It was my first audition out of school. I kept telling myself, do your best, but don’t expect anything. This is your first time out. Besides, this audition is your chance to snoop around a bit, ask some questions. I think I was more nervous about trying to find answers concerning mom’s death than actually performing.
The auditions were held at a local community center. The long line leading up to the sign-in table seemed to consist of people mostly my own age. They were dressed in everything from leotards and tights to jeans and cut-off T-shirts.
I had always been taught to enter a professional audition with class and confidence. I wore a black leotard, with a black wrap-around skirt, skin colored dance tights and black dance shoes, with a small ankle strap.
When I reached the front of the line, the woman at the table never looked up. “Been here before?” She said in monotone.
“No.”
Still, without even looking at me, she pointed to the clipboard to her right. “Sign your name there, and fill out a card. We’ll call your name when they’re ready.”
As I signed my name, I tried to scan the sheet, looking for any names that might stand out to me.
The woman flipped through a Rolodex in front of her and said flatly, “Next.”
I took a card and walked to another table a few feet away. It was surrounded with young performers eagerly filling in the requested information. I finally saw an empty space next to a guy who was sitting on the table, boasting about all the shows he had done. His dance clothing did not flatter his rather short, plump frame, yet I’m sure when he looked in the mirror he saw Barishnikov.
“Yeah, I’ve worked for Donnett before. It’s okay, but nothing like Entertainment Incorporated out of LA. They love me there …” In his exuberance to flatter himself, he smacked me on the head with his arm. To my surprise, nobody seemed to notice. How can they be so impressed with his stories? As he went into another one, I decided to look for another place to sit.
I found a small table all to myself in the corner. It only took a minute or two to finish my card. I thought I’d have time to relax a bit and get myself together before they called me, or so I thought. As soon as I leaned back in my chair, I heard,“Number 64, Penny Nolan.” Oh well, so much for relaxing.
A woman dressed in a tailored, yet soft- looking charcoal gray suit held the theatre door open for me. I walked over to her trying to mask my nervousness with a polite, professional smile.
“Penny Nolan?”
“Yes.”
“Right in here, please.”
Except for a small desk lamp on a table, the back of the auditorium was dark. I could tell that there were three people there but I couldn’t see their faces.
A deep, rather gravelly voice announced, “Give your resume to Cindy and go up to the stage.
As I walked down the carpeted auditorium ramp, I found myself walking into the bright light shining off the stage. I took the four diagonal steps up to the stage itself, set my music and other paperwork on the floor and walked to center stage.
“Whenever you’re ready,” prompted the voice.
“My name is Penny Nolan and I will be performing a monologue from William Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew.” I had rehearsed this monologue so much that my body could probably go through the motions automatically, even if my mind were someplace else. Not really the best way to perform, but it could be helpful at times when you’re feeling extremely anxious or distracted!
I finished my classical piece, then immediately announced my modern selection. Thankfully, I was relaxed enough that I was able to lose myself in the characters and the speeches.
Breaking me away from my thoughts, from out of darkness I hear, “Very nice, Miss Nolan. Will you be singing for us today?”
Thanks to my training and what I learned from Mom, I knew with a tour group like this, if you couldn’t prove that you could handle a little bit of everything—acting, dancing and singing—you might as well not even audition.
At most auditions, when they need to hear your singing ability, they ask that you come prepared with a ballad and an up-tempo song. This audition notice in particular stated you could choose one or the other. In this case, I think it was to save a little time. Besides, they could always ask for more if they were interested.
I went to the edge of the stage, picked up the folder holding my paperwork and music and took it to the older lady sitting at the piano, stage right.
I dove into a song I was very comfortable with and as I hit the last note, she gave me a big flourish and an encouraging smile. Well, at least she liked it!
There was silence from the back.
Just as I decided to retrieve my music and get off the stage, a voice stopped me.
“So, you graduated from Century University?”
“Yes.”
“And, your interest in theatre began in high school?”
“Yes, that’s when I started performing.”
“Did you do any stage work as a child?”
“Not really, but I was in a lot of theatres when I traveled with my mother. She was a wonderful actress.”
Complete silence.
Okay, what now? The uncomfortable silence reminded me of time spent in Dr. Waldham’s office. Even if I didn’t have anything to say, he’d sit there, behind his enormous desk, silently staring at me. I’m the one who had to say something just to break the tension.
Just thinking about those sessions brought back a feeling I hadn’t had to face in quite a while. That old familiar, but unwelcome, hot panic began to rush through my body. But why now? Why from out of the blue? My heart began to pound in my ears, then through shrill ringing I heard “Well, then, that must be where you get your talent,” the voice finally spoke from the back of the theatre.
“That’s all we need from you here. Cindy will give you your card and you’ll need to take it down the hall to the dance auditions.”
For some reason, all the physical symptoms began to calm down, almost as quickly as they began. “Okay, thank you.” The pianist handed me my sheet music and I crossed down the steps, up and out of the stage lights, back through the darkness and out the door.
I went through the registration area and turned the corner. The hallway was dark but I could see a light coming from an open door about thirty feet away.
Over up-beat, popular music I heard “1-and-2-step-3-and-4. Now, turn, step-step-step, arms up-and-out.” This must be the place.
Moving around the corner, I found myself in a mini-dance studio. Windows lined the far wall, while mirrors covered the wall closest to the door. A few dancers stretched at the barre, while others stood conversing in small groups.
“Okay, everyone. Let’s go through the combination one more time, then I’ll take you two at a time,” instructed the tiny choreographer who was so thin she looked as though she’d snap like a twig. But, when she began to dance, you could see the strength in every move.
The dancers formed two staggered lines, while the choreographer quickly checked some of her paperwork. No time to change into my jazz shoes. I tossed my bag in the corner and took a place at the end of the second line.
“Okay, Everyone ready?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked to an old boom box and pushed play.
It wasn’t too difficult to keep up. The combination was fairly easy. I was glad she was using jazz and modern dance for this audition. Though I could fake it if I had to, ballet wasn’t my strong point. Despite the strength and endurance I had worked so hard to regain after the “accident,” it was during ballet class that my leg would sometimes tremble and give out beneath me.
We did the combination as a group, and then I watched as the first sets of dancers went through their auditions.
She called out the next set of numbers.
“63 and 64.”
That was me. As I took my place with my audition partner, a young girl came in and handed the choreographer a note. She looked up at me, noticed I was watching, gave me a quick smile and spun around to start the music.
After everyone in the room had their chance to audition, we were told to go back down the hall to the lobby area and wait for directions. I may be new at professional auditions, but I knew the “wait” was to give the choreographer time to discuss the most recent group of auditioners with the director and his assistants.
As everyone started to leave, the choreographer called out to me “Penny Nolan?”
“Yes.”
“You are to go to the auditorium, not the lobby area.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said, a bit confused. I wonder what this is about?
I grabbed my bag, tied my sweater around my waist and followed the last performer out of the room. At the end of the short darkened hallway, everyone turned right to get back to the lobby area. I turned left toward the auditorium.
Cindy, the director’s assistant who had taken my card earlier, lethargically pushed open the auditorium door. She held a clipboard stuffed with paperwork.
“Oh, hi.” Her once very professional demeanor now came across as tired, yet friendly. “Penny, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, curious about what was going on.
“They’re all in the break room. Here, I’ll show you.”
I followed her past the auditorium and around another corner. To my surprise, as she opened the door, cigarette smoke poured into the hallway. I could hardly see my way into the room. I took a few steps forward, struggling to see through the rather heavy smoke, and trying desperately not to cough. I guess some of these people never read the Surgeon General’s warning!
Cindy had come in right behind me. “This is Penny Nolan. Penny, this is our Director, Peter Donnett.” She motioned to one of the bodies sitting on a couch across the room. I still couldn’t clearly make out faces through the smoke.
Rising and offering his hand he said, “Nice to meet you again, Penny. Would you please sit down? I’m sorry about the mess. We’ve been awfully busy today.”
Sitting across from him, I glanced down at the table between us. It was covered with scripts, resumes, and notes. The endless 8 X 10 glossies scattered over the table looked like a collage of “the hopeful and most likely disappointed.”
There were cardboard, carry-out coffee cups with different amounts of coffee in them. One had old cream floating at the top like an oil slick. Three overflowing ashtrays sat randomly among the confusion. This must be the designated smoker’s area for the Community Center. Mr. Donnett sat with a fresh steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “Would you like some coffee, Miss Nolan?” I loved coffee, but after even that slight wave of panic I had earlier, I certainly didn’t need to put any caffeine into my system.
“Well, the reason we called you back here, is we have an offer for you.” My heart skipped a beat. “We just learned today that our ingenue will not be returning for our upcoming tour. Although it wasn’t listed in the audition notices, we’d like to offer you her job. You’d make an excellent replacement.”
I was speechless, which is not a great thing to be, when you’ve just been hired as a professional actress. Especially, an actress who had just been offered a great job in a prestigious theatre group on her first time out. Donnett continued, “the contract is for six months with an option for six more. It’s a hectic tour. We hit the road the first of September and will play two or three different shows in four cities by mid- November.”
“What do you think? Would you like to join us?”
This was wonderful, but odd. I knew I was a novice to professional theatre but even I know things didn’t happen this quickly. Or maybe they did?
“You’ll be treated like a number or maybe not even that” they warned us in school trying to toughen our hides for the inescapable rejection. “Even if they like you, never expect special treatment or kindness. This business is brutal.”
“Miss Nolan, would you like to take a copy of the contract home, look it over and get back to us tomorrow?”
“Um, yes, if that’s possible.” I finally spoke.
Looking across the room at Cindy who was beginning to clean some of the mess, Donnett flatly ordered, “Get a copy of the Fall season contract ready for Penny.”
By then, the director’s theatrical entourage had filtered out, one by one, leaving me alone with him.
The smoke had cleared completely and I could see his face. His hair was pulled back and I couldn’t tell if it was white, blond, or grey. He had a full beard and moustache. I noticed there was some dark red scarring on the side of his face. His voice contrasted the look in his eyes. His voice, harsh and gritty, his eyes, a gentle, soft sky blue. Though I always made it a habit to look people in the eyes when speaking to them, I could only look briefly into those eyes before I had to turn away.
He was slim and typically tall. He wore a dark blue silk shirt, nicely pressed, that was opened down to the second button. He also wore one small gold stud earring in his left ear.
Looking through the clutter on the table, he found the itinerary for the tour and handed it to me. He leaned back on the couch, stretching his arms out, up and behind his head, then propped his feet on the coffee table.
I tried to concentrate on the list of cities and dates in front of me but couldn’t help but feel those eyes staring at me. Just stay cool, I told myself. Don’t let him psyche you out. Be professional. Don’t let him see how absolutely thrilled you are.
Let’s see … New York City, New Orleans. Please don’t let this guy be one of those perverts they warned us about in school. Is that a casting couch he’s sitting on? That’s enough, Penny, get yourself together!
Though I tried, I just couldn’t concentrate. I stood up and handed him the paper. “Well, Mr. Donnett, this looks great. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful opportunity.”
I offered my hand, and he jumped to his feet. “But Miss Nolan, Cindy hasn’t brought the contract yet.”
Just as he said that, she walked in with a manila folder containing all the necessary paperwork.
“Here’s all the information you need. The first page gives you detailed instructions on which forms to sign, and what they’re for. Some of the legalese is difficult to understand if you’re not used to theatrical contracts. Oh, and here’s the phone number of our temporary offices while we’re here in town.”
“Thank you, Cindy,” Mr. Donnett said, dismissing her. He put his hand on my back and led me to the door. “We’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
I was glad to get to the door. I quickly stepped away from the touch of his hand on my back. As nice as he seemed, something about this man made me feel uneasy. Something about him also seemed, familiar. “Thank you, Mr. Donnett, I’ll call or stop by tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I didn’t give him a chance to say more as I turned and walked down the hall around the corner and out the front door.
I was shocked. I was thrilled. I was nervous. I didn’t even remember the drive home.
Parking the car on the gravel driveway that ran along the side of the house, I thought of ways to tell Aunt Julie the news. Should I walk in feigning disappointment and then when she asks how everything went, say with a straight face, “I only got the best job ever on my first time out!” Yes, I was always a bit dramatic, but that was one of the things Julie liked about me.
I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and slid out of the car. I walked around the back of the house and up the back porch stairs. Julie often kept the back door open because of the delightful breeze that blew through our back yard. With the back door open, the breeze would also wisp through the screen door, giving the whole house a light airy feeling. My excitement grew with each step. Just when I thought I couldn’t contain it anymore, I saw that the big wooden country blue door was shut. My heart sank; she wasn’t home.
I wasn’t locked out, I’ve had my own keys for years. I was just to the point that if I didn’t tell someone my good news soon, I’d explode.
I let myself in, turned at the foyer and bounded up the stairs with a level of energy I don’t think I’ve ever had.
I ran down the hall, grabbed the door frame to my room and swung myself full-speed into my bedroom. I came flying in with such force, I landed across the bottom of my bed. I rolled over lying sideways on the beautiful queen sized bed. It had been the only extra bed in the house when I moved in. I certainly didn’t need such a big one, but it was delightful to lounge in. I loved that bed. I had done my homework there. I read my many novels, plays, magazines and scripts there. That’s where I took naps with our black and red dachshund, Molly.
All at once, I thought of something else connected with this bed, something very unpleasant. The nightmares. Thank goodness, they’d become less frequent. Actually, they were practically gone. But why did I feel that old panic today? I remembered standing on the stage…Just that thought, sent a rush of heat through my body, and my heart racing. Oh, come on, Penny, this is ridiculous. Get a hold of yourself! I heard the door open and Aunt Julie yell “Penny, honey, I’m home!”
I tried to clear my head, took a deep breath, and tried to think of more of the relaxation techniques I learned long ago. Doctor Waldham kept reminding me that people with anxiety disorders can and usually experience attacks when they least expect.
“Yeah, Aunt Julie, I’m up here. I’ll be down in a minute” I went into the small bathroom that sat right off my bedroom, splashed cold water on my face, then changed into old jeans and a T-shirt. Feeling relieved it was over, I took a quick look in the mirror. I was feeling quite a bit better, and I seemed to have stopped those feelings on my own.
I heard Julie making noise in the kitchen and remembered I had some exciting news for her. Now, feeling happy, and in control, I plopped down the stairs with a two-step beat.
Julie stood at the stove, her back to me. “Hey, I’m sorry I’m so late,” she apologized, looking over her shoulder. She was already stirring something in a big copper pot.
“Did you get something to eat?”
I sat down at the table. “No, not yet. I just got home myself a little while ago.
“Well, I’m thawing out some of that homemade vegetable soup you like so much.”
“So …” she turned down the heat under the pot of soup and crossed over to the other side of the table. “How did it go?”
Keeping a straight face I said, “Do you really want to know?”
“Of course I do!” she raised her voice.
Looking down at the table, a bit forlorn, I said sadly, “Well, I’ve been offered the job of replacement for their ingénue.”
“You’re kidding. Really?” She sounded surprised and happy but I wasn’t sure if it was either.
“Yep. I looked up at her with a big Cheshire grin. I have the contract upstairs. They said I could think about it overnight and let them know tomorrow.”
“Have you decided?” Her voice dropped a bit.
“I think so, I just didn’t expect something so big, so soon.”
“I think it’s wonderful. But, I thought you’d be more excited.”
“Oh, I am. It’s just … nothing.”
“What?”
“No, really, it’s nothing.”
“All right, if you say so. How about some soup and a sandwich?”
Julie and I sat at the kitchen table talking and eating as we did so many other times. I told her everything that happened that day. Everything except that uncomfortable feeling I had with Mr. Donnett. It’s nothing, I kept telling myself. And, I hate to admit it, but ever since I read that note she had received from the doctor, I didn’t completely trust her with certain parts of my life anymore.
Though I read the contract over and over and showed it to Julie, I still let it sit unsigned overnight on my bedside table. I’d sleep on it and make a final decision in the morning.
Jess was away for the weekend and asked me to call her on Sunday to tell her how everything went. It took everything I had, not to try to call her right then.
I took a warm relaxing shower, put on one of my Century University nightshirts and crawled into bed. My mind raced in many directions and I reached for the contract to look at it one more time. No, leave it alone. Get your mind off it for a while. I reached over to a shelf under my bedside table where I kept some dance and theatre magazines that would be perfect for some light reading. I opened the first one and saw an article about anorexia and bulimia in the dance world. That’s one problem I never had. But, I had seen quite a few girls who began starving themselves, even in college, attempting to fit the stereotype of a professional dancer.
The letters in the magazine started to blur together, then the words. I put it down, turned off the lamp, and slid under the covers.
I could see the glow from the back porch light that Julie often left on all night. There were many old, large trees on this side of the house. Whether or not the many different sized branches had leaves or not, didn’t matter, when they worked together to put on a beautiful show of light and shadow.
Tonight, the wind picked up speed and the fresh green leaves of early summer danced to its uneven rhythm. The branches swayed and little shadows of those leaves scattered across the carpet and the walls of my room. It was very relaxing. After enjoying the show for a while, I rolled over and pulled the covers up over my shoulder.
I heard soft rain begin to hit the roof, as I drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Hey, is anybody here? Mom, is it you? I can’t see anything. Where am I? Wait, what’s that yellowish glow up ahead? Reaching to the left, and then the right, I feel walls. Okay, I’m in a hallway. I’ll move toward the hazy light. It’s a doorway. Yes, I know, it’s a make-up room! Mom, are you here? Where are you? I can’t see clearly. Why did everything suddenly get so much darker? My foot catches on something, but I catch myself before I fall. I can hear tapping overhead. What can it be? Is it coming from this direction? Now it’s picking up speed. I need to get moving! I’m running forward as fast as I can while feeling around in the dark. I hear a heavy bang echo behind me. Go! I’m picking up speed and ram into something clearly attached to the floor. Umph! I’m lightheaded, did I hit something? I open my eyes. I’m lying on my back, on a cold, hard floor. From the distance I hear a loud, but distant, angry voice. “How could you have done such a thing to me?” Then, a different sounding voice, “Get away from me!” I hear crying and fighting. I need to get out! Out! Let me out! The sobbing sounds closer. Who is it? I’m pushing something away from me. Get away! Who’s voice do I hear?
I started to wake up, realizing the person crying out, sobbing, was me. My arms were outstretched as though I was pushing something away. I put them down and sat straight up in bed, shaking. I pulled the blanket up over my shoulders and tried to calm down. I can hear that tapping sound again. It is the rain pelting against the window. The wind was blowing, making the leaves and water hit the window with increasing force.
I loved the rain, it usually relaxed me, but tonight I was terrified. I couldn’t move from my place under the covers. That cozy, warm place now felt unusually cold. I thought about getting out of bed to get some socks and a sweatshirt. But, despite the chill and need to get warm, I felt as though I couldn’t move.
I got myself together enough to try my breathing exercise. Again, in through the nose, slowly out through the mouth. Then, I was thinking of only numbers … one in, one out, two in, two out. Along with the breathing, the counting could create a meditative type of calm.
After a while, my muscles relaxed, and I even warmed up a little. I slid back under the blankets and fluffed the pillow under my head. The loud tapping had turned to a soft patter of rain hitting the roof. I rolled over and easily drifted off to sleep.