12 Hayden in the Middle
TWELVE
Hayden in the Middle
Mom and I were back in LA driving away from the airport and down the freeway in our Sebring convertible.
It was pilot season, and we were headed to the Oakwood Apartments, a short-term furnished rental chain that almost every actor in LA cycles through at one point or another.
That evening, we planned to shower, go out to eat, and get ready for my early morning audition.
I was up for a small role in Malcolm in the Middle, and Mom assured me she had a surefire plan to get me the part.
I was twelve years old, and while I knew I needed my mom, I wasn’t sure I wanted her.
I definitely didn’t need whatever crazy plan Mom had cooked up.
She and I spent so much time together, so deeply enmeshed in each other’s lives, that we’d started grating on each other.
I hated when Mom whispered about other actors during auditions, positive that they could hear her compare them to me.
I hated when Mom went to industry parties and got tipsy on the merlot she loved.
Recently, Mom had also made me late for a scene during the filming of Raising Helen because she had to go to the bathroom, and it had rattled one of my older costars.
“You have to be on time if you want to succeed in this business,” she said to me, frowning.
She had a point, but I wanted to scream that it was Mom’s bladder—not me—that had been less than professional. Instead, I swallowed my pride and decided not to throw Mom under the bus.
On Malcolm in the Middle, I was up for the part of Jessica, Malcolm’s neighbor and babysitter.
Jessica was a disheveled, awkward nerd whose brains were such a match to Malcolm’s genius that he fell for her, hard.
The producers insisted that Jessica should be anything but blond, but somehow my agent had gotten me the audition anyway.
Now it was up to me to secure the role. Or, if you asked Mom, it was up to her.
“Now Hayden,” Mom said emphatically on the way to my audition. “I need you to do something when you meet the director. I know it’s going to sound completely bizarre, but hear me out.”
I rolled my eyes in a typical preteen fashion. “Sure, Mom.”
“The episode’s director is Bryan Cranston. You know that Bryan played my husband on Loving, right?”
“Of course,” I answered. I also knew that Bryan Cranston played Malcolm’s affectionate but useless father on the show.
“So when you finish your lines, I need you to tell Bryan that your mom wants to say hello to him.”
My stomach sank. This was crazy. “Mom,” I pleaded. “I can’t do that. No actor calls their mom into an audition. It’s embarrassing, and they’ll think I’ve lost my mind.”
Mom laughed. “No, they’re going to think I’m the crazy one. And I’m okay with that.”
I sighed. When Mom was onto something, arguing was useless.
I gave it my all during the audition, right in front of Bryan, the producers, the casting director, and everyone else in the room.
The stage fright was there—it always was—but I told myself that no matter how they believed Jessica was supposed to look, I was capable of playing her.
Who cares if I was blond? If the directors wanted Jessica to be a nerdy girl next door, I’d give them that.
“Thank you so much,” the casting director said when I finished reading my lines. “We’ll get back to you soon.”
I nodded my head. Then I straightened up, stood tall, and looked at Bryan. “Mr. Cranston, my mother is outside, and she would like to say hello.”
You could have heard a pin drop in that room. I cleared my throat. “Hi, Mr. Cranston. My mother would like to see you. Please.”
Bryan screwed up his face, and I could visualize the thoughts processing in his head.
“So, you said your mother wants to see me?” he asked, half smiling. He was clearly too nice to tell a kid to keep dreaming, or he was such a good actor that he could fake a smile with the best of them. I think it was a little bit of both.
I smiled, also faking it. “Yes. She’s outside.”
“Absolutely,” Bryan said, the actor in him shining through again. “Let’s go meet your mom.”
He pushed his chair back and began to walk toward the door, and the casting director shot up and ran to his side, like he was playing bodyguard. Bryan opened the door cautiously, then poked his head out.
There stood Mom, her coral lipstick framing her huge smile.
“brYAN CRANSTON!” she shouted as she ran toward him with her arms out. “It’s Lesley Vogel! Your wife on Loving!”
Bryan backed up for a moment, then held his stomach and doubled over in laughter as Mom pulled him into a hug.
“Your daughter scared me to death,” he finally said. “I thought I was going to be attacked by an out-of-control stage mom.”
“Isn’t she good?” Mom asked, beaming.
“She is,” he answered. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Mom blushed. “So, what do you think? Did she get the part?”
Bryan paused. “You know, Lesley,” he said. “Hayden is so wrong for this role, but we’re going to make this work. We can put a wig and some nerdy glasses on her, and we’ll have our Jessica.”
Mom started clapping, and I did, too. I had to give it to her. My mom might have been embarrassing and ruthless, but she was a force of nature when it came to me.
Well, I thought, sometimes doing something crazy really does pay off.