Page 10 of Mine

I spotted him in the back of the coffeeshop instantly. He was the only one dressed in a business suit, and he had a black leather bag sitting on the table in front of him. Definitely not a writer. I plastered on a smile and headed back.

“Hi, I’m Sara,” I said. I slid into the chair opposite him. He looked nervous, almost angry.

“Stand back up,” he ordered.

“Um, sure,” I said. Awkwardly, I stood up again, hands at my sides. He looked me up and down, squinting at me like I was a cantaloupe he had been sent to pick up from the grocery store.

“Did you want me to read some lines?” I asked, after a couple of seconds.

“What color are your eyes?”

“Green,” I said. As if he couldn’t see for himself.

“Brown hair, green eyes. I asked for blue eyes. You don’t have blue eyes.”

“Sorry,” I said. “If it’s that important for the part, I can get contact lenses.”

“Yes,” he said, seemingly distracted. He didn’t stop looking at me, evaluating every part. “Yes, we’ll have to do that. I asked for big, but… you’re bigger than her. Wider. In the hips.”

Roger hadn’t told me they asked for a fat chick. I guess it made sense, though.

“Thanks,” I said, pressing my lips together so that I didn’t blurt out something sarcastic that would cost me the part. I was used to casting directors commenting on my body, even for roles that asked for curvy girls. “I can act, too.”

“Huh? Oh. Yes. Right. Yes, you’ll need to do that.”

He looked me up and down one more time, then nodded.

“You’ll do.”

“Thanks,” I said again, grinding my teeth. “Roger said this was a one-day part.”

“Yes,” the man said. “We’ll start now.”

He stood up and began walking to the door. I followed him. So much for him buying me coffee.

“There’s a dress shop down the street here,” he said. “We’ll see if some clothes will make the difference.”

“Okay. What kind of a part is this?”

“Later,” the man said. “I’ll explain later.”

“Okay, but I’d like to know, you know, how much the pay is, what I’m going to be doing. Union rules—”

“Yes, yes,” the man said. He darted a quick look down one side of the street, and then took my arm and began walking the other way. “Later. My guy said you were a method actor.”

“That’s right,” I said, feeling inordinately proud. I wasn’t just the chubby brown-haired girl. I was the chubby brown-haired girl that took her acting very seriously.

We walked quickly down the street toward the dress shop, stopping in a drugstore to pick up some cheap colored contacts. I wish I could say that mornings in L.A. were refreshing, but the smell of piss really comes out of the alleyways once the sun rises. The man couldn’t stop looking back over his shoulder.

“Do you have a stalker?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” The man’s face froze in something like fear.

“Do you have a stalker? The way you’re looking behind us at every corner, I thought maybe your ex-wife might be joining us with a knife.”

I swear to God, this guy’s face went dead white. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. What kind of a job was this? I was beginning to reconsider staying with Roger as an agent.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, coughing through his words and avoiding my curious gaze.

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