forgetting my lines and completely blanking in front of Rune. I’m no stranger to auditions, and normally I’m able to calm my nerves with a morning run, but this has higher stakes than any of my other ones. Even theLegally Blondereboot.
All the fears that have been piling up for months—that I’m being written off because ofAvalon Grove,that no one wants to take a chance on me because they don’t think of me as anything more than a “teen starlet”—bubble to the surface. Then there’s the breakup. The growing mountain of ghosted auditions and callbacks. The lack of any calls to my agent except for branddeals and the occasional commercial. If I didn’t have the right image for a Netflix rom-com, then how the hell am I going to fit the bill for a gritty prestige drama series?
After we wrappedAvalon Grove,Delia told me my career was only beginning, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way when everyone’s decided that one character is all I’ll ever be able to do. And it doesn’t matter that I think that’s absolute bullshit. That I loved playing Celia, or that I loved working onAvalon Groveeven more. It gave me and Mom financial security for the first time in years. It gave me my best friends. It gave me Miles, and as much as it might hurt to think about him now, I still can’t find it in me to regret falling in love with him.
Was it the most groundbreaking and original show? No. Was it the greatest performance of my career? I hope not. But that doesn’t change that it was still something important to people. An opportunity for teenagers to see themselves represented on-screen—not downplaying the emotional intensity of how it feels to fall in love at our age or brushing off our feelings. That show meant something—to me, to my friends, to the world. And I’m really freaking tired of people trying to make me feel like there’s something wrong with that.
Needless to say, with those thoughts swirling, I got about two hours of actual rest. I either needed to hop myself up on caffeine and sugar, or risk falling asleep mid-monologue.
That is, assuming they’ll have me read a monologue. No one has actually told mewhatI’m supposed to be doing yet. All I’d been told was to come as “open to the energy of the world” as possible. I did twenty minutes of yoga this morning, which means I’m more open to the energy of the world than usual, right?
Did Miles have to go through this? Because I can’t imagineMiles “Studies his lines until he can say them forward, backward, and in Mandarin” Zhao wouldn’t have been panicking. He’d been intentionally vague about his auditions, thanks to the NDA he, and now I, had to sign before our in-person auditions. An NDA so long it may have demanded I sacrifice my firstborn if I ever talk publicly about the casting process, and I would have no idea—my eyes started to glaze over by page three. Of nine.
Still, the thought of Miles makes me hold myself with more pride. I may feel out of my depth, but that doesn’t mean that I am. Something the world seems to have forgotten is that Miles started in the same place as me. Sure, he took a few extra acting classes during the summers, but that doesn’t mean he’s automatically leading man material while my career withers into dust. If Miles can pivot his career, I can too.
Rune whispers something to the casting assistant this time, careful to keep his mouth covered. Once Rune pulls away, the casting assistant nods and leafs through his clipboard before handing a half sheet to me.
“Please read this into the camera whenever you’re ready.”
It’s a short, typed passage. Barely three lines. I scan them over and over, trying to memorize them as quickly as I can. Remembering lines has never been one of my strong suits. Miles used to joke that I wouldn’t remember my own name if I didn’t wear it around my neck every day. These are even harder to nail down—none of the sentences flow together to create a cohesive narrative.
I am the goddess of the death. Tomorrow I’ll see what the world has in store for me. You mean nothing to me.
Definitely more intense than what I’m used to.
I inhale deeply, following the instructions from the yoga video I’d watched this morning to center myself and clear my mind. I can do this. I can be the goddess of death.
When I finish reading the lines to the camera, my panel of judges are completely stone-faced. It’s not unusual for the people you’re auditioning for to keep their reactions to themselves, but it does feel especially unnerving this time.
“That was great,” Marie says suddenly, as if she sensed my panic, while Rune turns back to his notebook. “Can you try it again, but a little bit slower?”
I nod, give her a shy smile, and walk myself through a round of breathing exercises before reading the passage again. There’s no immediate response to my second read-through. Marie looks warily over at Rune, who’s still writing in his notebook, while the casting assistant taps away at his laptop. What feels like hours go by when Rune abruptly sits up, seemingly struck by a bolt of lightning, and stares me down with those electric blue eyes.
“Try it again, but with a more primal energy,” he says, his voice low and gruff.
When he stands up, I expect him to be close to seven feet tall, but he’s smaller than his aura projects. His rumpled sweater hangs loosely around his willowy frame, his clavicle on full display where the collar dips. With heels on, I’m only an inch or two shorter than him. He comes to the other side of the table, crosses his arms, and keeps his attention so set on me, it could drill a hole between my eyes. A jarring switch-up from him pretending that I don’t exist for the past several minutes. He leans past the camera, so close I can smell the coffeeand cigarettes on his breath when he whispers, “Harness your power.”
I nod, averting my eyes away from Rune’s invasive gaze and concentrating on the camera instead. Instead of launching right into the lines again, I close my eyes. Let myself stew in the emotions that have been stirring through me the past two weeks. Anger, resentment, guilt.
