After her thirty-second pause, I stood and extended my hand. She obviously had no advice. She continued, “Have a seat.”
She covered her face. “This is so embarrassing.”
Don’t tell me this lady wants to sex me up after seeing me in my underwear. She was much too slim for me, but still I smiled. “Go ahead. Say what’s on your mind.”
“Okay, I have another opportunity that you might be interested in.”
I scooted up in my chair. This was my kind of criticism. She explained, “It’s kind of out-of-the-ordinary, but it’s still acting. The pay is equivalent to the base scale for a low-budget film.”
“Really?”
“Yes, it’s a six-month contract, subject to renewal.”
“What film? What company? Tell me all the details.”
“It’s sort of like reality TV.”
“That’s cool.”
“If you were to get the part, you would be playing the boyfriend of a young lady who is tired of dating losers.”
I chuckled. “Okay. Will it be aired? What’s the object of the show?”
“Well, it’s kinda like reality TV without the cameras.”
“Get out of here.”
She shook her head and grabbed a folder. “She plans to cast sometime this week. If you’re interested, let me know and I’ll get you on the schedule. And please, do not discuss this with your agent or any other actors.” She winked. “This is a side job where you make all the money. I’ve hand-selected you, because my instincts tell me that you’re a really cool guy.”
“I appreciate this. My lips are sealed.”
This job sounded like a dream come true. Get paid for reality. Who could beat that?
When I got home and opened the folder, I flipped through the script. I was convinced that the main lady was the casting director. Had the dating scene gotten so bad that beautiful women now had to pay men to act like their man? Sadly enough, I wouldn’t know. I’d been out of the mix since my last girlfriend gave me the ultimatum of choosing her or my acting career. My mother raised me to believe that a man should take care of his woman and knowing that I wasn’t in the position to provide for a woman like I should, I let her walk. No woman should have to sit around and watch a man dream. Nor should a man sacrifice his dream to be with a woman. If he doesn’t have his stuff together, he needs to be alone.
The scenes outlined how the man should react to various situations. Most of these things should be second nature. Before I buried myself in the remainder of the script, I called Mya and told her to put me on the schedule. I said, “You can tell everyone else to stay home.”
She chuckled. “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to do that.”
While she gave me the details, I scanned my closet and planned for attack. She told me that the main character, Fatima, would like to be referred to as Ms. Barnes during the casting. I asked, “Is Fatima her real name?”
“Yes.”
I prayed this young lady was as cute as her name. Her adorable little comments in the script made me anxious to meet her. The thought that she felt deserving of this treatment intrigued me more.
Scene 6
FATIMA
Mya scheduled five actors to meet me at a midtown restaurant thirty minutes apart. I sat alone reading over the portfolios of the prospects. Even I had begun to think this was a ludicrous idea, but it was too late to reconsider because Number One was about to walk on stage.
Before I pulled out my makeup compact, I took a deep breath. As I powdered my nose, I frowned at my reflection. What the hell are you doing? He doesn’t have to find you the least bit attractive.
I gave the host a heads-up that I’d be here for awhile. While I sipped on a glass of Merlot, I drummed on the table.
When I saw the host direct Pee-Wee Herman to my table, I choked the stem of my wineglass. I ducked down and peeked over my shoulder. Is there any way I could hide out until Number Two arrives? I bit my bottom lip. Then, I realized this is no blind date where I have to sit here and smile at some poorly dressed man. My script dictates what I like my man to wear and he was out of character. By the time he reached the table, my expression should have shooed him away. He extended his hand and I scrutinized his outfit. A plastic replica Prada belt sat inches below his chest and strangled the waist of his straight-legged slacks. Dense collections of lint were scattered all over his shirt. He should have vacuumed it.
We shook hands and he raised mine and planted a kiss on it. “Please to meet you, Ms. Barnes.”
I nodded, but didn’t tell him that I was pleased as well. When we sat, I flipped through my copy of the script and ignored his icebreakers. I found the section on Attire and Style and turned the paper around so that he could see. “Did you read this section?”
“Yeah, I noticed you specified a stylish guy, but it says only dress shirts in the blue family or white.” He curled up his nose. “That’s not so stylish. I figured I’d break out with a little pastel. You know, embellish a little.”
Did he just pop his collar? He needed to bring it down a notch, one collar at a time. I stared through him.
“See, I’m a metrosexual. I felt like that’s what the script was asking for.”
Maybe we were from different metro areas, because around my way, there was nothing metro or sexual about him. I squinted. “Can you read?”
“Yeah.”
Through clinched teeth, I said, “That’s not what I asked for.”
“Nah, I’ve heard directors like to see you put a spin on things.”
I laughed. A spin is one thing, but he’d spun out of control. Would the fashion police please escort this clown away from my table? I extended my hand. “Thanks for coming out.”
As he continued to defend his fashion violation, I nodded. “I understand, but I’m really looking for something specific. I’m sorry. Thanks for coming out.”
He departed with a smile after kissing my hand. I raised my glass to the waiter. I had fifteen minutes to gulp down two glasses. Even when you write explicitly what you’re looking for, dating is a challenge. I rolled my eyes in my head. I’m paying for them to follow instructions and they still want to do it their way.
I looked up and saw Number Two approaching with a crisp electric blue dress shirt and nice fitting black slacks. When he extended his hand, I glimpsed at his nice cuff links and exhaled. He raised my wrist and planted his soft lips on my hand. “Good afternoon, Ms. Barnes.”
“Good afternoon…” I shuffled through my papers to find his name.
He asked, “Would you like a Sante Fe Salad?”
The intensity in his eyes charmed me. When the beautiful Hispanic waitress got the same intense stare, my eyes tried to recruit his back in my direction. He was so entranced that he didn’t notice the disgust on my face. Finally, he turned and smiled at my frown. He reached across the table. His fingertips grazed my forearm. “You look beautiful today.”
Aside from his wandering eyes, I thought he was attractive. He was obviously ambitious. He had several noted gestures in the script down in less than twenty-four hours. Another waitress passed and his head tilted while his eyes stripped her naked. Does this man have any self-control? Just as he was about to be dismissed, the waitress returned with our salads. He might as well have winked at her.
I said, “You’ve fallen out of character three times in ten minutes.”