“Hmm.” I make an affirmative sound as I scan the pages of the script.
“Anyway, it’s not an open call. They’re only auditioning a select pool of candidates, and you made the list. The black box contains your tripod, ring light, microphone, and an external lens for your phone.”
“They want a video audition?”
“In three days.”
“Three days?” I sit up straight, mentally running through a checklist. I can do it. Ihaveto do it. Because if Lin is right, this could be a lifesaving jolt for my dying career.
“Do you know who else is on the list?”
“I feel good about this, Brooke.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You’ve got a blank calendar and a private place to work,” she says, still avoiding the question. “A place I made sure you got into, because I thought the environment would be…inspiring.”
“You mean creepy?”
“Whatever it takes. So while you’re in that big old, empty place—like your character is going to be—you need to dig into the script, learn the character, and decide how you can make her yours. This movie has scare factor, but it also has heart. I think it could be big.”
“Okay. I hear you.” I sigh into the phone and melt into the soft headboard. “A horror movie.”
Lin makes a noise in her throat. “Joyce Sandman.”
“Right.” I remember Sandman’s Oscar nomination two years ago, and excitement starts to trickle back in. “Thank you, Lin.”
“Thank me by getting the part.” She chuckles again and hangs up.
I drop my phone on the bed and flip through the pages, hardly able to believe what’s landed in my lap. Literally.
A new script.
Another chance.
Tucking myself in, I turn to the first page and trace my hand over the paper.
My finger stops on the main character’s name. “All right, Claudia, tell me your story.”
4
Warm light splashes on the bedroom wall. Did I fall back to sleep? If so, good. I needed it. I stretch my arms and legs—relaxed, languorous, and more rested than I’ve felt in days.
Then memory surges, and my eyes go wide.
The script.
I bolt upright as the early-morning call with Lin rushes back.
My phone sits on top of the manuscript. Both lie beside me in the bed, where I left them when I fell asleep.
Grabbing the bound pages, I run my hand over the title. I recall some of what I read this morning, mostly the opening scenes—good dialogue and intriguing setup—the first hallmarks of an elevated horror story.
I flip to the first page again to refresh my memory, but I only read a few lines before my stomach gurgles. Now that I’m awake, I’m hungry all the way to my bones.
When did I last eat? The cold sandwich on the train? The German salami on rye I barely picked at?
I need a good breakfast. And coffee. So much coffee.
