Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 2

This audition was for what I like to refer as the “Company”.  Could I do it? Could my pride be swallowed? Did I really need money that much?  My bank account was definitely telling my brain to go to the audition.  It was one of the only upcoming shows listed in the paper.  It did mention that it was a new show and that a Broadway name would be writing the music.  I would have to think about it.  I could barely remember how bad it was the last time I worked for them.  Was it really as awful as I remembered it?  It seemed like a lifetime ago that I had worked for them.  Did I blow my experience out of proportion?  I remember the weather, the apartment and all the friends I had made.  I must have forgotten all of that when I told my stories of the crappy treatment that we received.

My head began to swim.  I sat down on someone’s front stoop and took out a cigarette.  I lit and watched the smoke as it danced around my head.  It would be three weeks until the audition and I would have plenty of time to either talk myself out of it or go and try to get the job.  “Oh well”, I told myself “I have plenty of time to figure things out”.

Unfortunately, time in New York City goes by in the blink of an eye.  Three weeks later I find myself in the waiting room of a New Dance Group on 47^th street.  I was dressed as dancers do in that day; I was wearing the obligatory black.  Black turtle neck leotard, black jazz pants and black jazz sneakers.  I had three songs prepared and a monologue just in case they needed it.  I spent some time in LA and Vegas.  I was amazed at how people dress for auditions out there.  In LA they look like they just put their street clothes on and happened to walk into an audition.  In Vegas they wore very little.  Come to think of it, my costume when I worked in Vegas had two looks, no shirt and vest.

I look around the room and realize just how small this city actually is.  I know all the boys waiting with me.  Currently, they have us packed in a tiny little holding room.  Boys are everywhere.  There are boys going through plie’s while holding on to the piano, others swapping phone numbers and still others hugging and kissing.  It is a literal sea of boys all waiting to be called into the room to audition.  “Jesus”, I think to myself “Are there no other jobs right now?”  It seems like all the boys in New York City are here, and we are all competing for the same job.

I stopped warming my body up awhile ago.  I can only stretch so much before an audition.  It then becomes a game of psych out, where you try a few different things to make others double judge their abilities.  It’s the oldest trick in the book and it always works.  You can move off in a corner and not talk with anyone; it puts people ill at ease.  It looks as if you know something that the rest don’t.  Actually, I always get nervous before an audition.  I’m a wreck on the way there.  Once I’m there I still a wreck until I enter the room then I feel a lot better.  I guess it’s because I then know what’s going on.  Or at least have a slight handle on it.

I began to let my mind drift and that about what I would be doing the rest of the day.  I am not very focused before this audition.  I think it’s because that no matter what you know that’s not what it’s about.  It boils down to who you know.  I was sure that I would know a handful of people in the room and I’m sure a couple people in the room would know me.  Did they like me?  Was I nice?  Oh crap, now I’m getting more nervous.

The “Company” likes to use the same people over and over again.  One time they ran an ad looking for people who had the “Company” look.  What does that mean?  Anyway it got them into a little bit of trouble, but it was fun hearing them explain what they meant by that.

Sitting here I am reminded of the Tracey Ullman skit where she can actually fly.  She’s at an audition for Peter Pan but she just doesn’t have that right something the casting director is looking for.  Tracey is flying around the room and the whole audition panel feels that she’s missing something.

I am so busy daydreaming that I don’t hear my name being called by the casting director’s assistant.  Now everyone is in panic mode.  I look around and see people scrambling to gather up their dance bags and to get into a single file line.  I jump off the floor that I’ve been lying on and grab my bag.  I’m number fifteen and I get into my proper spot between numbers fourteen and sixteen and march into the hallway.

to be continued...........

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.