Chapter 20 #2
Stepping past the glass doors and ticket booth, I get a view of all the girls waiting to audition, and oh. My. God. There have to be at least twenty people here already. Looking around, I attempt to find the person handing out the numbers.
“Hi, are you here to audition for the part of Daisy?”
I jump at the woman’s voice before turning.
She cringes. “Sorry about that.”
The tall brunette is wearing an earpiece with a small mic. Her freckles stand out against her blue—no, gray eyes, which study me with curiosity.
“Um, yes.”
“Great!” The girl sticks her arm out with a smart pad and asks me to sign in. She leaves for a moment and comes back with a number. Number twenty-five. That’s a lot of people. About seven minutes per audition—
“So that’s your number. You will be called in order, and make sure to have your sheet music ready to go.” After I nod, the girl begins to leave again.
“Wait.” I tap her shoulder.
She turns and smiles. There hasn’t been one second in our entire conversation where she hasn’t smiled, and I’d think it was creepy if her sincere happiness wasn’t obvious.
“Yes?”
“How many people are going to audition? I’m only asking because I know people will be waiting around for the list to be posted afterward.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Thirty-five people signed up, but four of them got sick. It’ll still take a while for things to finish, but auditions have already started. They’re up to number sixteen.” She looks down at the smart pad and opens an app.
I’ll have about an hour to wait until my turn, then. Possibly less, possibly more. Too bad class didn’t let out a little earlier.
“Okay, thank you…” I trail off, looking for a name tag, and come up empty.
“Dakota, assistant, or one of the many assistants, to the stage manager for the day.” She sticks her hand out.
I grasp it in return, more nervous now that I’m meeting someone who holds some weight. “Stevie.” I pause. “Why aren’t you in there?”
She laughs, and I realize that it sounded rude. “She has two assistants, and one of them got sick. I’m filling in, so I’m only here today and tomorrow.”
“Sorry if that was rude.” I shrug.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks for everything. Hopefully, I’ll see you again after today.” I wave and walk to an empty seat in the waiting area for an hour or longer before she speaks.
“Stevie,” she whispers.
Turning, I find Dakota looking around discreetly. “Yeah?”
Once I’m near her, she leans down. “Stand straight when you’re singing. The director hates slouchers.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
She shushes me. “Don’t mess up more than twice on your monologue or song; they won’t give you a third chance.
” Dakota’s actually doing this. “And finally, don’t sing anything from Cats, Les Misérables, or Hairspray.
The producer hears them all the time for these kinds of roles.
He’d still give you a chance, but less if you were to sing from another show. ”
I look at her, stunned. A little nervous at her last statement, but still stunned.
“You could get in a lot of trouble for that,” I blurt out quietly.
She looks at me, confused. “For what?” Dakota then shoots me a wink and walks away. “Break a leg.”
After composing myself from what happened, I sit and reread my monologue. Dakota might have made me more nervous, but it also helps knowing what I’m getting into.
A little over an hour later, I’m called in.
I enter stage right and walk up the steps, where I stand center stage on the piece of red tape on the floor.
Looking up, the light slightly blinds me until my eyes adjust, and I see six people in the audience.
There are always at least three professors working in each school-run production, along with a bunch of students.
The second professor I see just so happens to be my academic advisor, and my stomach sinks. She doesn’t like me very much. She finds me annoying or something along those lines.
“Stevie?” the man who seems to be the director calls out. “Are you ready?”
I clear my throat. “Yes, I apologize.”
After introducing myself, I look straight ahead to the back of the theater, where it’s empty—
Except, it’s not empty. There’s someone back there. I can only see a shadow from here, but someone is standing against the doorframe.
I redirect my gaze to the large clock on top of the doorway and read through my monologue, unsure of how well I acted it out. At least I didn’t mess up any of the words.
Now comes the song. Handing my sheet music to the student on the piano, I walk to the mic they’ve turned on and close my eyes.
I know it’s a bad habit to sing with your eyes closed, especially if you’re auditioning for a musical where there’s acting, so I open them once I’m confident enough.
My voice starts off shaky, and then I have a flashback to the night I sang with Levi and how calm I was.
I allow the music to flow through me and don’t move my eyes from the spot in the center of the back wall.
Controlling my breathing and using the strongest voice I can while maintaining the daintiness I know I can bring, I feel my confidence grow.
At the high notes, I move my body more, including my arms, which I rarely ever do.
When I hear the final lyrics, I close my eyes again and throw my head back, smiling.
I did the damn thing.
There’s no applause from the directors or producers, only a couple of thank-yous. I know it’s their attempt at letting us get used to how things work in the real world. While grabbing my sheet music, I look up to find the mysterious shadow and see that the person is gone.
Walking out of the theater, I see some of the girls staring at me weirdly. They look mad, high-school-mean-girl kind of angry.
Jeez, lighten up.
I hate theater kids sometimes. If I do end up in the show, I’m hoping to make some friends, or at least acquaintances along the way, and avoid any drama amongst the cast and crew. Some sort of it will form, though, it always does.
My stomach growls as I make my way back to where I was sitting before, preparing myself to wait an hour and a half for the callback sheet to be posted.
The girls look at me again, and I groan.
Cursing under my breath, I walk over to the vending machines.
As I’m about to step into the small room, I’m ripped away and twirled into one of the coat closets currently full of costumes.
I start kicking at whoever is holding me.
I open my mouth to scream for help when a pair of lips slam over mine.
What the hell?
Now I’m attempting to push the stranger away, and then I feel it. The texture of his hair, the way his mouth moves, and his firm body—it has to be him.
I push him away harshly, holding his face as my eyes adjust to the near-complete darkness. “Levi?”
He nods.
“What are you doing—”
His lips come over mine again, not allowing me to finish asking the question.
I attempt to move him away again, but he fights back, pressing me closer.
Eventually, his tongue swipes against my lips, seeking permission.
I whimper, allowing him entry, and melt into his arms. It’s been days since we kissed—days since we were both edged, unable to finish what we had started.
We haven’t spoken about it yet because of our schedules, but my God.
If this is the reward I get for not dealing with things, I’ll take it.
The kiss becomes harsher, and Levi pushes me against the door, pulling my hair, pressing his dick that’s straining through his jeans against my lower stomach.
The kiss is so hot, in a place so dark. I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been.
Andrew hated doing anything like this in public, but I craved something different. Something more. I still need more.
Levi’s right hand remains in my hair, while the left is on my back. Gently, I grab his right hand and intertwine our fingers. He pulls away, looking me in the eye, and all I can see is his jaw twitching before he grabs both of my arms and places them above me.
I shake my head, and he tilts his to the side. Knowing him, he’s probably wondering why, out of all things, I don’t like this. I do like it, but not right now. I need him to touch me.
“Touch me,” I whisper.
He presses his dick harder against me, and I moan.
“Levi, I want you to touch me.”
He lets out a deep breath and grabs both of my wrists with his left hand while bringing the other down slowly as he does what I requested.
He kisses me and touches my hair, cheeks, lips, jaw, and neck, but nothing below that. I’m practically dripping, and he hasn’t even grazed a boob yet.
“Levi,” I beg, not knowing how much longer I can stand the teasing. I don’t want soft, I want demanding.
I writhe against his hold and hear an unfamiliar chuckle come out of him, sending chills down my spine. He lets go of my left hand, keeping the other one pinned on top.
“Grab my hand,” he demands.
Finally.
I do as he says and wait for his next order. This time, his nose touches mine when he whispers, “Now use it.”
My head rears back a bit. “What?”
“Use my hand to show me what you like, Stevie.” His face creeps closer to mine. “I want you to take control. I’m usually able to keep mine, but not around you.”
My mouth dries at his confession. I affect him as much as he does me. He wants me to get comfortable with him. To trust him.
As I feel slightly self-conscious over what I’m about to do with someone else’s hand, he notices my hesitation.