The Audition

Ten past five and Harry was late. 

He climbed out of the car and pushed the yellow Pork Pie Trilby hat he’d borrowed onto his head. While the hat and his shoes, Oxblood Brothel Creepers apparently, went out in the sixties, he didn’t care. He slid the car keys into the pocket of his loose-fitting blue-jeans, their cuffs rolled up, and set off at a run down the sidewalk. 

Ahead and atop a freestanding sign, large golden letters declared the offices of Phoenix Studios. The sign read, “A Streetcar Named Desire auditions today…” but he didn’t bother with the rest as he swept by and into the building.

A line of sweat ran down his back as he watched the numbers above the lift count down. Once the doors had opened, a pair of blonde women flowed out, their perfumes wafting in their wake. Harry gawked at their nipped waists and stilettos before stepping in after them. He pushed the button to the fourth floor with shaking hands. 

His heart raced when the lift opened, and he saw the gold phoenix across the glass doors. He marched into the glossy-white vastness of the reception area and came to a stop at an equally glossy-white desk. Behind it, the mud-brown eyes of the receptionist peered at him over the rims of her glasses.

“Can I help you?” she asked. 

“Hi, I’m… I’m here for the audition,” Harry said and placed his hat on the counter, wiping his clammy hands on his pants.

“Sorry, but we’re—” 

“You have no idea how hard it was to get time off work. I actually had to beg my boss.” 

“But sir, it’s not—”

“I know, I know, I’m late and I’m so, so sorry. But, please, you’ve got to give me a shot.”

“It’s not—” 

“All I need is a handful of minutes to show what I can do. It won’t take long, I promise.”

“Alright, sir,” she said and frowned. “What was the name?”

“Harry. Harry Harvey.”

“Very good. Please, take a seat and I’ll let the producer know you’re waiting.”

“Thanks so much. This means a lot.” He took his hat and went to sit in one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs along the wall.

“Excuse me, Mr Collingwood,” the receptionist said as she adjusted the mouthpiece of her telephone headset. “I have a gentleman here for an audition. Yes, I tried to tell him, sir, but he insisted. Of course, sir,” she said finally. 

She rose from her desk and peered at Harry. “Please follow me.” 

He stood and followed her across the room, marvelling at how short she was even in her heels.

She led him along a corridor to a set of double doors and knocked. After several moments, she pushed the doors open to reveal a large office with walls painted blood red.

“Mr Collingwood, this is Mr Harvey,” she said. 

Harry held his hat against his chest as he stepped past her into the room. He had expected to be nervous, but walking into the room knotted his stomach. It felt as if he had stepped into the depths of some creature’s lair to be devoured. And on the far side of the room behind a black mahogany desk sat that creature.

“Thank you, Cynthia,” Mr Collingwood said. “That will be all.” 

She nodded and closed the doors behind her.

Without standing, the producer motioned towards a pair of chairs opposite him. “Please sit, Mr Harvey.”

“Please call me Harry,” Harry replied and shuffled forward to take a seat.

“Mr Harvey, you understand that—”

“Oh, oh, yes, sir. I know I’m very late, but it was the only time I could get off work. My boss is usually flexible, but we were two staff down, and the lunch shift was hectic.”

“Yes, yes, that’s fi—” 

“You’ve probably seen plenty of people today all trying to get that big role. Like them, I’ve been to many auditions over the years and missed out on most of them.”

“Yes, I’m s—”

“Sir, if you’ll let me audition, I’ll prove that I’m the best man for the part.”

“Mr Harv—” 

“It won’t take long. All I need is a few minutes.”

“Harry!” Mr Collingwood said sharply, his hand raised before him. “I’ll let you audition, but please stop talking.”

“Oh, thank you and sorry, Mr Collingwood. I do appreciate the opportunity.”

“Very well.” The producer breathed deeply. “Why don’t you start with a simple character pose?” 

With a nod, Harry slipped off his leather jacket to reveal a sweat-patched white tee-shirt, then drew it over his head to expose a tanned chest and crafted stomach. He returned the hat to his head, pulled the rim down over his eyes, and slouched into the chair. He hung a cigarette from his mouth and casually lit a match.

“Mr Harvey. You cannot smoke in here.”

“Oh…well, I…I don’t actually smoke.” Harry broke the pose and shook the match until it went out. “They all smoke in these old movies and I…ah…wanted to get it right.” 

“I see. Well, you did a good job.” The producer rested his hands on the desk beside a small pile of files. “What about lines? Do you have any prepared?”

“I do, sir.” Harry stood, stepped into position, and pushed the brim of the hat up with his index finger. “Listen, baby, when we first met, you and me, you thought I was common. Well, how right you was. I was common as dirt. You showed me a snapshot of a place with columns, and I pulled you down off them columns and you loved it; havin’ ‘em coloured lights goin’. Wasn’t we happy together? Wasn’t it all okay ’til she showed here, hoity-toity describing me like an ape?”

“Wow,” Mr Collingwood said, a look of surprise in his eyes. “That’s the best Brando I’ve heard. Been rehearsing long?”

“Only this week, sir,” Harry replied.

“Well, I’m impressed. So, you look like him and sound like him, but can you act like him?” Mr Collingwood waved to an open area beside his desk. “Show me.”

Harry took the cigarette in hand, tossed the hat to the floor and began stalking around the room, his gait perplexed and tense. He flexed his arm and lifted the unlit cigarette to his mouth. Then, with a frown, he took a single deep breath and stiffened his arms before him. “Stel-laa!” he cried, his voice deep and harsh. 

Harry turned at the sound of clapping and saw the producer was now on his feet. “Amazing, just amazing,” Mr Collingwood said. “You could be Brando himself.”

“I watched the movie a few times, sir, that’s all.” He smiled, a warm rush sweeping over him. 

“As I said, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, sir. So, how do you think I went? Do I have a chance?”

“You did a good job, an outstanding job, in fact. But it’s a little hard to say.” Mr Collingwood sat down again, crossing his legs. 

Harry collected the hat from the floor and held it by the rim a little too tightly. “It...it wasn’t enough?” 

“Your audition was near perfect, Harry, but unfortunately…” 

Harry’s shoulders sank, and the colour began draining from his face. 

“…I’m auditioning for the parts of Stella Kowalski or Blanche DuBois today. With that in mind, I won’t be asking you back for a screen test. However, I am auditioning for the character of Stanley Kowalski tomorrow morning at ten sharp. I suggest you come back then. And, Mr Harvey,” Mr Collingwood continued, “don’t be late.”

Harry stood there, speechless, eyes wide and mouth open. “I…I…I…”