I can’t remember the last time I was this excited.
Except…
I can.
Oh, shit.
I’ve prepared a dance call, three sides, and two songs for this audition.
I even memorized the sides—excerpts from the script that I’ll read for the production team—and the songs to show them I mean business.
I took the songs to a vocal coach on the Upper West Side to make sure they were as polished as possible, and I rented an entire dance studio at Ripley-Grier and perfected the dance call until my feet were sore and calloused.
I’m here to knock this callback out of the damned park.
I walk into the building where the callbacks are being held and take the elevator up to the seventh floor—a set of rehearsal studios known as Snowdrop Spaces. The elevator doors open and I’m greeted by a barrage of thin, blond women my exact age and height.
My heart sinks. I don’t stand out at all.
Some of the women here are even wearing the exact same outfit as me—royal-blue blouses and black dress pants. Underneath mine, I’ve got on leggings and a sports bra for the dance call, and I can’t help but wonder how many of them came prepared the same way.
I take a seat on the few inches of bench space available and wait for the proctor to call my name.
One by one the girls file in, some walking out with smiles on their faces, and some departing with their tails between their legs.
I’ve never gotten a callback for Skylight Productions before, but I’ve heard that the casting team can be blunt in the audition room. I have no doubt that some of these girls were told that their goals of singing on Broadway are pipe dreams.
Finally… “Bianca Montrose?”
I stand up. “That’s me.”
The proctor gestures to the door without a hint of emotion on his face. “Right this way.”
He opens the door and I walk inside. Three people sit at a long table at one end of the room. At the other end is an accompanist at an upright piano.
The man in the middle I recognize. He’s in his late forties with a salt-and-pepper beard and horn-rimmed glasses. That’s Laurence Shippe, the head of Skylight Productions.
He smiles as I enter the room. “Wonderful to see you, Bianca.”
I nod. “Thank you for your time.”
He gestures to a thin woman in a tracksuit on his left. “This is Daisy O’Casey, our choreographer.” He then nods to a young man wearing a newsboy cap and a plaid scarf on his right. “And this is Adam Seeler, our director. The gentleman on the piano is Jake Whiffle.”
I nod to each of them. “Thank you, thank you.”
I’m saying “thank you” a lot. Can’t act like I’m too excited about this.
Mr. Shippe turns to me. “Would you like to start with your sides or your songs?”
I turn to the pianist. “My songs, if that works for you.”
Mr. Whiffle smiles. “Of course.”
I sing both audition cuts flawlessly. That extra time with the vocal coach definitely paid off. I can tell from the nods and smiles from the audition panel that they’re happy with what they hear.
Mr. Shippe shuffles a few sheets of paper on his table. “And now the sides.” He looks up at me. “Do you need a copy for yourself?”
I shake my head. “I’m off book.”
