Page 1 of First Impressions of You

CHAPTER 01

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an immigrant woman, in possession of no green card, must be in want of a husband.

Actually, it isn’t universally acknowledged, nor is it true, but it seems like I’m the only one who doesn’t think so.

I’ve lost count of how many messages I’ve gotten over the past four and a half years from aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, former classmates with whom I hadn’t talked in years, even the receptionists at my parents’ clinic, all asking the same thing: have you found yourself an American boyfriend to give you the green card yet?

Has any of them ever asked me about my career? Of course not.

Romantic anecdotes make for good gossip.

No one wants to know about other people’s job updates or professional accomplishments. If they did, LinkedIn would be used a lot more.

Not that I have many of those to share. Professional updates, I mean. Well, romantic anecdotes too, to be honest, but I’m not really looking for those.

I moved to the States with a goal and a plan. And that goal has nothing to do with finding a boyfriend. I don’t have time for that. Not when my time is so limited.

Twelve months. That’s all I have left.

Twelve months and a mile-high pile of odds stacked against me.

Making it as an actress in Hollywood is hard enough. Making it as a plus-size Latina actress? That much harder. Making it as a plus-size Latina actress in under a year? Virtually impossible.

But I’ll take those odds against the alternative every time.

Going back to Brazil isn’t an option.

It’s month six, and I finally have an audition I might have a good shot at.

I tell myself this is just like any other audition. I say it again and again until I feel that my brain is at least pretending to believe it. I don’t give in to the pressure of knowing this might be my last good shot.

Today’s just like any other audition.

The sun is shining bright in a clear blue sky. It’s a typical hot summer morning in LA, but I feel the temperature of my blood lowering in my body as I walk through the gate only employees are allowed to use into the Movieland theme park.

It’s the middle of July and peak season. The park is already crowded, and it hasn’t been open for more than an hour. The air is blanketed in a mixture of sweat and excitement, heat radiating and reflecting from every surface.

Sweet clouds of the heavenly aromas of baked cinnamon, sugar, and nuts swirl in the air coming from Sprinkled Dreams, but everyone seems to ignore it, lost in the frenzy of getting to the most thrilling rides and attractions. I consider stopping by to get a cinnamon roll and say hello to my friend Ellen, but I think better of it and instead join the crowd on their journey along the main street that connects the park entrance to the Hollywood Plaza, where the imposing Palace Theater sits in all its glory.

As the house of the winter play every year, the theater is closed to the public during summer season, but that doesn’t stop people from lining up to take pictures in front of the famous façade. The imposing architecture reminiscent of the Palais Garnier in Paris is the most recognizable sights in the park. The columns and pilasters adorned with luxurious elements of neoclassical and art nouveau styles make for the perfect backdrop for tourist pictures.

It’s no coincidence the theater is not only the focal point of Hollywood Plaza, but also the most iconic building in the park. It’s to Movieland what Sleeping Beauty’s Castle is to Disneyland.

If today goes according to plan, in a few months I’ll be performing inside this magnificent building. Just the thought of it cause goosebumps to erupt all over my body.

I’m at the end of Reel Road, the street that connects the main entrance to the plaza, and I still have some time to spare, so I round the plaza clockwise and stop to observe people taking pictures in front of the theater for a minute before I go in for the audition.

A family of five is next in line. I smile as I notice how they’re all coordinating except for the youngest one. The older girl is dressed head to toe as Scarlet Armas, the warrior heroine of Movieland’s latest blockbuster movie, Shadowfall. The brother, who looks about the same age or just slightly younger, is dressed as another revolutionary hero from an older movie. The parents are wearing matching T-shirts from Raw Notes, a musical considered one of Movieland’s masterpieces. It’s clear that none of them had a say in the youngest’s outfit as she’s wearing a puffy yellow princess dress that belongs in Anaheim.

“Would you like me to take a picture of the family?” I offer, letting my front gate instincts speak louder. I’ve been doing this for six months; I can’t just turn it off.

“Oh, that’d be wonderful. Thank you,” the mother answers with relief. I wait for them to arrange themselves, then take a few pictures with her phone. “Thank you so much,” the mom says when I return it to her. “Do you want me to get one of you as well?”

I’m ready to say no, but what comes out of my mouth is “Yes, please.”

I stand under the marquee and look up to where it says, “Don’t miss it: Frostbound Loyalty, a new show coming this winter.” When I lower my eyes to face the mom, she’s already clicking away. I thank her when she hands the phone back to me, and I start checking the pictures as I walk toward the back entrance of the theater.

It’s still early. The auditions are set to start at 10:30, but I didn’t want to be late. My phone says it’s barely ten, so I find a place under the shade to sit while I look through the pictures. The ones where I’m looking up at the marquee take my breath away. There’s something about them that make them seem almost prophetical, promising a better future.

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