“I did. Thanks for coming out.”
His head drooped as he stood. Next. Puddles formed in my eyes as Number Three approached. Don’t even ask what he had on. My watery eyes were too glossy to notice. My nose burned. Did the script say bathe in cologne or wear cologne? My mug questioned the scent as he neared. Is it Brut? Is it Musk? It stunk and he stunk. I rubbed my eyes. Somebody, help me.
As he extended his hand, my lips flipped up to protect my nose. I nodded, but did not speak as he greeted me. He asked, “Are you okay?”
Here we go again. I’d pretty much reached my threshold. My eyes twirled rapidly in my head. “What kind of cologne are you wearing?”
“It’s your favorite.”
“Oh, no, it’s not.”
He smiled. “It’s Acqua di Gio.”
“Not Giorgio Armani’s version.”
Even if he bathed in it, he shouldn’t smell like that. As we debated about his cologne, he jumped and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. It vibrated in his hand. He flipped it open.
After checking his phone, he smiled as if to say, “So where were we?”
I asked, “Are you expecting a call?”
“No.”
“So, why did you feel the need to look at your phone during your audition?”
He gasped. “Ah, c’mon. I mean this is so informal. You know?”
What happened to always respecting me and the job? I cleared my throat. “Thank you for your time.”
I didn’t extend my hand, nor did he. My forehead fell into my helpless hands. Convinced that I should cancel the next two appointments, I called Mya.
“How’s it going?”
When I didn’t respond, she said, “You didn’t like my picks.”
“They were all nice looking, but they were all losers.”
After explaining to her how they’d all misinterpreted the script, she laughed hysterically. “Now, can you see why my job is so stressful?”
“Girl, I feel for you now. It’s one thing to read a manuscript that you just don’t like and send a rejection to a faceless person. But it’s entirely different when you tell someone exactly what you’re looking for and they sit in front you and do something totally different. Then you have to smile when you tell them that they misinterpreted you.”
“You got it down in just three auditions. That’s what I go through everyday.”
“I guess that’s why you’re so blunt.”
“After all this time, you finally understand me.”
I laughed. “You’re silly. I’m about to leave. Cancel the next two guys.”
“No! You have to go through with it now. It won’t be so bad. You only have two left.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
“The best is yet to come. Be patient.”
“Mya, Number Four should be here. I’m leaving.”
“Tima, you are rotten. You better not leave after I put my job on the line for you.”
“Don’t patronize me. You didn’t put your job on the line.”
She laughed. “Sike. Can you just calm down, though? I’m sure he’ll be there. These guys are looking for work.”
I sighed. “No wonder he’s looking for work. He can’t follow directions. He’ll still be looking in thirty seconds.”
“Have you checked to see if Paxil will work for you? That seems to be a milder alternative to Prozac.”
“Screw you.”
After our quick laugh, I hung up and put an X across his resume. Tardiness will not be tolerated was the note I placed beside the name. The waitress walked over with a new bottle of the same sixty-seven dollar Merlot that I had just emptied. I raised my hands. “No, thanks. One bottle is enough.”
She smiled. “The gentleman at the bar sent this over to you.”
A milky brown brother with that deep red undertone strolled toward me. His clean shaven face exposed the true dimensions of his features and it appeared that the clay-maker shaped everything to perfection. He was a work of art and I wanted to purchase the sculpture with no questions asked. When I finally caught my breath, I looked him up and down. Now he’d put a spin to the script that had my head spinning. He wore a khaki designer blazer, with a crisp white shirt. Jeans. Cowboy-inspired brown shoes and a brown leather belt. He grabbed the chair and asked, “May I?”
I nodded affirmatively. Was he technically late even though he was at the bar? Hmmm. Let’s see. He was much too gorgeous to reprimand. My inquiring mind concluded he was about six-two and around two hundred thirty pounds with ten percent body fat. I extended my right hand and his brown skin fused with my brown skin. We were a perfect match. My nose inhaled the pleasurable scent of my favorite cologne. His deep set eyes gazed into mine, as his soft lips melted on the top of our grip. When he sat down, I crossed the fingers of my left hand under the table.
He asked, “Awkward, huh?” I nodded and he continued, “Yeah, I’m sure this is pretty hard. I’ve been sitting here watching the competition.”
“So, what did you think?”
He laughed. Was he showing his sense of humor or was he laughing at my unconventional method in finding a date? I raised my eyebrows. “So?”
“Well, I don’t like to bad talk my opponents. I like to let my skills shine through and allow my director to discuss the others’ talents at his—” he nodded toward me—“or her leisure.”
“Makes sense. Um…”
He waited patiently as I organized my thoughts. “So, how long have you been acting?”
“Practically all my life…”
“Really?”
“Yeah, my mother was a stage mom. I did several commercials as a kid. A few little kids’ shows.”
“‘Romper Room?’”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I was actually on a few episodes. I did a gang of stage plays in my teens.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve always loved performing, but then I went to college.”
“Why did you say it like it was a death sentence?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Not a death sentence, just a dream deferred.”
“What school did you go to?”
“H-U.”
“Which H-U?”
“Don’t play—the one and only, Howard U.”
I shrugged my shoulders because I’m not hip to the whole HBCU civil war for supremacy.
“So, I take it that you didn’t like school?”
“Oh, I loved school. It was corporate America that I had a problem with,” he said.
My dancing eyes questioned what he meant and he explained: “Work made me miserable and I regretted putting acting to the side for school, because I felt like it was too late to go back to what I was put here to do.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-seven.” He sighed. “You know most actors were building their resumes while I was in college. I was way behind the eight ball.”
“So…”
He