Read Online I Loved You Wednesday by David Marlow - Free Book Online

Andrews.”
    “Ha-ha.”
    “Say, uh, after the audition, would you like to join me for a cup of coffee or something?”
    “Sure. Oops, that’s what I’m selling. I mean yeah, fine. I have over an hour till my next call.”
    “Will you be able to keep a straight face during the audition?”
    “Absolutely. When I’m acting, I find humor in nothing.”
    “Really? How’s your comic style?”
    “It needs work.”
    “I’m not surprised.”
    “What I’m best at is tear-your-hair-out drama. Deep-deep-deep. I find Chekhov light.”
    “What a coincidence. I find Woody Allen heavy.”
    “Ha-ha-haha-heh-heh.”
    Wendy and I chat a while longer, she giggling a lot until someone opens the audition room door and announces her name. Wendy’s face drops to deadpan serious. Stiffening, she turns and walks into the room as though headed for a firing squad.
    She comes out smiling again a few minutes later, and after waiting another fifteen minutes or so, while we continue talking and yucking it up, I’m called.
    I walk into the room, am introduced to the casting lady, the various assistants and the director before sitting down on a stool in front of a small videotape machine.
    The copy for the commercial is written on cue cards in bold block letters directly below the eye of the camera. After a moment or so, the videotape machine is switched on to record this performance and I begin my ultra-sincere sell, proclaiming the joy and happiness my left armpit has found since discovering Sure.
    It’s not a bad reading, but neither is it cigarsville. I finish the audition, ending with a smile flashing all the enamel I can squeeze into the wide-angle lens.
    There is a short pause. Nobody says anything. Nobody even breathes. All eyes go to the director, who finally issues his verdict. “Sweet,” he says.
    Sweet! What’s a “sweet” reading?
    “Thank you,” the director then says, followed by three other thank yous around the room.
    I thank you them back and leave, offended, humiliated, repulsed and annoyed.
    “How’d it go?” asks Wendy.
    “They thought I was sweet,” I offer sourly.
    “That’s okay, ha-ha. They told me I was very sober.”
    “When I get home, I’m throwing away my can of Sure, and I don’t give a damn how upset my left armpit gets!”
    Wendy and I go to a coffee shop across the street, where we have a bite and chat about the acting scene, comparing: New York to Hollywood, theater to television, Stanislavsky to Strasberg, lines at casting calls to lines at unemployment offices.
    I take her number, suggesting we might get together soon. She thinks it’s a fine idea, giggles again and rushes off to her next audition. I go home to prepare for Chris’ call, which I know is coming later this afternoon, most anxious to learn how her date with Mr. Right has gone.
    Just before five thirty, the phone rings.
    “Hello?” I answer, feigning nonchalance.
    But all I hear on the other end is heavy breathing. At first I think perhaps it’s not Chris, after all, and I may be gettingan obscene phone call. Eventually, however, Chris interrupts her breathing to say, “I can’t catch my breath!”
    “Slow down.”
    “I’m trying.”
    “How’d it go?”
    “I can’t speak yet.”
    “All right. I’ll talk.”
    “Good.”
    “I met a girl at the Sure call today. Wendy Chartoff. We really hit it off well and went out afterward. ...”
    “Steve, this is definitely it!”
    “You think so?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “You think it’s love, Chris?”
    “I’m convinced.”
    “But I just met her.”
    “Who?”
    “Wendy!”
    “Who’s Wendy?”
    “The girl I was just talking about.”
    “When?”
    “Not Wen. Wendy!”
    “When were you talking about Wen-Dee?”
    “Just now.”
    “We weren’t talking about Wendy anybody just now. We were waiting for me to catch my breath so I could tell you about my day but I don’t think I ever will I’m so winded I ran up all three flights skipping every other step mind