The Audition

by Shari Held

     The first person I saw when I walked through the studio door for the callback audition was Kandis Craig. Good. I had hoped she would be here. She and I have been rivals since our twenties. Back then, when we were nubile Hollywood star wannabees, we competed for B roles—the sister of the bride, the girlfriend who gets dumped, the loyal secretary. If Hollywood stars were golden, we were silver.

     When we reached our late thirties, early forties, the competition became stiffer. We entered that no-woman’s land where Hollywood didn’t know what to do with us. We were passed up for the roles we used to compete for. Kandis snagged a leading role on a TV sitcom playing a mother of four. I landed a few minor parts on the big screen. We still had our toe in show business, but that’s about all. When Kandis’s sitcom was cancelled, we butted heads again.

     She saw me and nodded. I nodded back and gave her a cheery smile. She patted the chair next to hers. We were here to see how we interacted with the other cast members. Whichever one of us clicks with them wins the part. I scanned the room to see if I recognized a friendly face. No such luck.  

    “Jane, I wondered if I’d run into you here,” Kandis said, rising as I joined her. “Looks like we’re competing for the same role once again. This time it’s a grandmother. The traditional kind.” She wrinkled her nose. “All the exciting roles go to Jane Fonda, Helen Mirren, and Judy Dench. They’re still stars.”

     “I know,” I replied. “I’d love to have been cast in MobLand opposite Pierce Brosnan or 1923 opposite Harrison Ford. Or to have been M, in the James Bond movies.” I sighed. “Now I play crazy old ladies, older relatives with dementia, or grandmothers.”

     “Me, too, but we’ve seen it all, haven’t we? Kandis said. “We’ve seen others come and go but we survived in the business.”

     “Survived, yes. Thrived, not to the heights we had dreamed of, but we didn’t do bad.”

     “We had our fun, though,” Kandis said, with a hint of her girlish smile. “Remember when you put itching powder in my costume on the set of that horrible movie set in a girls’ school?”

     Now I was the one smiling. “I do. It could have been worse. I thought about putting it in your bathing suit on the beach movie set.”

     “You wouldn’t have,” Kandis squealed, as they called her name and told her she was up in ten minutes.

     I should have, I thought, as I recalled the “joke” she’d played on me. She’d kidnapped Bootsie, my sweet little Shih Tzu, and hid him in her dressing room. Claimed he barked too much. While there, he ate some fried chicken leftovers and choked on a bone. Kandis later claimed it was a good-natured prank gone wrong. Putting itching powder in a costume is a prank. Killing Bootsie wasn’t. I’d never forgiven her, although no one would know that. I’m an actress, after all. And a damned good one.

     Kandis rummaged through her bag. I knew what she was looking for. She always used a cough drop or a mint to soothe her voice before auditioning.

     “Here, have one of mine,” I said, opening my bag wide and pointing it in her direction. “They’re cherry flavored. Hope that works for you.”

     She nodded, grabbed one, unwrapped it, and plopped it in her mouth.

     “Thank you.” She stood and smoothed her dress and hair. “I guess we can’t wish each other good luck, since we’re competing. How about, may the best grandma win?”

     Her portrayal of the grandmother was pitch-perfect. Then, she staggered and clutched her heart. If she had been acting, her performance would have been Oscar-worthy. But she wasn’t.

     My belladonna-laced cough drops did the trick faster than I had planned. I later heard that her already weakened heart couldn’t take the strain of the belladonna-induced rapid heartbeat. I won the part, but better than that, I finally got my revenge.

     It was my best audition ever.

Shari Held is an Indianapolis-based fiction writer who spins tales of mystery, horror, and romance. Her short stories have been published in numerous magazines and anthologies, including Yellow Mama, Hoosier Noir, Asinine Assassins, Homicide for the Holidays, and Between the Covers. When not writing, she cares for feral cats and other wildlife, reads, and strategizes imaginative ways for characters and trouble to collide!