Page 4 of Broken Romeo
She blows a kiss before spinning and passing by me on her way out of the audition. I’m dumbstruck, watching her float down the hallway and out the door like some sort of theatrical goddess.
Finally, I snap out of my haze. With a glance around, it hits me how vastly different this experience already is from the other cattle-call ensemble and swing auditions I’ve been to in this exact space.
Prior to joining the Actor’s Equity Union, which is basically SAG but for Broadway, I’d come to auditions here with literally hundreds—if not thousands—of other women who looked, sang, and danced just like me. We’d be herded in, given a number, tossed on stage, and whittled down to the best of the best in the grueling audition process.
But this? This is completely different. Our auditions are by appointment only, scheduled so that there’s only the occasional overlap.
Like this, right now with Missy.
There’s no roomful of blonde-haired, blue-eyed, 5’5” actresses reading over their monologues as they wait for their five minutes in front of the director.
The stage manager waves goodbye to Missy and her smile grows as she sees me. I like her already. For one, she’s smiling. At me… a nobody actress about to audition. Am I in the damn Twilight Zone? Is this how leading role auditions are usually treated?
“Ms. Harris?” she asks.
“Yes…”
“Fantastic! As you can see, we just finished the other audition. They’re running a little behind, so it will be a few minutes. Steep competition out there.” Her grin widens and she hands me a clipboard, a pen, and a bottle of water. “My name is Maggie. I’m the stage manager. Your agent sent a messenger this morning with your headshot and resume. Here is a detailed rehearsal schedule with a general timeline of the production. If you have any conflicts with that schedule, please mark it down. Scheduling conflicts will be taken into consideration when casting, so try to be sparing. And of course, here are the production sides for the audition. We’ll need you to sign the NDA and initial the second page. Did you bring sheet music?”
I nod, cracking the cap of the water bottle, and take a swig to wet my suddenly dry throat.
“Wonderful,” Maggie says as she stands and motions for me to follow her. She leads me down the hall where she opens a heavy door and guides me into a small room with a comfortable looking leather chair and a piano in the corner. “If you want to sing through your audition piece and warm up your voice, you can do so in here. You have about ten minutes before we’ll bring you in to get started.”
I’m immediately hit with nerves… and the urge to pee takes over my body. “Actually, is it possible to use the restroom?”
“Of course. Unfortunately, our audition green room doesn’t have its own bathroom, but the building has one down that hall, on your right. Feel free to use it and then make your way back here.”
I thank her and do my best to walk, not run, toward the bathroom. As I reach for the handle of the ladies’ room, the men’s room door on the other side swings open.
It takes a moment for me to register who’s walking out of the bathroom, but the moment it does, I gasp.
My knees tremble, knocking together at the sight of him here. In front of me.
“Holden,” I whisper.
My water bottle slips from my fingers and smacks against the marble floors, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent hall.
His chuckle vibrates through my body, rattling me all the way down to my bones, and I watch, feet glued to the floor, as he stoops to pick up the bottle for me.
His eyes are just as piercing as I remember them—a honeyed shade of whiskey with mossy green flecks. Captivating with dark lashes and thick brows always in some state of furrow.
The intensity of his stare burns through me, and just like that, I’m the nineteen-year-old college student again, fawning over the hotter, older upperclassman jock who happens to also be a theater God.
Unfortunately for me, out of all of us from our Ivy League university class, he’s the one who made it. He’s the one working professionally—not only in touring companies, but on Broadway.
The moment he entered the professional world, he was Broadway’s newest “It” man and he’s been starring in almost every show alongside Missy Howl for the past three years.
Missy Howl. My competition for this show.
I’m so fucked.
My eyes sweep over him. I despise how handsome he is. Like somehow, he got sexier as some sort of revenge on me.
His dark hair is longer than it was the last time I saw him five years ago. Tapered and wavy, it falls to his collar in twisted, manly wisps that call to my fingers.
“Katherine,” he says, his tone full of silk and promises. My full name on his lips makes my spine go rigid. No one calls me Katherine…
Except for him.