“Yeah. We found this French Normandy-style apartment building in West Hollywood, and it’s kind of falling apart, but…it’s just so beautiful there. People say LA is a city of cars, but where we live you can walk anywhere you’d want to go. And it’s always warm.”
“Sounds dreamy,” she says. “Do you book a lot of jobs there?”
I shrug. “Some. Not enough for rent though, so I waitress at a luxury supper club. But then I miss all the go-sees, since I can’t just call out every time something promising pops up.”
“Yeah,” Marin coos sympathetically. “I’m lucky I live at home and work part-time.”
“I just don’t want to waste my prime years hustling for tips when I should be focusing on my big break, you know? Mateo is a model too, and he does great, but I’m ready for it to be my turn. I’m glad I took the leap, and it’s been a ride, but I’m ready for what’s next. So here I am.”
Thinking of Mateo, I fight back a tiny pang of jealousy. He and I used to go to auditions together, and then one serendipitous job modeling for Lady Gaga’s makeup line tossed his career into overdrive. He’s in high demand now, with so many jobs on offer that he actually has toturn them down. I’m proud of his success, but it’s left me wondering if my own ship has sailed.
It’s also forced me to realize that I need to make a choice. I either go all in on modeling, do everything I can to break through, commit myself fully to this career path, or I need to suck up my failure and go to college, maybe apply to an art school for photography. Either way, I need to find something else to do with my life besides waitressing.
Luckily, I have some time to figure it out. Mateo decided to come to Chicago with me and leased an apartment here in Wicker Park. Hopefully, I can make something happen.
I’m curious about something. “How did you find out about this audition today?” I ask.
“My friend’s agent told me,” Marin says. “She said it wasn’t a standard casting call, but she couldn’t provide a lot of details. It’s KZ—I mean Danica Rose—so of course I came, details or not.” She lowers her voice. “Word on the street is, they’re hungry for new faces.”
“Right. I figured as much. Though I don’t see any men here.”
Marin shrugs. “They probably do the calls for the guys separately.”
“Hmm. I guess that makes sense.”
The friend who’d tipped me off mentioned there was some secrecy around the contract it involved. Which only made me more excited. Whatever this is, it’s big. And Ineedbig, before my dreams slip through my fingers—though that’d certainly make my parents happy.
They’d never been thrilled with my career choice. Even in high school, when I was making real money from modeling, they’d tried to convince me to pursue something else. They had signed permissions for my underage contracts, sure, but it had always been reluctantly.
I always thought that if I could just land one huge national gig, they’d finally see that all my hard work had paid off. That I’d made something of myself. They’d finally be proud.
At the far end of the hall, the frosted glass doors sporting the Danica Rose logo open and a curvy brunette in a navy pantsuit strides out. Her walk is confident, but her expression is definitely not. Everyone looks at her, and low whispers go around the room. I’m sure they’re all wondering what went on behind those doors. I know I am.
The brunette goes to the refreshment table and pours a cup of cucumber water from a carafe. She takes a small sip, then clutches the paper cup to her chest as if she’s lost in thought.
“Okay, I’m dying to know.” Marin bursts from her seat and approaches the brunette. Luckily, I’m close enough that I can hear them talk. Everyone else rubbernecks to do the same.
“What happened in there?” Marin asks gently. “Are you okay?”
The brunette takes another sip and tosses the cup in the trash. “I’m fine. I had a couple pictures taken and got asked a bunch of weird questions and…that was it. Time was up.”
“What kind of questions? Like your vital stats, or your experience?”
“No.” She shrugs. “Like…do I own any pets, what do I think about downtown living, do I have any bad habits? Just,weirdstuff. Not the usual. I don’t even know who the client is.”
Marin’s face screws up in confusion.
“Brooklyn Moss.”
My attention snaps to those glass doors, where a woman waves me over, a tablet in her hand. I make eye contact with Marin as I rise and smooth my hands down my skinny jeans.
“Good luck,” she whispers before turning back to the brunette.
I shoot her a smile as I straighten my posture and toss back my hair. It’s game on, and I get myself into the zone where I always go when I’m in front of a lens. I feel confident. Prepared. The adrenaline pumping through me is a good thing, a strong thing. I’ve so got this.
I silently chant those words all the way down the hall. The tablet woman nods at me as she pushes the door open, gesturing me through, and I step inside.
And come up short.
