Page 8 of Marisol Acts the Part
According to the stage directions, we’re in a living room, in the middle of a heated argument that starts with CharacterA bursting into tears.
I breathe a subtle sigh of relief—at least I don’t have to pull out any more tears today.
From what I can tell, something I said is what made her cry in the first place.
What we’re fighting about is vague. So, I make up a quick backstory for myself—a jilted businesswoman confronting her husband’s lover—to help find my footing.
I can’t imagine Jamila is older than me, so chances that we’re auditioning for any wife and mistress roles are slim, but hey. Whatever helps me harness my power.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I say to Jamila once I’ve got a decent handle on the lines, already hardening my stance and tensing my muscles, preparing to morph myself into a woman scorned.
Jamila nods, tucks the paper into her back pocket, and fixes her eyes on me. I don’t have time to be thrown off by the jolt that runs through me when her dark brown eyes meet mine.
Like the flick of a switch, her completely emotionless expression transforms into one of heartbreak. Her lower lip quivers, her shoulders hunch until she’s only barely holding herself upright, and tears stream down her cheeks. As in tear s. Plural.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she pleads, her voice so choked and desperate I completely forget we’re supposed to be acting out a scene.
“Y-you…you deserved this,” I stammer out far later than I should. The backstory I created goes out the window as all the confidence I mustered leaks out of me like a popped balloon.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Jamila continues without missing a beat, almost choking on a sob as she takes a trembling step toward me.
I stumble backward, ripping my arm away from her grip, which, while accidental, is still in character. “But it did,” I snap, attempting to use my frazzled energy to my advantage.
Jamila shakes her head, her hands trembling as she curls them around herself and lowers her chin to her chest. Thick teardrops roll down her cheeks and splatter against the white tile floor. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Your promises don’t mean anything to me.” I use the opportunity to turn away from her, focusing on a chip in the white brick wall across from me instead. I cross my arms tightly in a display of control. Power.
“Please, don’t.”
Rune claps as soon as Jamila utters her last line.
“Beautiful. Now take it one more time from the top. Marisol, don’t turn away from her this time,” he says as he writes something in his notebook so furiously it splits the page down the middle.
He doesn’t let that stop him, flipping instead to the next page, which is already stained with black, blue, and red pen marks.
We do as he says, resetting to our original positions. Jamila quickly dabs at the tears streaking her cheeks and swipes the mascara smudged beneath her eyes. I do my best to shake off my nerves, reharnessing all my power as the casting assistant counts us down.
Once again, Jamila and I run through the handful of lines. Like before, she bursts into tears the second she says her first line, but I don’t have the option of turning away this time. Instead, I gaze directly into her wide, watery brown eyes as I step farther into her space.
“Your promises don’t mean anything to me,” I sneer, using the little bit of extra height I have from my heels to look down on her with as much contempt as I possibly can. I don’t need to watch the footage back to know my glare is hot enough to burn.
She doesn’t back away from me either, though. She stares straight into me, shoulders trembling as she comes close enough that I can hear her racing heartbeat—or is that mine?
“Please, don’t,” she whimpers, and for a second, I think she’s going to reach out and touch me, but the casting assistant calls cut, and like the flip of a switch, she wipes the sorrow off her face.
Rune doesn’t give us any praise when we wrap this time. “Jamila, stay,” he grunts, caveman-like, not turning away from his notes.
Marie glances cautiously from him to us, a tight-lipped smile on her face when she turns to me. “Thank you so much for coming in, Marisol. We’ll be in touch.”
Everything happens so quickly I don’t even realize what Marie said until the casting assistant heads for the door, unlocks it, and gestures for me to find my way out.
That’s it. A two-hour drive and possible bladder infection for nothing.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes in front of a director who didn’t even look at me half the time.
“O-oh,” I say without thinking, immediately wishing I could take it back. Wipe the shock off my face before they can notice. “Thank you so much,” I tack on quickly, hoping it’ll cover up my first blunder.
My body locks as I nearly walk right into Jamila when I head for the door. Besides the dampness of her cheeks, you’d never be able to tell she was practically bent in half, begging for forgiveness and fighting back sobs barely a minute earlier.
“It was nice meeting you,” she says.
“You too,” I reply with a stiff smile. It would’ve been nicer if we’d met anywhere else. A coffee shop. A hair salon. Walking our dogs down the same street. Anywhere but here, in this room where we’re competition.
And she’s clearly the winner.
With one last wave to Marie and the others, I rush out of the bathroom-less warehouse. Four texts are waiting for me when I get back in the car and grab my phone off the dashboard.
Mama
Text me how it goes. Love you munchkin x
Miles Zhao
Did I leave my headphones at your place?
GROUPCHAT: avalon girlies 3
Posie
Break a leg today!!!!
Lily
You’re going to crush it!!!!!!
And for what feels like the millionth time this week, I burst into tears, ignoring the stabbing pain in my bladder as I collapse against the wheel and sob myself dry yet again.
I am so not crushing it.