Page 55 of Just Beachy

All I can think aboutas we race toward Tampa is getting there in time. I stare straight out the window, watching the scenery flash by. I don’t try to envision the audition, worry about who the casting director is, or wonder whether I’ll be deemed “too Cassie,” “too old,” or “too” anything. Because the casting director knows exactly who I am and what roles I’ve played and requested me anyway.

When Luke screeches to a halt in front of the correct building near the Tampa Bay Arts Center, I jump out of his car with four minutes to spare. I use them to lean in to say goodbye. “I can’t thank you enough, Luke. Seriously. You’re a rock star!” I press a hurried kiss to his cheek. “I have no idea how long I’ll be so I’ll take an Uber home.”

“No need,” he says. “Now that I’m off for the day, I’m going to visit a friend in Hyde Park and hang out.”

A text dings in on his phone and he glances down thenup at me. “That was the friend who took over the drive-bys at Grand’s this morning. Apparently, she brought out a breakfast sandwich for him.” Luke grins. “She gave the officer on duty last night a tin of homemade brownies. If she keeps this up, the guys will be begging for ‘Grand duty.’ ”

“I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know you’ve got people keeping an eye out,” I say, pressing one last kiss to his cheek.

“Text me when you’re done, and I’ll come get you. I know you’re going to knock ’em dead.”

When I reach the audition space, I tell myself it doesn’t matter how many other actresses I’m up against. I remind myself that I’m either exactly what they’re looking for or I’m not. I’ll either get the job or I won’t. I’m an actress, which means I’ve been facing potential rejection my entire adult life. If the people making the decision decide I’m too this or not enough that, that’s just part of my profession.

I’ve already got two jobs and barely an hour ago I had the best sex of my life. (Okay, I’m not sure how that fits here, but it belongs in the “plus” column.) If I don’t get this gig, it won’t be the end of my world.

Then, pep talk completed, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and stride into the room. Where I see zero other actresses waiting to audition.

“You must be Sydney Ryan,” the woman at the front desk says with a smile. “Here’s your copy.” She hands me a sheet of paper with the copy I’ll be delivering. “They’ll be ready for you in just a minute.”

I look around the empty waiting area again. “I know I wasn’t meant to be here until ten. Has everyone else already auditioned?”

“No,” she says pleasantly. “There is no one else coming in today.”

Confused, I sit down and study the commercial copy I’ve been given. Which is when I discover that what was billed as a commercial for a national chain of beauty clinics is, in reality, a commercial for a national chain of clinics that specialize in breast augmentation. That chain is called Lift.

Don’t get me wrong, I lived and worked in Hollywood long enough not to judge anyone for investing in their appearance, especially if they work in front of the camera. I had my breasts “enhanced” shortly after I got to LA, only I wanted my breasts perkier, not noticeably larger.

“They’re ready for you now, Miss Ryan,” the receptionist says, leaving her desk to show me through the door and into a boardroom, where I’m introduced to the casting director, the creative director, and a representative from the chain.

There are handshakes all around. Then the creative director looks me over and says, “I’m assuming your agent explained what your role will be?”

“Um, no, not exactly,” I hedge because the only things Elise at the Martin Green Agency told me were that a chain of beauty clinics had specifically requested me to audition, where I needed to report, and the time I needed to be there.

“Well, you’re here because our client, Lift, wants you to star in a commercial for their nationwide chain. You would, in essence, become their spokesperson.”

“And no one here is concerned that my character, Cassie Everheart, became an alcoholic?”

“No, not at all,” the creative director replies. “In fact, Lift wants you partlybecauseyour character became an alcoholic and let it ruin her life.”

“And…?” I prompt, certain that I must be missing something.

“And,” the chain rep says,“we believe that if the actress who played Cassie Everheart has her breasts augmented, her still sizable fan base will see that as Cassie being ready to turn her life around.”

I blink. “Seriously? Lift actually believes that if someone with a drinking problem had their breasts enlarged, it would turn their life around?”

“Well, maybe not immediately,” the chain rep concedes. “But it would certainly be a start.”

“In fact, your agent has already negotiated a very attractive talent fee for you along with residuals,” the creative director adds. “The plan is to shoot your ‘before’ sequences as soon as your schedule allows.”

“Then,” the chain rep explains, “we will do your augmentation, which will be necessary for the ‘after’ shots. And we’ll even do it completely free of charge.”

Everyone watches me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to erupt in paroxysms of joy. But I am horrified by thewhole idea. And even more horrified that I consider saying “yes” for almost fifteen seconds.

She shows me the total amount that I would be paid, and I close my eyes in disbelief. Disbelief that I’m about to turn down not just an acting gig, but an amount of money that I could live off for years.

• • •

“You seem tohave finished a lot earlier than you expected,” Luke says as I climb into his car. “And the look on your face leads me to assume you didn’t get the gig.”

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