Dramatic Pause, page 8
“What?” my mom asks gently, pushing me to think.
“Well, everyone is very nice at the auditions, and I told you about Brittany and Phoebe the other day. They’re totally cool and everything, but I mean, they aren’t artists.” I feel satisfied with my answer. It’s nothing against any of the girls I’ve met. “I mean, they go on auditions all the time. Brittany has probably been on more auditions than anyone in the entire world.”
“Well, you think Chernique is an artist, right?” my mom asks.
“Of course,” I say without hesitation. Chernique is one of the most talented and artistic people I know.
“What makes Chernique an artist in your eyes?” my dad asks as he takes the pot of rice and beans off the stove and brings it to the table.
“Well, she’s creative. She’s dedicated to her craft and always looking to improve herself,” I say, and take my seat at the table.
My mom brings over her pot of goulash and says, “But the way you just described Brittany, it sounds like she is certainly dedicated to her craft if she has been on that many auditions.”
“That’s true,” I say, and take a large spoonful on my mom’s goulash.
“Sometimes being an artist isn’t just painting, poetry, and performance. Art can take so many forms. You know who taught this recipe to me?”
I nod softly, because I know my mom misses her mother very much. “Baka,” I say, which is Croatian for “grandmother.”
“Exactly, and she was the most creative artist I ever met.”
“Did she teach you to write poetry?” I ask. I don’t remember any stories about her mother teaching her to craft words.
“No,” my mom says, and laughs a little. “I don’t think my mother ever wrote anything or painted anything in her entire life.”
“Then how was she an artist?” I ask, taking some of my dad’s rice and beans and putting them on the plate next to my serving of goulash.
“Cooking was her art,” my mom says.
“Cooking?” I ask, not sure how cooking can be considered an art.
“My mother would cook the most creative dishes you could find anywhere in all of Yugoslavia. She mixed together ingredients that most people could never imagine. She was always trying out new recipes and making sure she was making the best possible food she could for her family. We were very poor, so she had to improvise, and her improvisations were on a scale with the great Miles Davis.”
“I’ll have to tell Chernique that.” Miles Davis is her favorite jazz musician. She told me she gave a presentation on him in school last year.
“My mother taught me everything I know . . .”
“About cooking,” I say, finishing her sentence and then taking a taste of the delicious goulash.
“No. She taught me everything I know about being a poet. Yes, I apprenticed with great writers to learn about form and structure, but everything I know about being a true artist I learned from my mother.”
My dad smiles at my mom and then at me and says, “You see, Isabel, being an artist isn’t always just about what you put out in the world. It’s about how you see the world.”
I think very seriously about this for the rest of the meal, in between alternating forkfuls of goulash and rice and beans.
CHAPTER 20
After I finish I meet Chernique in front of the old playground where our moms used to take us when we were kids. It’s where we met. The city rebuilt it this summer, so all the swings and jungle gyms that we used to play on are gone. Even though the new equipment is very colorful and creatively designed, it still makes me sad when I realize that all the stuff we played on is sitting in a junkyard somewhere. I lean against the chainlink fence and watch the little kids running and chasing each other through the new tunnels and bridges.
I spot Chernique sitting on a bench and sneak up behind her. “Admit it. You miss the monkey bars.”
“I’ll admit I miss the monkey bars, if you admit you miss the seesaw,” she says without turning around.
“Oh, the seesaw.” I sigh wistfully, coming around the bench and sitting next to her.
“Yes, I’m sure you have many fond memories of your very first stage. You used to make me sit on the bottom so you could be at the top and act out any number of scenes. Don’t you remember?”
“How could I forget? I did a rather brilliant Rapunzel at the age of five, if I do say so myself.”
We both laugh. It seems like just a short while ago we were kids goofing around with stuff. I always liked to act, and Chernique was always singing a song or practicing some musical instrument. I look over at the spot where the row of seesaws used to be, and I think about how simple my life was as a kid. Everything seems so complex and overwhelming now.
“Should we walk to the East River? I bet some of the leaves on the trees over there have started to change colors. I have to be home early. You know how strict Trinidadian mothers are,” Chernique says as we start walking down toward the river and away from the playground.
“Please. Like Croatian mothers are known for their lenient behavior. Dragi, make sure you are home on time,” I say, imitating my mother’s slight Croatian accent.
When we get to the park, we see that the large trees that line the river walk have begun to change from deep green to burnt butterscotch. The sun has begun to set, so it makes the water in the river look like it’s covered in diamonds and sequins. For a few minutes we sit on a bench and stare out at the water and watch the gentle waves.
“I forgot to ask,” Chernique says, breaking the silence. “How was your audition? Better than the first one, I hope.”
“Much,” I say, and explain how I ran into Cassie but didn’t see Brittany or Phoebe, but that Phoebe had auditioned an hour or so before me. “Oh, except for the fact that I almost killed this very cute boy.”
“You what?” Chernique asks, and knits her dark eyebrows together. I tell her all about Chuck and how I literally ran into him and how nice he was.
“He sounds cool,” Chernique says.
“He is,” I say, but even though I could go on talking about him, I think maybe I shouldn’t, because Chernique already knows I sort of have a crush on Preston. Then I remember.
“So, who should be walking down Sixth Avenue after the audition, right down the block from the casting office, but Preston!”
“No! Was he auditioning too?” Chernique asks, knowing this can’t possibly be the case.
“Please! You know Preston and his family would never EVER even think about being in a commercial. Not in a million years. He was on his way to meet his mom.”
“Did you tell him about your commercial auditions?”
“Are you crazy?”
Chernique cocks her head to the side and gives me her patented Are you crazy? look. “Excuse me? You expect him to say . . .” Chernique clears her throat. “Pip. Pip. My dearie, is there any chance that you are disgracing my good family’s name by going out on auditions for . . . oh heavens, I can’t say it. Commercials?”
Chernique’s upper-class British accent is so awful it makes me laugh. She sounds less like Mary Poppins and more like Mary J. Blige. “Don’t laugh. I’m a musician. I’m not supposed to be good with accents.” Then she laughs too, since we both know how ridiculous we must seem.
The laughter slowly fades and we sit staring at the water. It’s only when my cell phone rings that the silent spell is broken.
“Oh no.” Chernique checks her watch. “That can’t be one of our parents. We aren’t even close to being late.”
“It’s Honey,” I say.
“Hello, doll,” she says when I answer. “I knew you’d be a booker, and we are just getting warmed up.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I have a callback for you for CamPen.”
CHAPTER 21
This time I remember my barrettes. I’m wearing the same simple outfit I wore at the original audition, and my hair is off my face. I thought about bringing some Vaseline to put on my teeth, but the thought of getting some of that disgusting goo on my tongue prevented me from doing it.
Phoebe and Brittany taught me that at a callback you don’t need to sign in and get a photo taken again. Instead you go to the table in front of the studio and pick up the same card you filled out at the audition. I go over to the table and immediately see my picture on my size card, but before I grab it, I take a closer look at the other cards out on the table. I see Phoebe got a callback. That’s great. But I don’t see Cassie or Brittany in the pile. I hope that doesn’t make either of them mad. I got the impression that Brittany is a girl who likes to win, but Cassie struck me as a normal kid who just happens to go out on auditions.
I look at the other side of the table where the cards for the boys are laid out. I don’t see a picture of the boy I auditioned with, but I do see a picture of Chuck Fulani. He looks as cute in the picture as he does in real life. I have this crazy feeling inside like I hope I get to see him at the callback, and I hope I don’t, all at the same time.
Then someone puts their arms around me and starts squeezing. “Oh, I’m so proud of you I could burst!” Phoebe says. She wasn’t lying when she said she’s a hugger. Most people would consider this hug an attack, but one thing I’ve already learned about Phoebe is that she is serious about her hugs.
“Phoebe, I’m so glad you’re here. Look,” I say, and twirl around once. “No plaid, no dress, hair back, solid shirt.”
“Wait, wait. Let me take a picture with my phone and send it to Brit. She’s in class right now, but she’ll want to see this.” Phoebe looks through her purse for her phone.
“I hope she won’t be too upset that she didn’t get a callback,” I say.
“Oh, she got a callback.”
“But I didn’t see her size card on the table,” I say, confused.
“She got the callback, she just declined it. She started a class after school with my brother that she doesn’t like to miss. Now hold up your size card and smile.” I do as instructed, and Phoebe snaps a picture. “I’m gonna send this to her right now. She’ll be so excited for you.”
Neil, the casting assistant from the other day, walks by and says, “Hey. Taking pictures? That’s my job. Now you wanna be in the commercials and do the castings. Phoebe, you’ll be taking over soon.”
“Hardly, Neil,” Phoebe says, sort of blushing.
“If you’re here for CamPen, we’re about to get started, so make sure you have your size cards,” Neil says to the group of kids in the waiting area, and then ducks into the studio across from where we had our initial audition.
“Brit has already texted me back. She says we should both break a leg.”
“That’s sweet,” I say, and out of the corner of my eye I see Chuck walk in. I guess Phoebe sees him too, because she goes over and gives him one of her trademark hugs. They start talking, so I go to sit on the bench outside the studio. When they both come over to me, Phoebe introduces Chuck and me.
“We actually already know each other,” Chuck says.
“You do?” Phoebe asks.
“Yeah, we sort of ran into each other at the first audition,” Chuck says, and I’m a little grateful he didn’t tell Phoebe about what a klutz I am. I’m also grateful that it looks like I didn’t cause any permanent damage to him.
“Well,” Phoebe says, “Chuck and I met this summer at a shoot for the Seven Sails amusement park. We had so much fun.”
“Well, you did,” Chuck says. “Phoebe was the lead. I was just one of the background kids on the rides. Turns out I like roller coasters a lot, but my stomach, not so much.”
“Oh, right. I remember. We had to ride this roller coaster, like, fifty times before they got the shot,” she tells me. “What was the name of that coaster?”
“The Screaming Demon,” Chuck says. “It had three inverted loops and some serious gravity drops.”
“Hey,” Phoebe says. “We should all go out there for Halloween. They keep the park open late, and it’s all decorated with pumpkins and cobwebs. I bet I could get my parents to drive a bunch of us there some weekend.”
“That would be awesome,” Chuck says. Then he turns to me and says, “You aren’t scared of roller coasters, I hope.”
“Who? Me?” I ask. Honestly, I’m not sure whether Phoebe was including me in her plans, since maybe she was just talking about the kids who were in the commercial. But really, there is something about Chuck that makes me feel nervous inside.
Then Phoebe says, “Isabel, you have to come. It will be so much fun.” Before I can say anything, Neil pops his head out of the studio and says, “Okay. We’re set in here. I’ll have my first two in now, and that will be . . .” He looks down at his clipboard. “Isabel Marak Flores and Chuck Fulani.”
“Now?” I say. “Together?”
Neil looks at me with no idea why I’m asking these questions. He says, “Yes and yes.”
“Here we go,” Chuck says, and walks into the studio. I follow behind him.
CHAPTER 22
The studio is much bigger than the one we were in yesterday. About a dozen adults are in the area behind the camera, where there are a few tables and couches. Most are drinking coffee. There are two clear groups. One set of adults is all buttoned up, wearing dark suits and shiny leather shoes that look very uncomfortable. The other group is dressed much more casually in jeans, T-shirts, and funky sneakers in bright colors. It’s easy to see that one group represents the business side of the commercial and the other group represents the creative side. A man in jeans and a baseball cap comes over to us.
“Hi, I’m Mike Michaels, and I’m gonna be directing this little spot. Here is what we have in mind.” Mike explains the commercial in basically the same way Neil did the day before. I’m studying and taking pictures of a cute boy with my brand-new CamPen. The only difference is that the cute boy I’m taking pictures of this time is a cute boy I know, at least a little. Last time it was just a stranger. You would think the fact that it’s actually Chuck I have to work with this time would make it easier, but it doesn’t. It makes it harder.
We both say our names and our agencies to the camera. Chuck is represented by Theory, which is one of the most exclusive agencies in the city, according to Phoebe and Brittany. I go to sit at the desk to do my part, and Chuck goes to the other side of the room to be cute, which should really be no problem for him. The director yells, “Action,” and we go through the scene. I try to do it exactly like I did at the original audition, but there’s something about doing it in front of Chuck that makes me shyer and more reserved. The director yells, “Cut!” and walks over to talk to me privately.
“Isabel, sweetie. We loved what you did during the original audition. It was very clear from your facial expressions how you felt about this boy, but this time it seems a bit too subtle. Do you think you could brighten this a bit? Make it a bit bigger so it reads better for the camera?”
“Of course,” I say. If there is one thing I can do, it’s take a note. I know how to use my acting skills to make a correction. Mike goes behind the camera and yells, “Action.” This time as I go through the scene, instead of being nervous that it’s actually Chuck I’m looking at, I remember that the CamPen is supposed to make me completely invisible. Chuck should think that I’m studying and taking notes with this oddly shaped pen, which at the moment is still a plastic fork. I use this to my advantage. I look at Chuck and go through the scene, but this time I pretend that he can’t see me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that both groups of adults are smiling and nodding, so I must be doing something right.
We do one more take, and then Neil says, “Thanks, I think they got everything they need.” He opens the door, and Chuck and I walk out of the studio back to the waiting area.
“How did it go?” Phoebe asks.
“Isabel was great,” Chuck says right away. I’m a little surprised by his comment, and my shyness creeps back a bit, because I know there is no CamPen creating an invisible wall.
“Thanks,” I say. “He was also very good.”
“All I had to do was stand there and look pretty,” he says in a voice that shows he is clearly mocking himself. I like that even though he’s cute—and he knows it—he isn’t the type of guy to be cocky or stuck-up.
“Well, I’m sure you had no problem doing that,” Phoebe says.
“He didn’t,” I say quickly and without thinking. As soon as I say it, Phoebe and Chuck both look at me like I said something a bit too revealing. Where is the CamPen to make me invisible when I need it?
Neil opens the studio door and yells out Phoebe’s name and another name. “See you guys later,” she says, and a boy who’s not nearly as cute as Chuck follows her into the studio. This leaves me alone with Chuck again, which is something I like and don’t like at the same time.
“So are you headed to the train?” he asks.
“No, I live on the Lower East Side. I’ll walk home. Where do you live?” I ask.
“I live in the Bronx. I’m just gonna head over to the four train, so I can walk you to Union Square at least,” he says, putting on his coat and backpack.
A walk to Union Square? That’s at least five blocks, maybe six. Up until now we’ve had only the briefest of conversations. How am I going to think of something to say for five whole blocks? I smile, not letting on that I’m actually a bit terrified, and I put on my coat as we head out of the studio together.
Once we’re out on the street, we walk side by side in silence for a few seconds, and then I ask, “So how do you really think it went for our callback?”
“Honestly? I thought you were great, but the truth is, you can never tell. I’ve had callbacks where I thought I knocked their socks off, and I didn’t book. But sometimes I think I’m terrible and I book the spot. It’s almost impossible to tell.”
“Have you been in a lot of commercials?” I ask.
“A couple. Have you seen the one where the kids are playing basketball and they get tired and then the mom gives them each a glass of Brightday citrus juice?”
