A hopeful
‘Thank you for your time,’ says the casting director. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
The audition went alright, he thinks. Cowan’s eyes are already looking down at a sheet of paper, scribbling something.
Or is she on her phone in her lap? They probably smile at everyone once the audition is finished.
He tries to bring to mind the exact emotion, the exact cadence with which he’d delivered that knockout line, the young addict to the older brother who should have been there.
‘Your brother died years ago; you’re arguing with his ghost.’ ‘Your brother died years ago; you’re arguing with his ghost.’ ‘Your brother died years ago; you’re arguing with his ghost.’
Which version had Cowan wanted? And which had he given her? He lingers for a moment in case she wants to add anything, but each of the four faces at the table in front of him is blank.
‘Next,’ says the reader, slowly, as if she’s simply throwing him another line.
Would they have called ‘next’ this quickly if he’d cried real tears?
He’d tried smearing toothpaste beneath his eyes before the audition, but it had only made him blink more than usual.
Would they have called ‘next’ so quickly if he’d blinked less?
What about if he hadn’t fallen to his knees, or if he’d done the accent he’d been practising in front of his mirror at home?
Nothing in the sides or the notes he’d been sent had suggested that the character was Irish, but everything sounds better in a rich Celtic brogue.
He’ll never know, because the audition was clearly lacklustre at best, and now four sets of eyes are shepherding him towards a door that is already opening.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ says the man entering. ‘I probably should have booked a slot.’
An audible gasp from the reader. The casting director’s face breaks into a surprised smile.
Cowan drops her pen, places both hands flat on the tabletop.
And the hopeful lets out a very long exhale, which turns into a string of swear words under his breath.
There is no doubt that they’ll let this man audition.
Nor is there any doubt that he’ll get the role.
Standing in the doorway is one of the most exciting actors of his generation, a name far bigger than the film they’re making, a face they’ve all seen a hundred times and a hundred times more on billboards and aftershave adverts and videos posted and reposted by millions, clips cut from his shows and his films and his interviews promoting all of the above.
He’s shorter in person, his hair not quite as golden. But the star power doesn’t disappoint. It’s like all the presence has been sucked out of the room so it can make space for his. As if each person’s attention is a spotlight, and they’re all trained on one person and one person alone.
There is a very, very long pause.
‘Jacob,’ says Cowan, finally breaking the silence.
‘Hello, Clara,’ he says, with a smile that seems to carry all the warmth in the world. ‘It’s been a long time.’
The hopeful doesn’t wait around to hear what happens next. The audition went terribly anyway.