Chapter Eleven Mee Noi
I’m up most of the night worrying about the audition.
When Sud was looking at that list of guys, I thought about him auditioning with one of them and felt uncomfortable.
He wouldn’t be able to put his best work out there.
It has to be me. I can’t let Sud down when this could be his chance to launch his acting career.
I can’t eat anything the morning of the audition because I’m too nervous, and when I slide into the passenger seat of Sud’s car, I can tell he is, too. We don’t say much during the drive to Rainbow TV Productions. I want to tell him it’s going to go great, but I don’t think I’ll sound convincing.
Sud and I are taken to a room on the fifteenth floor where three women and two men are seated at a table. We pass two young men on their way out, probably just having finished their audition. At our entrance, a short woman around fifty wearing a yellow skirt and floral blouse greets us.
“Sawasdee-kah, Nong Sud and Nong Mee Noi. I am Khun Intapong, a producer here at Rainbow TV.”
Sud and I give her a wai and then turn to do the same to the eight people seated at the table as Khun Intapong introduces each of them in turn. I manage to note that one of the men is the director of the series we’re trying out for and one of the women is the author of the novel it’s based on.
“We are so pleased you are here,” Khun Intapong says when she turns back to us.
“We’re sorry this is so last minute. We planned to get in touch with you in the near future about the series, but, as it happens, we really feel you two are excellent candidates for a series we’re putting together right now.
Hence the need for you to audition today. ”
Sud and I share a surprised glance as she turns and picks up two packets of paper from the table.
Kun Intapong hands one packet to Sud and the other to me and tells us a little bit about our characters. They are university students. Sound is a popular jock and Train is a shy, sweet intellectual. Since the parts are uncannily like our real selves, we have an advantage.
“You’ll be reading from scene two and scene ten.
They’re marked with blue sticky notes. We’ll give you some time to look the scenes over before we ask you to read for us.
” She indicates a short table along the sidewall, and, thanking her, Sud and I seat ourselves there.
A cup full of colored felt-tip pens sits in front of us, and I pluck out a red one, uncap it, and look down at my script.
The title is written on the front: Hearts Set on Fire.
On the character list, someone wrote my name in black marker and next to it the name Train and Sud’s next to the name Sound.
They are the secondary couple in the drama.
Glancing at Sud, I turn to scene two, which, after a quick scan, appears to be a meet-cute scene. I know the term from Jess’s sister, Fon, who has been coaching me via Jess on boys’ love since I agreed to be in Sud’s video. Since then, I’ve watched five or six series upon her recommendation.
This meet-cute scene has Train meeting Sound when he trips over something and falls to the floor, spilling all the books he’s carrying.
Sound stops to help him, and Train is overwhelmed by the handsome, popular boy.
The exchange isn’t very long, and I know I can remember the little bit of dialogue, so I won’t have to hold the script.
That’s good since I have to concentrate on tripping and falling and what comes after.
When Sound helps Train up from the floor, Train bumps into him, and they share a long, admiration-filled stare.
“Scene two doesn’t look too difficult,” Sud voices the same thoughts I’m having. The group at the table is talking among themselves, not paying attention to us.
I nod in agreement as I mark my lines with the red pen. Then I turn to scene ten. The characters are much more familiar with each other in this one, and I have a lot more lines to mark. When I’m finished, I look at the words at the top of the page and freeze. First Kiss.
I must have made some kind of a sound because Sud says, “We don’t have to do the kiss today. They won’t expect us to.”
I meet his eyes. “How do you know?”
“Last night, after I walked you home, I called someone in the industry who Pah introduced me to a while back. I asked if he could tell me what we could expect today.”
“But it would look better if we do it,” I say.
“Only if we can do it believably. We haven’t ever kissed, Noi. I’m not sure we can pull it off without practice.”
“I want to,” I say, even though my nerves are screaming at me to shut up.
“It will give us an edge. You’re the one who keeps saying we’re comfortable enough to do this together.
Anyway, it says here it isn’t a passionate kiss.
Just a…” I look down at the script, and read aloud, “tentative, exploring, closed-mouth kiss.”
After a moment of consideration, Sud nods once, and we go back to studying the scripts in silence.
We’ll definitely have to read from them while we do scene ten—there’s too much dialogue to learn in a few minutes—another reason I feel we need the advantage of tackling the kiss head-on. I’m able to read through the scene twice before Khun Intapong calls us over to begin.
I take a deep breath, telling myself, You can do this for Sud.
I don’t like being in front of people, but, over the years, my determination to do well in my studies has forced me to adjust. So, as I did with the video assignment, I disengage my mind from where I am, and the people watching us, and concentrate solely on Sud.
As always, his familiar presence grounds me, and getting into character—even one I’ve only had twenty minutes to prepare for—isn’t too difficult.
The pressure is on. The first scene doesn’t concern me too much—I’m a pro at being awkward and shy. But the other one’s going to be rough. I tell myself to concentrate on one thing at a time.
Taking a moment to center myself, I close my eyes and get into the part, the way Sud taught me to do when we were filming the video. He’s doing the same thing.
Then it’s time to begin. Khun Intapong explains that one of the people at the table will be filming the audition with a tablet, and then she hands me a stack of books.
The man introduced to us as the director calls out, “Action!” and I walk to the front of the room like I would any day going to class.
Mid-way, I trip over something invisible, spilling the books all around me and landing on my ass on the floor.
In character, Sud rushes over to help me up.
We’d discussed this move at the table. Sud offers his hand and pulls me up with more force than necessary so that our chests collide when I’m on my feet.
Not an inch between our bodies, I look up at him, and it’s so strange—in that moment, it’s like I really am seeing him through someone else’s eyes.
I guess, being around someone for years, you kind of stop seeing them. In my mind, Sud is in many ways still the rambunctious, grubby kid who ran and got dirty with me outside. Until this moment, he hasn’t really registered in my brain as the adult he is.
The realization sets me off kilter, and I almost take a step back, but Sud squeezes my arm, reminding me to hold the pose.
For long, silent ticks of the clock, we stand like that, staring into each other’s eyes—a standard bl meet-cute moment—until, by unspoken agreement, we both mumble apologies and step away from each other.
I start to awkwardly pick up my books and Sud rushes to help me. My heart is fluttering, and not in the same way it was a minute ago when I was nervous about doing the scene.
We speak a few more lines, and then the director calls a stop to the scene. The people at the table talk among themselves while I putdown the books and Sud and I turn to scene ten in the script.
Time for the harder part.
We position ourselves.
“It’s okay if you have to improvise,” Khun Intapong tells us. “We don’t expect you to know your lines, and we’d rather see you do the scene without having to read from the scripts.”
After a few minutes of review, Sud and I set our scripts back on the table and go to stand in the center of the room again.
“A little closer, boys,” the director says.
Sud and I each take a step toward the other so we’re standing toe to toe.
“Anytime you’re ready.”
I remember I’m supposed to be touching Sud. My hands shake a little as I lift them and place my palms on his broad, hard chest, then move them to his biceps. My mouth goes dry with nerves, but when Sud cradles my face with his warm, familiar palm and I look into his eyes, I feel better.
Sud delivers a line and I remember mine. We keep going, maintaining the gist of the scene if not the exact words.
The kiss is coming.
Dropping his hands to my waist, Sud leans in, his face coming closer and closer to mine and his eyes zeroed in on my mouth.
I flick my tongue over my lips and hear Sud’s soft intake of breath.
Heart beating a fast staccato in my chest, I close my eyes just as his lips brush mine and then press more firmly.
An arrow of awareness shoots straight to my toes.
Damn. So that’s what it’s like to kiss someone.
“Cut!” The director calls, and Sud and I step back. I’m hot all over and feel certain everyone in the room must be able to tell that I just experienced my very first kiss. I keep my eyes trained on the script until someone collects it.
“Excellent boys. We’ll be in touch. Which of your numbers shall I take?” Khun Intapong asks.
“Mine,” Sud says, taking out his cell phone.
It’s over. I should be calming down, but instead I feel even more keyed up that I was when we got there.
“That went okay, don’t you think?” Sud asks me as we head to the elevators.
“Yeah,” I say, hoping my voice sounds normal. It must not, because after we step onto the elevator, Sud touches my arm.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Noi. Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I lift my eyes to meet his worried gaze.
“I didn’t stop to think that might have been the first time you’ve ever kissed anyone,” Sud says, setting my face aflame with embarrassment.
Directing my attention to the lit numbers above the door, I say, “Of course it wasn’t the first time. I’ve kissed…—people.”
“How come you’ve never told me about it?”
“You don’t talk about the people you kiss,” I point out with a shrug. Normally, I can discuss anything with Sud. But I’ve never asked him details about his girlfriends, and he’s never offered the information. He just assumed I didn’t have any experience.
Well, you don’t, I remind myself.
The elevator doors open, and I hurry out. “I think the audition went well,” I say, wanting to get off the subject. “They didn’t have to stop us and change anything, right? That’s good.”
Sud begins dissecting everything, thankfully not dwelling on the kiss.
I, for one, want to forget it entirely.