A Hire Love. Candice Dow

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СКАЧАТЬ we may as well get paid for it.”

      “Whatever. How are you going to cast the actors?”

      “Oh, hell no! I’m not casting anyone. You are,” Mya said.

      “How am I supposed to do that?”

      She sipped her drink. “I’ll have a call out for men that match your description tomorrow. For the guys that I like, but don’t make the cut, I’ll tell them about this opportunity and see how many of them are down. You can set up your own casting. You know what you’re looking for better than me.”

      I put my arm around her neck. “What would I do without you?”

      She gyrated her slim hips like Lil’ Kim and chanted, “Who gon’ love you like I do? Huh? What?” She raised the roof with her hands and her large bangle jingled to the melody. “Who gon’ treat you like I do? Huh? What?”

      Scene 5

      RASHAD

      Trying to become an actor should be described as the test of a man’s humility. Things I swore I would never do, I find myself willfully submitting to on my quest for stardom. An Asian lady stood over me, waxing every strand of hair growing from my torso. I squinted to avoid screaming as she ripped out the follicles. How many men would tolerate this torture?

      When I walked into the casting for an underwear commercial, my question was answered. I wasn’t the only buffed, hairless Black man in the room. As I surveyed the competition, I was confident about my chances. Though I long to one day have a respectable role in a major film, it seems directors love me more the less I have on. Often I want to scream, “Damn it! Does anybody see that I really have talent?”

      When I auditioned, I thought for certain I’d nailed it from the expression on the casting director’s face. Her large hazel eyes pierced through me as if she wanted to indulge in me for dessert. I sat in the waiting area for the first-round decisions. Several guys walked out with their heads hung low. As a matter of habit, I always give my competition a head nod.

      When I was called into the room, I entered stoically. It will take more than rejection to destroy me. The casting director sat alone in the room. I searched for her cohorts. She chuckled and twirled her finger in her naturally curly sandy brown Afro. “It’s just me. I’m Mya.”

      “Please to meet you, Mya.”

      I grinned in celebration. Her face elongated and her high cheekbones protruded as she took the regretful deep breath. My confidence fizzled, before she said anything. “You will not be proceeding to the next round.”

      This part always bothered me, because the constructive criticism was never constructive. It was always that you’re just not what we’re looking for. How can a man improve when no one can say what’s wrong?

      After her thirty-second pause, I stood and extended my hand. She obviously had no advice. She continued, “Have a seat.”

      She covered her face. “This is so embarrassing.”

      Don’t tell me this lady wants to sex me up after seeing me in my underwear. She was much too slim for me, but still I smiled. “Go ahead. Say what’s on your mind.”

      “Okay, I have another opportunity that you might be interested in.”

      I scooted up in my chair. This was my kind of criticism. She explained, “It’s kind of out-of-the-ordinary, but it’s still acting. The pay is equivalent to the base scale for a low-budget film.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes, it’s a six-month contract, subject to renewal.”

      “What film? What company? Tell me all the details.”

      “It’s sort of like reality TV.”

      “That’s cool.”

      “If you were to get the part, you would be playing the boyfriend of a young lady who is tired of dating losers.”

      I chuckled. “Okay. Will it be aired? What’s the object of the show?”

      “Well, it’s kinda like reality TV without the cameras.”

      “Get out of here.”

      She shook her head and grabbed a folder. “She plans to cast sometime this week. If you’re interested, let me know and I’ll get you on the schedule. And please, do not discuss this with your agent or any other actors.” She winked. “This is a side job where you make all the money. I’ve hand-selected you, because my instincts tell me that you’re a really cool guy.”

      “I appreciate this. My lips are sealed.”

      This job sounded like a dream come true. Get paid for reality. Who could beat that?

      When I got home and opened the folder, I flipped through the script. I was convinced that the main lady was the casting director. Had the dating scene gotten so bad that beautiful women now had to pay men to act like their man? Sadly enough, I wouldn’t know. I’d been out of the mix since my last girlfriend gave me the ultimatum of choosing her or my acting career. My mother raised me to believe that a man should take care of his woman and knowing that I wasn’t in the position to provide for a woman like I should, I let her walk. No woman should have to sit around and watch a man dream. Nor should a man sacrifice his dream to be with a woman. If he doesn’t have his stuff together, he needs to be alone.

      The scenes outlined how the man should react to various situations. Most of these things should be second nature. Before I buried myself in the remainder of the script, I called Mya and told her to put me on the schedule. I said, “You can tell everyone else to stay home.”

      She chuckled. “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to do that.”

      While she gave me the details, I scanned my closet and planned for attack. She told me that the main character, Fatima, would like to be referred to as Ms. Barnes during the casting. I asked, “Is Fatima her real name?”

      “Yes.”

      I prayed this young lady was as cute as her name. Her adorable little comments in the script made me anxious to meet her. The thought that she felt deserving of this treatment intrigued me more.

      Scene 6

      FATIMA

      Mya scheduled five actors to meet me at a midtown restaurant thirty minutes apart. I sat alone reading over the portfolios of the prospects. Even I had begun to think this was a ludicrous idea, but it was too late to reconsider because Number One was about to walk on stage.

      Before I pulled out my makeup compact, I took a deep breath. As I powdered my nose, I frowned at my reflection. What the hell are you doing? He doesn’t have to find you the least bit attractive.

      I gave the host a heads-up that I’d be here for awhile. While I sipped on a glass of Merlot, I drummed on the table.

      When I saw the host direct Pee-Wee Herman to my table, I choked the stem of my wineglass. I ducked down and peeked over my shoulder. Is there any way I could hide out until Number Two СКАЧАТЬ