Free Carter's Big Break by Brent Crawford Page B

life to be really prepared for anything.
    I shield my eyes from the lights and peer out into the seats for a reaction. Maybe I was mumbling. That’s the first thing McDougle usually tells me when I finish a scene. But they all have their heads down like they’re asleep. Are they crying? Abby looks as confused as I am.
    C. B. seems really upset and is shaking around. We may have done too good of a job. The lines just seemed to be written for Abby and me, but they were really about two other people, sitting ten feet away. That would be pretty intense to see some kids act out a scene from your life.
    Phil Coates eventually stands and clears his throat before telling Ms. McDougle, “Okay, we’ve got to keep moving. Let’s get the next kids in here.”
    C. B. jumps up and starts kicking the chair in front of him. McDougle hugs him to stop him from wrecking her new theater seats. They’re both still crying, but he’s cussing up a storm through his tears, and bellows, “It just throws it all up in my face! I have no control over this thing!”
    McDougle responds, “No one has control.”
    He sobs, “You do. You’ve taught these kids for a year, and they’re ten times better than anyone we saw in New York or LA, and it’s gonna drive me crazy because I can see how good this film could be with these nobodies in the roles. . . .”
    Hold up: did he just call Abby and me “nobodies”?
    He points at the sport coats, screaming, “I sold it to them! It’s theirs! I have to cast Hilary Idaho and that Wienus Brother . . . and once I do, they’re going to destroy my story.”
    Phil is glaring at me like this is my fault.
    Abby makes a face, points at the script, and mouths, “Hilary Idaho?”
    I nod my head and cup some imaginary boobs on my chest to let Abby know what I think of that. She shakes her head in disgust, but I don’t care—I’m being myself from here on.
    C. B. finally says to the sport coats, “So, that’s what I wanted you to see. We can stop this casting session right now. If you guys can’t see how great these kids are . . . how much more honest that performance was than anything else we’ve seen . . . then you shouldn’t be in the film industry.”
    Sport Coat Phil tugs at the lapels of his jacket and corrects him. “Sorry, C. B., but we actually make movies—hit movies. This session was just a publicity stunt to win over the locals, and it failed. The media didn’t even show up, because without stars, no one cares. Yes, these kids were great, and maybe the story would come through in a more truthful way if we cast them, but who cares? This is a business, and my company has invested way too much time and money in Zac-Michael and Hilary not to give them great parts like these in a project that, frankly, would get completely ignored without bankable actors or great musical numbers.”
    I think about mentioning the other Kidz Channel surefire ingredient: the talking dog! But I keep it to myself. Sport Coat Phil asks Ms. McDougle to show in the next group and explains, “I’m trying to find actors for the smaller roles, so we don’t have to fly anyone in, or pay people we don’t have to.”
    C. B. yells, “You can’t do this, asshole!”
    “Yeah, I can. We own the rights to your story, and we can get a new director if we want to! But we won’t, because you’re cheap, and we think you’ll do an interesting job. You could always return the money. . . . No, that’s right, you spent it all!”
    I shoot C. B. a thumbs-up in approval of his decision to buy a Ferrari. He fights off a smile because this is no time for jokes. Ms. McDougle ushers Abby and me out the door. When it closes, Abby covers her mouth and starts giggling. “Wow.”
    I offer up a high five and say, “No matter what happens, you should know that you were great.”
    She slaps my hand and replies, “Me? You were the next Daniel Day-Lewis in there.”
    That makes me smile because I know he’s her favorite actor.
    She adds,