Chapter 1
Sonya
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SONYA LOOKED UP ATthe large stone arch pillars that stood guarding the entrance to one of Hollywood’s hottest film studios of the 1950s.WUS Studios, which stood for World United Studios, which was holding an open audition for a big musical film.
Something about going to a big Hollywood studio intimidated Sonya. Everything moved so fast. People rushed from one place to another. Golf carts whizzed by with glamorous starlets and handsome heartthrobs.
But while a bit intimidated, she was excited and filled with a promise that something major was about to change her life.
Having checked in at the gate where a young man told her where to leave of her vehicle and pointed her in the direction of The Muse auditions, Sonya made her way to soundstage 17.
The California sun was hot, and she regretted the full skirt, thick linen shirt and wool jacket, fashionable for 1955.Once inside the air-conditioned facilities, surely, she would appreciate her wardrobe choice, she thought.
But she opened the door with a big 17 on it and was smacked with a puff of even warmer air. She had no choice. She had to shrug off that wool jacket. Using her palms, she tried to flatten out as best she could the crinkles on her linen shirt, passed a quick hand through her straight, black bob and headed down the hall.
To her surprise, a long line of women filled the dozen or so chairs and more stood, waiting for their turn to wow the producers with their talent.
She quietly brought her headshot and very brief resumé to the secretary seated at the far corner of the small room.
“Are they all here for The Muse auditions.”
“That’s right, dear,” the secretary said between pops of her gum. She glanced briefly at the resumé. “You haven’t done much now have you.”
Sonya shrugged. “I sang at a few lounges mostly, but I came to audition as a back-up singer.”
The secretary glanced at her, scrutinized her face. “You Japanese?”she said, her voice harsh. “With what just happened in Pearl Harbor, there isn’t much...”
Sonya bristled at the harshness of the woman’s words. “For one thing, Pearl Harbor was hit well over ten years ago. Secondly, that you would still wish to hold Japanese Americans accountable for what happened is simply unjust.”
The secretary stared at her, clearly unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a manner.
“And thirdly, I am not Japanese. I am Chinese.But most of all, I’m American.I came over legally, received my documents, and just became a Bonafide proud American citizen this year.”
“Well, then, sorry about what I said earlier,” the secretary muttered.“My fiancé was killed during the War.”She looked sad all of a sudden as she gestured toward the end of the long line.“War is horrible,” she said.
“I’m so sorry,” Sonya said to the secretary.“War is horrible,” Sonya said as she took her place behind the last girl.
Girls were called in every few minutes. Every once in a while, a loud screech passed through the door as a girl tried to go beyond her singing ability.
As the line in front of her shortened and she was close to getting a seat, the line behind her grew. Her feet hurt, sweat trickled down her back and her arm was itchy from cradling her wool jacket.
“Sorry, I’m so late. Sorry I’m so late,” a young woman called out as she ran to the secretary and plopped down her headshot. “It is really wild out there. I don’t know how you people find your way around here.”
The secretary looked at the lone photo.“No resumé?”
The young woman clasped her hands together. “Nope. This is my very first try. Isn’t it exciting?”
“Sure,” the secretary droned. She looked up in the young Asian woman’s face, shot a quick glance at Sonya and said nothing.
“I go wait in line?”
“That’s right.”
As the young woman turned to head up the line, she looked at Sonya and came right up to her. “Oh, my God. I’m so glad you made it.”
Sonya frowned. Do I know this girl?she wondered.
