Free Wish Upon a Star by Mindy Klasky

new life I was carving for myself. Alone.

CHAPTER 4

    STANDING IN THE hallway outside the audition room, I forced myself to take deep breaths. I was holding the “sides” for the audition, the actual section of the script that they wanted me to read aloud. Sides were policed like gold; I’d been given the valuable pages precisely twenty minutes before my time slot, not a second more, not a second less. Every detail about auditions had to be scrupulously fair.
    I forced myself to take a deep breath and read through the pages once again. I had been walking on air since Wednesday morning, when I’d followed up on my promise to myself, on the vow I’d taken in Garden Variety. Like a good little actress, I’d checked out pending auditions, and I’d been thrilled to find Menagerie! on the board. The description practically begged me to try out.
    Seeking the Following
    Note: all singers should have equal facility acting and performing contemporary musical theater.
    LAURA: Eighteen years old. Shy and sensitive woman, too lost in her imaginary world to attend business school.
    While Laura limps in her spoken-word scenes, she is a vibrant, showstopper dancer in musical numbers. MUST BE STRONG SINGER.
    Okay, so I was twenty-five, not eighteen. But I played young. And I’d performed the role of Laura in a college production of The Glass Menagerie to great critical acclaim (in the Daily Wildcat, I had to admit, but good ink was good ink.) I understood Laura Wingfield’s trials and tribulations, the way that she suffered, the blinders that kept her from comprehending that everyone was afraid when they moved into the real world, when they lived life on their own terms. I had learned to display her perfect vulnerability onstage. Audience members had actually cried when my Laura proved unable to leave her damaged life behind, to go forward as a normal, healthy girl, facing life outside her controlling mother’s home.
    I shouldn’t have been surprised when Amy teased me on opening night. She said that of course Laura came easily to me. Laura built fantasies about men, about Gentlemen Callers, the same way that I did, with every guy I’d ever dated. I’d fought back at the time, pointing out that at least I went on dates—something that Laura in the play never managed. Amy had merely smiled her Wise Older Sister Smile and said, “Uh-huh.”
    Ah, good old sisterly love—always supportive, always considerate.
    I didn’t care what Amy thought. My Laura Wingfield had brought insight to a classic.
    So, when I saw the posting for a musical version of Tennessee Williams’s play, I was thrilled. My joy only increased when I read the buzz, over on ShowTalk. Everyone in town was talking about this show. The director was supposed to be phenomenal, and the producers were willing to invest a lot of money. I was over the moon. Musicals were big business in New York—my entire career could be made with a single role. And I was perfect for the lead.
    Except for the small fact that I wasn’t a showstopper dancer.
    And I’d really be pushing things, to say that I was a strong singer.
    None of that mattered, though. Fifty percent of a good audition was showing up, looking the part and demonstrating perfect confidence that I was The One the directors needed to cast. Besides, the acting audition was first, before I ever had to worry about singing and dancing. I could ace the acting—it was well inside my comfort zone. Well inside, that was, if I could become absolutely, one hundred percent comfortable with the sides that I was studying. I had ten precious minutes left to master the words, to see how the author of the musical production had modified the language of Williams’s classic play.
    Ten minutes. Which was why I almost didn’t answer my phone when it vibrated in my pocket. Long habit prevailed, though. I barely took my eyes from the precious papers in my hand when I checked the caller ID.
    Sam.
    I could let the call go to voice mail.