Page 22 of What I'm Looking For

A guy with a clipboard leans into the room. “We’re ready for talent.”

Makeup Lady jumps up from the couch. “Let me go over him one more time.”

“You can do it after we check the lighting,” Clipboard Guy says.

I wish I could remember their names. When I’m nervous, my brain doesn’t hang on to that kind of stuff. I shake out my hands as I follow him into the kitchen, so lit up it’s as bright as a sunny day at the beach. Trying not to squint as I take my place, I stretch the muscles of my face.

Just focus.Be here now.

I scan the props in front of me: coffee cup, sugar bowl, spoon and carton of no-name cream.

A hand waves at me from under the table, making me laugh.

“You ready for this?” the voice belonging to the hand asks.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’ll do great.”

This crew guy may be hidden under the table, but he’s key. When I auditioned, I had no idea how they were going to pull this trick off.

The concept is that the no-name cream is so bad that a cup of coffee doesn’t want to have anything to do with it. So much so that when I try to pour the bad cream, the coffee cup dodges it. Just an inch at first, but it escalates into a frantic chase. In the final shot, I’ll pour from a carton of Garelick Farms cream—the good stuff—and finally, the coffee cup stays in place.

When I watched how they created the effect this morning, I was pretty impressed.

The coffee cup has a metal bottom rigged into it. The man under the table has a magnet and a monitor. It took some finessing this morning for him to coordinate his movements with what he could see on the screen—in the little girl’s version, it was a bowl of strawberries—but now he seems pretty adept at leading the chase. I just hope I’ll be able to keep up.

“Last looks!” somebody yells.

Makeup Lady swoops in, powders me and futzes with my hair. “Don’t touch yourself.”

I grin. “Excuse me?”

She swats me. “You know what I mean.” She looks me over one last time. “Have fun. You’ll be great.”

“Let’s go to one,” the assistant director calls.

I’d figured out that means the same asplaces: everyone has to be at the starting point.

The time slate claps inches from my face. “Aaand… Rolling… Action!”

I yawn and stretch before picking up the carton. Just as I start to pour, the coffee cup moves. I think,Wait, did that just happen?I shake my head,Nah, and try to pour again. The coffee cup moves again. I freeze, put the carton down and stare at the cup.What the fuck?Then I kind of peer at it sideways and dart at it, but the cup’s quicker and gets away.

The director yells, “Cut!” After some discussion and moving of lights, we do it again. Four more times. Finally, we move on to the next bit, and then the next. By the time we’re shooting the cat-and-mouse game, I’m having a blast. On my feet chasing it back and forth, I am determined to catch that damn cup if it’s the last thing I do. At the peak of the cup’s zipping around, I slam the carton on the table as far away from the cup as possible. At this, the coffee cup finally stops, and I stare at it, panting.

“Aaand cut!”

I hold my breath until I hear, “That was great. Let’s check the gate, but I think we can move on to the last setup. Great job, Will.”

Slumping into the kitchen chair, I check my watch. If I can keep this up, I might actually make it to the theater.

“Alright, it looks good. Let’s do it one more time to make sure we have it, and then we’ll move on,” the AD announces.

I shake off my worries. The more focused and present I am, the quicker this will go.

* * *

An hour later,I yell my goodbyes and run out the door. One of the crew members called the theater for me to let them know I’d be arriving later than usual. Pulling out my keys, I jog to my bike, strap my bag down and pray to the Boston traffic gods which, unbelievably, smile upon me. I pull into the theater parking lot at seven thirty-five, swerving to avoid a couple audience members walking from their cars to the lobby. So much easier when I get here before the public does.

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