Page 49 of You Spin Me

Jumping to my feet, I pace the very short length of my kitchen, my hand gripping the phone cord like a lifeline. “Why would you want to be with someone who’s so superficial? I don’t want to meet you to check you out, make sure you meet my standards. I want to be in a room with you, see your expressions when you talk to me, your body language.”

“I think you might have a hard time doing that.”

“So you really are the invisible man?”

“I do my best.”

“Okay, well. This is it for me. Goodbye, Cal.”

After I hang up, it takes everything I’ve got to not call back.

If only I could forget the number.

Unfortunately,giving up calling Cal has not helped my sleeping patterns or my ability to get out the door on time, so I’m late to an audition Thursday morning when I literally run into my friend Ben as I rush in the door of the Newbury Street casting office.

Pulling me into a hug, he says, “Hey, Jess. Long time no see.”

“I know, but I’m already late for my appointment so I can’t stop.” After giving him a quick peck on the cheek, I say, “Give Lucy my best.”

“Tell her yourself if you want. We’re meeting at the Coffee Connection down the street. Join us when you’re done.”

After promising to see him shortly, I sprint up the stairs and sign in, doing my best to calm a spike in nerves. I really need to book something—anything—soon. After I made myself go through my bills and my bank statement yesterday, it was all too clear that the loss of a regular paycheck from the school is hitting me harder than I’d expected. I need another source of income, and I need it now.

Between a heart that’s missing a certain DJ’s voice more than I’d like and a head that’s desperate for work, I am in pretty much the worst headspace for an audition. So when the casting director hands me an extra scene to read, saying, “You can read it cold,” it takes everything I’ve got to keep my feet in the room and not running out the door.

Taking the paper from his hands, I stare at it, but no matter how many deep breaths I take, the letters refuse to stop doing the cha-cha over the page. Instead of what I’m supposed to be reading, words I seem to be saying a lot lately leap past my lips. “I have a reading disability. It will take me some time to go over this on my own before I can read it.”

Time stops as I watch the director’s face, steeling myself for his response. My heart’s pounding so loudly in my ears I have to concentrate on the movement of his mouth to get what he’s saying. Something about how I can take it home and prepare the scene for the callback.

Moments later I’m back on Newbury Street with an appointment for next week. Who knows? Maybe confessing my deep, dark secret makes me more memorable. Maybe it’s better to be the girl who can’t read than the vaguely ethnic-looking girl with all the hair.

Nerves are still buzzing around my belly when I find my friends in the coffee shop, but Lucy’s warm embrace calms me. No wonder dogs do whatever she tells them to. On top of that, this pair and their second-chance love story almost has me believing in romance.

After hearing all about her growing business and the play that Ben’s about to start rehearsing in New York, I tell them what happened at my audition.

Apparently, once I start confessing about my dyslexia, I can’t stop.Maybe it’s a good thing Cal shared it with the world.Hm. Need to file that thought for later.

Lucy takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Good for you. My brother Sal is dyslexic. It took us forever to figure it out, and the poor guy was in remedial classes all through elementary school.”

“Yeah, that was me. I can still hear girls hissing ‘retard’ at me when they’d march the so-called slow kids into the so-called normal classroom.”

“Kids can be such assholes,” Ben says.

As they tell a story from their shared childhood, words Cal said on one of our first phone calls echo in my mind.Kids can be cruel.Remembering how he suddenly shut down during that conversation has me wondering what it was about Cal that invited such cruelty.

By the time Lucy and Ben stand to get ready to leave, the all-too-tempting idea of giving Cal another chance is pirouetting through my mind. We’re hugging goodbye when Richard Jones from WBAR walks in. As he passes our table on his way to the counter, he notices me. “Jessica. Nice to see you again.”

After I introduce Ben and Lucy and they head out the door, after telling myself that my inquiry has nothing to do with Cal and everything to do with my career, I ask him for some advice. “You said something about my voice being expressive, and I do have voice training. So far, I’ve only done theater and on-camera work, but voice-over work is an area I’d be very interested in pursuing.”

His brow furrowed, he jingles coins in his pockets as he considers the question. “WBAR has an in-house crew, Rocket and Porky, and they do most of our promos. But every once in a while I do get a demo in the mail that sounds interesting, and sometimes I’ll bring someone in for a special piece.” After explaining what’s usually included in a demo, he offers to send a copy of the recording of me and Cal to Marnie Farrell. “She and I worked together a few years ago, and she could give you some pointers.”

After thanking him for the referral, I seal my lips closed before I can ask anything about Cal. If I’m going to capitalize on this contact, it’s best if Jones thinks of me as a professional, not some station groupie.

When we takeour bows at the end of the opening-night show, I’m flooded with relief as well as post-performance adrenaline. We did it. We made an actual paying audience laugh.

I’m still riding the addictive high of escaping into a character’s mind when I step into the dressing room I share with Lanie, the other actress in the show. To my surprise, I find a bottle of Champagne in a bucket of ice sitting on the dressing room counter next to my things. My parents sent flowers with a promise to see the show at tomorrow’s matinee, but an extravagant gift like this is not their style. When Lanie enters moments later, I point to it. “This yours?”

“Not that I know of.” Lanie plucks a card from the bucket and reads it before handing it to me. “It’s for you. Good show, by the way.”

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