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Authors: Lucy-Anne Holmes
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out.
nine
Sometimes I have to read some very boring lines when I go to auditions. Today is a case in point.
WOMAN 2 I’ve been waiting with my son for two hours. He’s getting very restless. Will he be seen soon?
RECEPTIONIST (sighs) I should think so.
WOMAN 2 I hope you’re right.
The problem with these lines is that when I say them I bore myself. Therefore it shall be very difficult for whoever has to hear them not to lapse into a coma. So I have decided that Woman 2 is scared for her son. When people are scared they often develop stutters. Woman 2 shall therefore have a slight stutter. Slight stutters are marvellous for small parts as they mean more time on camera. Also Woman 2 fancies the receptionist. That is why she says, ‘I hope you’re right’ rather than screaming, ‘See to my son NOW before he bleeds to death’ and head-butting the receptionist. Woman 2 looks at the receptionist and smiles sultrily. Then she bites her lip lightly and speaks volumes with her eyes.
I am sitting in a small room at the BBC. It is 2.14. My audition was supposed to be at 2. There are no windows in the room. Rooms without natural light make me yawn. When I yawn my eyes water. I may well have to play Woman 2 in tears if they keep me waiting any longer. I had thought tears would be too much with the stutter and the flirting and the huge scabby lump on my head but I may not have a choice. I came to in the early hours of this morning with a large gaping swollen wound in my head, three new shelves on my wall and a note from Simon saying, Put up some shelfs. Somewhere to put you’re mess. Mind you’re head! I have a nasty feeling that God misheard me when I said, ‘Please let me get the Casualty job’ and thought I said, ‘Please make me look like a casualty.’ The only way I can hide the scabby lump on my head is to sweep the hair across my face and tilt my head to the side to hold the hair in place. This I had managed to do until three minutes ago when I felt shooting pains up my neck. Fearful of life-threatening neck paralysis, I am now holding my head as nature intended and revealing the hideous open wound.
I am alone in the room except for one other auditionee who came in two minutes ago. I have become quite fascinated by her. Sometimes I can’t help looking at attractive women, not because I want to do lesbian things with them but because they represent something that I am not and I can’t help comparing myself to them. This woman is interesting because she doesn’t look much older than me but whereas I generally look like a scruffy girl she most definitely looks like a proper woman. She looks like a woman who goes to beauty salons for expensive treatments and takes cocaine with a little silver snorter and has a man who lavishes necklaces upon her. She is very, very slim. If she was a piece of chicken she would be disappointing to eat. She is so slim she is wearing black skinny jeans. I once tried on a pair of skinny jeans in Topshop and it looked as though someone had wrapped a haggis in denim. She is wearing a tight black T-shirt and although I can’t stare too much I suspect that her breasts aren’t real as they are popping out of her ribs like sink plungers. I am fascinated by her but she has not once looked at me, mainly because she is playing with two items, which I am coveting: 1) her iPod, and 2) her BlackBerry. She has dyed blonde hair and a fake tan. She looks very familiar so I suspect I’ve seen her a lot on the telly.
I am just wondering how small her breasts were before the work was done to them when she suddenly throws her BlackBerry on the floor and shouts the word ‘Fuck!’ Her voice is Marlboro Light husky, as I had expected. She is cross. Her BlackBerry is now under the coffee table in the middle of the room. I jump on to my knees, lie on my side and push my forearm under the table. I move my fingers about until I feel a corner of the BlackBerry. I make waving motions with my arm
nine
Sometimes I have to read some very boring lines when I go to auditions. Today is a case in point.
WOMAN 2 I’ve been waiting with my son for two hours. He’s getting very restless. Will he be seen soon?
RECEPTIONIST (sighs) I should think so.
WOMAN 2 I hope you’re right.
The problem with these lines is that when I say them I bore myself. Therefore it shall be very difficult for whoever has to hear them not to lapse into a coma. So I have decided that Woman 2 is scared for her son. When people are scared they often develop stutters. Woman 2 shall therefore have a slight stutter. Slight stutters are marvellous for small parts as they mean more time on camera. Also Woman 2 fancies the receptionist. That is why she says, ‘I hope you’re right’ rather than screaming, ‘See to my son NOW before he bleeds to death’ and head-butting the receptionist. Woman 2 looks at the receptionist and smiles sultrily. Then she bites her lip lightly and speaks volumes with her eyes.
I am sitting in a small room at the BBC. It is 2.14. My audition was supposed to be at 2. There are no windows in the room. Rooms without natural light make me yawn. When I yawn my eyes water. I may well have to play Woman 2 in tears if they keep me waiting any longer. I had thought tears would be too much with the stutter and the flirting and the huge scabby lump on my head but I may not have a choice. I came to in the early hours of this morning with a large gaping swollen wound in my head, three new shelves on my wall and a note from Simon saying, Put up some shelfs. Somewhere to put you’re mess. Mind you’re head! I have a nasty feeling that God misheard me when I said, ‘Please let me get the Casualty job’ and thought I said, ‘Please make me look like a casualty.’ The only way I can hide the scabby lump on my head is to sweep the hair across my face and tilt my head to the side to hold the hair in place. This I had managed to do until three minutes ago when I felt shooting pains up my neck. Fearful of life-threatening neck paralysis, I am now holding my head as nature intended and revealing the hideous open wound.
I am alone in the room except for one other auditionee who came in two minutes ago. I have become quite fascinated by her. Sometimes I can’t help looking at attractive women, not because I want to do lesbian things with them but because they represent something that I am not and I can’t help comparing myself to them. This woman is interesting because she doesn’t look much older than me but whereas I generally look like a scruffy girl she most definitely looks like a proper woman. She looks like a woman who goes to beauty salons for expensive treatments and takes cocaine with a little silver snorter and has a man who lavishes necklaces upon her. She is very, very slim. If she was a piece of chicken she would be disappointing to eat. She is so slim she is wearing black skinny jeans. I once tried on a pair of skinny jeans in Topshop and it looked as though someone had wrapped a haggis in denim. She is wearing a tight black T-shirt and although I can’t stare too much I suspect that her breasts aren’t real as they are popping out of her ribs like sink plungers. I am fascinated by her but she has not once looked at me, mainly because she is playing with two items, which I am coveting: 1) her iPod, and 2) her BlackBerry. She has dyed blonde hair and a fake tan. She looks very familiar so I suspect I’ve seen her a lot on the telly.
I am just wondering how small her breasts were before the work was done to them when she suddenly throws her BlackBerry on the floor and shouts the word ‘Fuck!’ Her voice is Marlboro Light husky, as I had expected. She is cross. Her BlackBerry is now under the coffee table in the middle of the room. I jump on to my knees, lie on my side and push my forearm under the table. I move my fingers about until I feel a corner of the BlackBerry. I make waving motions with my arm
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