Ned Booth walked off the stage, eyes narrowed in barely contained fury. He joined the other actors who had read for the parts in this summer’s Original Revival series – and failed. He should have known better; Stanley Hamilton was the director, and he had his usual favorites that were also his sycophants. Ned had often reported Hamilton in for favoritism, and the Actors’ Club agreed with him, but the mediator in the Directors’ Club came just a hair short of calling Ned paranoid.
“Ned, let’s go for a drink.” This from Allan Garner who read as many parts as he did, if not more. His batting average was .060, which was even worse than Ned’s at .020. He went for 30 readings and got 6 gigs, while Allan went for 50 readings and got 3. Many of the actors quoted their “batting averages” – jobs divided by readings.
Acting was a bitch in Nova Praetoria and Imperial City, both centers of culture. As with most jobs, too many actors, not enough plays. Plays were considered too high-brow for most people, and too many Praetors thought plays were just archaic. So, it seemed, did everyone else. No new plays were being created, never mind produced.
Ned had tried TV also, but he was told his looks were duplicated and multiplied in too many places. He had a good voice, but not for singing; he had an average body, but there were plenty of other actors for that.
Ned looked at Allan. “No, I have to go get some milk for Cheryl and the baby.”
“One drink, Ned. What hurt can it cause? I’ll buy.”
Ned frowned, not really wanting a drink. “All right.”
The two men went into the bar that was full of the actors from the theatre. A few were ticked off, expressing Hamilton’s preferences. Ned went up to the bar and ordered a scotch and soda, then leaned with his back to it, half-listening to the tirades.
“Didn’t you try and start something with the Director’s Club, Ned?”
“Didn’t go anywhere,” Ned said, sipping the scotch and soda. Damn, it tasted pretty good, but probably because of the company more than anything. “My word against theirs, of course.”
A big hulking man, well-built and reading for the part of McCloud, one of the leads, turned to the rest of the crowd. “Are we going to take this?”
“We have to go through the Actors’ Club, since we’re all members.”
The big man went into his wallet and pulled out the signature blue and white card of Actors’ Club members. He tore it in half. “That’s what I think of the Actors’ Club, a bunch of pansy-assed faggots who all have their asses stuffed by the Directors dicks! Who’s with me?”
A few did that. Ned did not. He needed the work. Since Cheryl’s hours got cut at the store, he really had to hustle to get some money. Cheryl had told him to get a real job, but he had hardly any experience anywhere else, and he wasn’t going to stoop to “convenience store clerk” for some towel-headed Slamic.
Ned turned his back on the big man and left the rest of his drink on the bar. He put a hand on Allan’s shoulder. “I’d better get home. Thanks for the drink.”
“You didn’t – “
“I’m leaving before this turns into a riot.”
The ones who tore up their cards glared at Ned as he left. He started walking home, and someone pressed a flier into his hand. He took it without looking at it, shoving it in his jacket.
At home, Cheryl had their son, Jules, on her hip and was bouncing it. She was cooking something, a lit cigarette dwindling down to nothing on the table. “Did you get it?” She looked so expectant, her eyes bright and almost begging. She looked like the woman he married.
“No, I didn’t.”
All the light went out from her eyes, and she looked at the baby, as if accusing it of screwing up. Now she was the bitch that she had turned into. “Thompsons’ Drug is hiring.”
“I know the next break is soon – “
“You say that all the time!” She turned on him. “Next week. Next time. That TV commercial, somebody will see how good you hold a damn orange!”
He stood straight. “Why don’t you believe in me?”
“Because sometimes it’s time to give up a dream when you have somebody else’s mouth to feed!”
The baby started fussing, and Ned started at Jules, also accusing it of…of what? Causing the maternal instinct to kick in?
He walked away from the scene, holding his head high. His next break was soon, he knew it. He took off his jacket, and took out the colorful pamphlet inside.
Volunteers needed. $5000 if selected. $50 gift card for attending. June 7, 2011, 7 pm Neuron’s Pinnacle, Neutropolis, 2nd floor.
He frowned. Well, he didn’t have anything to lose, and it was tonight. It was still early to get to Neutropolis, but with a $50 gift card, the line would be huge. He put his jacket back on. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going now?”
“For my big break.”