Chapter One #2
My audition was amazing, but I’m still waiting to hear if I got the part.
Meanwhile, I spend my nights working at a local coffee shop. I wouldn’t say I
like it, but it sort of goes with the territory when you’re an aspiring actor.
You do auditions during the day and work—often as a waiter or waitress or
barista—at night.
So, really, I’m right on track.
And honestly, I’ve embraced the lifestyle. And sometimes, I
even feel like I’m thriving. I’ve gotten some wonderful roles that I’m
incredibly thankful for.
Unfortunately, nothing’s steady at this point. I’m paying my
bills and able to travel home to see my family, but it would be nice to have a
consistent acting gig. After all, that’s the dream.
Growing up, my father worked at Wonder Land in Florida—one
of the biggest theme parks in the world and part of Storyteller Studios. The
first time I walked through those gates with my family, my fate was sealed. I
knew it was where I wanted to work, too. Well, I wanted to start by dancing in
a parade or something equally cool at the park and then go on to act in one of
Storyteller Channel’s shows.
I’m proud to say that I did work at the theme park,
I did get to dance in a parade, and I did eventually end up
with a recurring role on That’s So High School, a hit Storyteller
Channel show. But now, I’m ready for that next step, the big break, and I look
at every part I get as a way to meet new people and make connections. It’s very
important to do that sort of thing in this business because you never know when
you’ll end up talking to the person who will change your life.
I’ve met some incredible people and already made some great
connections that got me from my small town in central Florida to where I am
here in LA, but nothing big has happened yet.
Soon, though. I can feel it.
Taste it.
It’s so close, it’s like I can reach out and touch it.
“Can I get an iced coffee and a blueberry scone?” the next
person in line asks.
But for now, this is my life. I take orders, pour coffee,
serve baked goods, and do it all with a smile. But when my shift is over, I
gleefully sprint out the door. Especially since tomorrow is my day off.
When I get back to my tiny apartment, I’m beat. I kick off
my sneakers, yank the scrunchy off my ponytail, and shake out my long hair. I
smell like coffee, and I contemplate a shower, but the sound of an incoming
text makes me pause.
Jim: Hey! We still good for the game
tomorrow? I can pick you up at 4.
Oh, right. The baseball game. I groan as I flop down on my
bed.
Jim and I have been dating casually for five months now. I
know he’s serious, and is maybe even in love with me, but I’m not there. I
think he thinks I’m “the one,” but sadly, he’s not the one for me. I just don’t
feel the same way. And really, I don’t know why.
On paper, he’s perfect. He’s nice enough and cute, but I
don’t feel the spark. My mom always tells me that when you meet your person,
your soulmate, you’ll just know. Well, I don’t know if I believe her, but what
I do know is that Jim is not the one. I hate that for us because there is truly
nothing wrong with him, he checks every box…the feelings just aren’t there.
I’ve thought about breaking up with him. But he’s so darn nice that I always
end up putting it off.
So, I’ll go to the baseball game with him.
Besides, a couple of other friends are going with us, so
it’s not like it’s a romantic date.
Sighing wearily, I text him back.
Ella: Sounds good!
Ella: Is there a dress code? The last
time I went to a major league game was like 10 years ago with my dad.
I mean, I guess jeans and a T-shirt will be fine, but I just
want to make sure.
Jim: No worries. I’ve got you covered.
Jim: See you tomorrow.
Ella: Got me covered? LOL! What does
that even mean?
Jim: It’s a surprise. 12
Okay, then. I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get
my answer, which is fine, because I’m beat and desperately want to take a
shower, put on some clean, non-coffee-smelling jammies, and get some sleep.
Tossing my phone down, I get up and stretch, then do exactly that—looking
forward to sleeping in tomorrow morning.
When Jim shows up the next day, he hands me a bag with my
surprise in it. And I have to say, it’s awesome.
It’s a baseball jersey with the number twenty-two on it.
“I love it! Oh, my goodness! It’s perfect!” I examine it
closer and turn it around. “Lucas? Who’s Lucas?”
“That’s Christian Lucas’s number, so his name’s on the
jersey,” Jim explains. “I know you’re not really into baseball, so I was going
for the number and not the player. Personally, I don’t know anything about him
other than that he wears your number.” He winks at me and seems pretty proud of
himself.
“Oh, okay,” I say, smiling. “I get it. Thank you.” I hug
him, and it lingers. I’m hugging him like I would my brother, but he’s clearly
holding on because, to him, it’s something more.
I really need to do something about that. After this game, I
think I need to break up with him.
When we finally break apart, I excuse myself to change into
my shirt. In the bathroom mirror, I fluff my long, blond hair, add a bit more
lip gloss, and admire the jersey, genuinely loving having my lucky number on
it. I take it as a sign that it’s going to be a good night.
When I step back into the room, I pose like a model. “What
do you think? Do I look like a fan?”
“You look adorable,” he assures me, kissing me on the cheek.
“You ready?”
“Let’s do this.”
I’ve experienced many things since moving to LA, but going
to a sporting event hasn’t been one of them until now. Anaheim has a team—the
Anaheim Magic—and Jim tells me they’re very good. I take his word for it.
At the stadium, we meet up with our friends, and they’re all
gushing about how great our seats are because we are in the first row, right
next to the dugout. Well, now I feel really spoiled, and I imagine all future
baseball games will be ruined for me because we have the best seats in the
whole stadium.
The game starts, and Jim tries to explain all the plays and
what’s happening, but I’m only halfway listening. I may not follow baseball,
but I’m familiar with the rules. Having him chattering in my ear is kind of
ruining the experience.
Our friends keep calling this Christian Lucas guy “my
boy,” since he’s wearing my number. I laugh because, technically, I’m
wearing his number. Either way, after every play he makes, the
dialogue is a bunch of, “Hey, Ella! Your boy just did this,” or “Did you see
your boy, Ella? He just did that!” It’s cute, and I’m having a good time.
Anaheim scores a home run, and one of the players comes out
of the dugout to congratulate the hitter. My eyes go wide when I see it’s my
boy. His back is to us, so we can clearly see the twenty-two, but then he
turns toward the stands.
My heart races a little because I’m wildly curious and want
to put a face to the name and number. To my surprise, he looks right at
me—almost as if he knows I’m there. He looks familiar, but with his hat on, I
can’t be too sure. All I know is that our eyes lock and hold for like five
seconds, and it feels as if everything else around me fades away. No noise. No
cheering. No chattering.
I blink, and he’s gone. I seriously wonder if it happened at
all. Did I imagine it? But…I feel a little flustered, so it had to be real,
right? I want to ask if my friends noticed, but as I glance around, no one’s
paying any attention to me; they’re just enjoying the game. I guess I should,
too.
The only difference is, now I’m a little more invested and
actively watching what my boy is doing.
His team plays a great game, and by the time it’s over, I’m
caught up in the excitement of it all and know that number twenty-two seems
like a very skilled player.
And he looks good in his uniform.
Jim drives me home. We kiss goodnight, but I know this is it
for us. It has nothing to do with the baseball player and everything to do with
me. It feels wrong to lead Jim on when there’s no hope of him being my forever
person. The only fair thing to do is rip off the bandage and be honest. But
when I go to say it, he gushes about what a great time he had and how glad he
is to have experienced a baseball game with me.
Ugh.
I do break up with him, though.
Just…the next day.
It’s all very cordial, and yes, I play the whole
it’s-not-you-it’s-me card because…well…it is me.
Naturally, he asks for another chance, promising he can be
whatever I need him to be. But he’s missing the point. I’m not looking for
someone to morph into something they’re not. I do that for a living. That’s
what acting’s all about. I don’t want that in my real life. I want to be with
someone authentic. The concept is lost on Jim, though, and our breakup
conversation goes on for almost an hour. Fortunately, in the end, he finally
gets it.
“I wish you nothing but happiness in life,” I tell him. “And
you’re going to find the perfect woman who loves you for exactly who you are.”
“I wanted it to be you,” he says sadly before walking away.
If it were a TV show or movie, it would have been the
perfect gut-wrenching scene: the heroine watching her ex walk away as the
screen fades to black. But even the audience knows she’s doing the right thing.
I’m doing the right thing.
So, where does that leave me?
Auditions during the day and the coffee shop at night.
Until…
I get the role. I’m filming a TV movie!
While I didn’t get the part I auditioned for, I’m playing
the best friend. It’s still an amazing opportunity, and my character has just
as much screen time as the one I wanted to play. I’m so happy. Filming starts
immediately, so I prepare myself for long days, very little sleep, and doing
everything I can, because every role gets me closer to my dream.
On one of the few nights that I’m not on set, I meet up with
my friend, Whitney, for a late dinner. We became friends after meeting at
several auditions—never for the same roles—and I love having someone to talk to
who understands the business.
“I can’t believe you finally broke up with Jim. Yay, you!”