Page 2 of First Impressions of You

I’m deciding whether or not to post them when I hear them.

At first, I think the voices belong to parkgoers just like everyone else around me, but as soon as they start talking about the play, I perk up my ears like a dog when they hear their favorite words.

I concentrate to try to make out what they’re saying, but other than a few words here and there, I can’t hear much. Without even thinking, I scoot closer to the entrance, still sitting on the stonewall bench. There’s a small part of me that questions whether I should eavesdrop or not, but if it really is a secret conversation, they wouldn’t be having it out in the open, would they?

“You chose this, you know,” a woman is saying.

“I know this, but you also said you’d…” The answer comes from a man with a deep, smooth voice. If drinking hot chocolate in front of a crackling fireplace on a cold night were a sound, it would be his voice. There’s a crispness to it that reminds me of the winter, but there’s also a husky warmth that envelops you like a warm blanket.

“I know what I said, Davis,” the woman cuts him off. If his voice reminds me of winter, hers is a summer day, bright and silvery. “This is what we always do here. You can’t just waltz in and try to change how the whole system works.”

“This system is bullshit, Emily.” His voice takes on a slightly colder edge as the exasperation becomes stronger. What system are they talking about? “These people were hired to work at the park. If they truly were good actors, wouldn’t they be… you know, acting?”

Wait. What? Is he…

Who the fuck is this guy?

I can’t see either of them from where I’m sitting. He called her Emily, so I can only assume he’s talking to the director of the play, Emily Eddings. I have no idea who the guy is, but I already know I don’t like him.

What kind of person says something like that?

He hasn’t even seen the auditions, and he’s already presuming none of us is talented?

The audacity.

My indignation is not just for me, though I do feel personally attacked by his comment. But it’s for everyone who’s been a cast member here.

Movieland is known for discovering new talent specifically through its live performances at the park. The shows basically exist for new actors to get a shot in this unforgiving industry. I’ve lost count of how many Hollywood big names came from being a cast member at Movieland.

Has he never heard of Hazel Williams? I’ve literally just saw a preteen dressed as Hazel’s latest character, the heroine every girl wants to be right now. Hazel’s been nominated for an Academy Award, for God’s sake. And she came up from a live performance just like the one they’re currently hosting auditions for—the audition that I’m about to walk into.

My rage spiral has caused me to lose track of their conversation. I have to keep myself from getting up to yell in this guy’s face. I’m this close to doing it, but I don’t. Only because he’s talking to Emily Eddings, and I don’t want to make a scene in front of the director.

“Go back inside,” she orders him. Now that I’m focused again, I can hear them clearly. “We’ll start soon. Get your shit together, and fix this attitude.”

“You don’t need me for the first round,” he says in that deep voice of his. It’s a statement, not a question. He sounds so full of himself, I don’t doubt I’d find him pushing a stroller to carry his ego with him.

“I thought you wanted to be a part of the process, Davis. This is the process.” I can hear the snark in her voice.

“I’m happy to be a part of the real process. The one with real talent.” Real talent? Who is he to judge what’s real talent, anyway? I bet he’s some nobody who’s never acted for a minute in his life, ready to judge everyone based solely on his high-and-mighty opinion.

“I already regret asking you to do this, Davis. I swear to God, you…” Emily’s voice is laced with fury now.

“I’ll fill out the seats, and you know it. You said it yourself, Em. You needed a name to bring in the audience, and you basically coerced me into doing this. Now, forgive me if I’m not on board with the whole stupid process. Call me when you need me.”

A stroller might not be enough for his ego, I decide. A whole truck maybe.

The conversation ends without so much as a goodbye, but I don’t fault the director for slamming the door on his face. I would’ve done the same.

I wait a couple of minutes before getting up to follow Emily inside. I don’t want to risk seeing this guy and doing something that I might regret later and ruin my chance at this play.

The blood that had run cold with anxiety is now boiling through my veins. I’ve found new motivation, and it’s not like I was lacking before.

Too much is at stake here. This audition could very well be the chance to change my life once and for all. Being cast in this play is not just something I want, it’s something I need. This is my last chance to stay in the United States. My last chance to follow my dream.

And now, it’s also my chance to prove this guy wrong.

The back door opens to an anteroom with low lights and a set of furniture that looks four decades past its prime. It’s very anticlimactic. A production assistant sits at a desk checking our employee IDs and crossing our names from an awfully long list. I wonder how many people signed up for this.

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