Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 7

Once at the airport, I board a plane bound for the Bahamas.  I make a mental note to myself about which bag contains my suntan lotion.  I am sure that I will be using it a lot.

The plane flies first to Florida and there I have to switch to a plane they call an “Island Hopper.  Once I land in Florida I am directed by the crew to walk out on to the tarmac.  A balmy Florida breeze is blowing; I inhale and feel the sun on my face.

It’s a quick flight to the Bahamas and the plane lands in less than an hour.  I get off and quickly walk into the airport.  The airport in the Bahamas is lit by florescent lights and a steel band is playing “Living in America.”  There are no lines, no crowds and no happy women dressed in Bahamian garb welcoming us to the Bahamas.

At the gate I am met by Company Casting.  He is wearing a loud white and blue Hawaiian shirt with a straw hat.  He extends his hand and tells me that I have to go through Immigration before I can be taken to the hotel.  He asks me how my trip was and as we walk a couple of steps he whispers to me “Make sure you tell them that you are here as a tourist, whatever you do don’t mention that you are here to work!”  With that he takes me by the elbow and steers me towards an office.  My blood begins to freeze.

Being an Actor/Dancer we lie on a daily basis but not to Government officials and especially not Bahamian Government officials.  A large man dressed in green fatigues gestures for me to sit in a chair, he has a gun strapped to his waist, an unlit cigar in his mouth.  The air is dry and the air conditioner in his window sits silent.  I can feel a bead of sweat drip down my neck and onto my collar.

I am a rotten liar and expect them to see through everything that I say.  I am so nervous as I talk to Immigration that I will say anything to get through this.  I stammer and get caught on my words. Several times the man raises and eyebrow and looks over his glasses at me.  Instead of being arrested, I pass with flying colors and walk into the sunlight of the Island.

A friend of mine and fellow dancer who also got this job is there to greet me and drive me to my new home.  He has volunteered his services to get the performers to the right place and acclimated to their new homes.  I board the waiting van and he pulls out into the wrong side of the road. My friend screams as a car narrowly misses us.  Now I feel sick.  The Bahamas used to be under British rule so they drive on the left side of the road.  We laugh as he struggles to get in the correct lane.

Zipping through the Bahamas we pass many resorts that are very plush and have swimming pools.  I can see happy tourists standing around the hotels but most of the trip takes through the poorest of the poor. Chickens wander the street and a half naked child raises a cup to the car window at a stop light.

We enter a parking lot several miles from the airport; this is to be my new home.  I walk through a rickety wooden door that enters onto a patio it squeaks when I push it open.  My condo has white stucco walls on the outside and lizards run around my feet.  Somewhere an animal makes a noise that I have never heard, a cross between a growl and a scream.

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.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 6

I call my parents and my Mom's first question is about insurance, do I get any?   I will win the Noble Peace Prize and my Mom will want to know if I get Health Insurance with it.

I go through my phone book and call all my friends from A-Z. I begin to make all sorts of plans. I have a lot to do and not much time to do it in.

I call The Company Casting Director and I am told that I will have the lead Villain roles in all three shows.  The shows are TBD. I am so excited.  The Company Casting Director begins to go into various details about my new fabulous job.

What follows for the next weeks are several phone calls with more details about my new job.  I’m told that it’s a contract of un-believable fortunes. Several perks that include but are not limited to: Broadway Auditions being held for us while we are in rehearsals, dance teachers being flown in so we can keep our technique up to a certain level and while we live in the Bahamas we will all have our own bedrooms facing the beach .

 During rehearsals I will have to take sword fighting lessons from one of Broadway’s best Fight Directors.

I was once told that if something sounds too good to be true it usually is.

Questions don’t usually come fast when you are offered a job.  I asked if Actors Equity would be involved.  I was told that because we will be so far from American soil we will be out of their jurisdiction but we will be following all their rules because the cast are all Equity performers.

The day to leave has finally arrived.  I have sublet out my apartment, changed over all the bills, forwarded my calls, bid my new agent farewell and grab a taxi to the airport.

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.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 5

I read from the script and even get laughter from the table.  “That was great” says the Director still laughing.

Once again I am sent in the hall to wait.  This time when I am called into the room, they take a Polaroid of me and take my measurements.  Then I am sent on my way.

Two days pass and I come home to find the light on my answering machine blinking.  I nervously push the button. The voice on the machine is from Casting offering me the job.

I grab one of the cats and begin to swirl around the room. “Soon you’ll be able to eat.” I say to the cat.  (In reality, the animals would always eat before me if I had no food).  I am told that a contract will arrive via Federal Express. I go to my crappy job and give notice. “So long suckers!” I say to everyone on my way out.  “See you in three months,” says my boss with a wave.

Start time for the contract comes and goes and my phone calls give me several answers from “We aren’t finished casting yet,” to “We are a little bit behind.”

I have given my job notice, bid all my friends goodbye and I am now forced to sit in my apartment and stare at the television, hungry.

Various commercials from the Company are on the TV, with lots of smiling people having a glorious vacation. “Fuck you!” I scream at the set.

A lot of time passes and I come home to find the answering machine blinking again. This time it’s the Casting Director asking me to come in for a call-back. They want me to read for a Prince Charming character.

“Are they out of their minds?” I wonder out loud.

I arrive back at the audition center on the date that I am asked to be there.  I am handed a script that describes the character that I am to read for as a Nasty Villain.  I was given the wrong information by Casting; they don’t see me as a “Prince Charming” either.

Once again during my reading they are laughing out loud.  Inside my stomach is churning bile.

The Casting Director comes up while I am in the hall and offers me the job again.  “Why aren’t you excited?” asks Casting.  “I will be when the contract arrives” I hiss.

On my walk home I curse them under my breath. In New York it’s quite common to talk out loud to yourself  but then the tourists point and take your picture.

Two weeks later while I am sitting in my apartment staring at the walls and the door buzzer goes off.  My dog jumps up and rushes to my defense.  He will hear a squirrel opening a nut and Central Park ten blocks away and bark until he is hoarse.  So now I am yelling into the intercom to be heard. “Who is it?” I scream

“Federal Express” says the unseen caller.

I race down the five flights of stairs to greet the delivery man. In his arms is a thick package.  I sign for it and rip it open.

It’s my contract and I read as fast as I can. Under the part about what role’s it says to be determined.  I rush back up the stairs and back into my apartment.  Once again I dance with the cat.

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.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 4

The Casting Director goes through a long list of boys names and finishes with “Geoffrey Doig-Marx, please stay.“ “The rest thank you very much”

I am asked to stay with about twenty boys from the first group of fifty.  “You will dance some more and then sing”, says the Director standing up facing us.  I turn and gather up my stuff and walk back into the hallway.  The next group is waiting to come in, they scan our eyes to see how the combination went.  “Are you staying?” a friend asks, all the boys in line are looking at me.  “I am!” I answer and continue walking.

I run down the stairs and out the front door of the studios.  I hit the street with my cigarette already in my lips.  I know that I may have many more hours before I will have to dance again, I can probably smoke a pack in that time.

Dancers who were cut begin to leave.  I say my goodbyes blowing smoke in the air as they pass.  “Good luck” they respond.

I smoke close to five cigarettes before I get buzzed back into the building and run up the stairs.  I wander around ‘The holding room’ saying my hello’s to the various survivors.

Hours pass as group after group enters the room.  I lay on my back with my feet in the air, propped on a wall.

I’m called back into the room with the rest of the people who have been asked to stay.  We learn several more combinations and dance late into the afternoon.  I get to stay after several cuts and now I’m sent back into the hall, it’s my turn to sing.

I can tell you that most people in our business spend their time training as either a dancer, actor or singer.  We all dabble in the various different forms of our art but we tend to excel in one form.  Singing has always brought a certain amount of fear into my heart.  I love to do it but I don’t count it as my foray.  It could be that people have told me that my singing sucks, it tends to stay in your head.

I will be third to sing and my stomach is lurching in my body.  I walk to the drinking fountain and swallow several gulps of water.  I look out the window and wish that I had been asked to swallow swords instead of being asked to sing.

The second person enters the room and I know that I am next.  My mind races as I look over my music.  “Act the song” my meddling brain yells.

“Next!” yells someone from inside the room.  I look around and realize that it’s me they are talking to.  I enter the room, look at the table where they are all sitting.  I smile and head to the piano.

I place my music on the piano and go over the tempo with the pianist.  I slowly walk to the center of the room.  The table is looking at me, the Director is absently tapping his pencil on the table.  I can hear the thump, thump, thump as the eraser hits.

I tell them what song I will be singing, they smile back with blank looks on their faces.  I nod my head and the piano comes to life.  I open my mouth and I see the people at the table put their hands up to their ears.  Blood begins to run down their cheeks, their mouths are twisted in agony.  I continue singing.  The table is writhing in pain.  I keep on singing.  I finish and just as the image of them being tortured comes, it goes.

They actually look pleasant and happy.  “Do you have anything else?” asks the Director.  I sing two more songs.

“Thank you”, says the collective table.  “Could you wait in the hall until were done hearing everyone?” “Of course” I say.  I head out the door as they call in the next boy.  I quickly run back down the stairs and light up another cigarette.

Another two hours pass and we are asked to come back in.  We are handed sides of the script and sent back into the hall.  This is one of my favorite things to do.  I am a quick study and better at remembering lines. I immediately look for the truth and the jokes.

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.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 3

I recognize almost everyone in my group from other auditions; we are the first fifty to go into the room.  The room is tiny and they squeezing us in.  The room quickly becomes cramped and hot.  We throw our dance bags to the side.  As usual there is a long table set up at the front of the room.  Sitting behind it is the Casting Director.  I have auditioned for him a million times and he has only hired me twice before.

Next to him sits the Choreographer.  He has charming good looks and a winning smile, he reminds me of a young Alec Baldwin.  I instantly find him attractive.  “He was in Cats” someone whispers to me.  Seated to his left, is his assistant, a dancer that I knew when I used to work for this company before.  He nods at me and smiles.

Sitting in the center of the table is the Director.  He squints through thick glasses, holding a paper inches from his face.  I think that he is reading.  Rumor has it that pyrotechnics once exploded in his face causing a vision problem and to make up for that they gave him this show.

On the wall behind the table is a giant mirror.  All the boys look into it and we quickly arrange our dance clothes and make sure that our hair look’s just right.

The Director’s the first to speak.  “I want to thank everyone for coming to this audition” he starts with.  “This is a new venture for the Company and we are looking for very specific things.”  He looks at the dancers his eyes are magnified.  I’m reminded of Mr. Magoo

“Looking for very specific things, aren’t they always,” someone mutters.  “With that in mind let’s get started” finishes the Director.

The Choreographer walks from behind the table and begins teaching a long and involved combination.  I make sure to pay close attention to the first eight counts.  I know that I am not a quick study and have a tendency to drift.  My ballet teacher jokes often that I’m dyslexic.

The combination continues and we are now at ten counts of eight. “This is fucking ridiculous” someone hisses.

I twist, turn, jump, and slide to the floor.  I raise my hand up in the air because I am not exactly sure how to get up, that’s the part he forgot to teach.

The Casting Director comes forward and starts yelling out directions.  We are told to go to the sides of the room away from the mirror and then we will be called out in groups of four.  I always think that when I’m dancing in a group that all eyes are on me.  I believe that everyone feels that way.  Actually while people are dancing the combination your brain is scrambling to retain what it has learned.

I watch the first group to see if they might have learned something different then I did. I have a couple more groups to decide if I need to change something.

The first group finishes and the Director yells out “Thank you.”

The next group of four is called onto the floor and they dance with so much energy, we are all hungry for a job.  My bladder begins to tell my brain that it needs to be relieved.  I let the combination run through my head over and over.

The group is finished and the third group is off and running.  My stomach growls and my bladder speaks to me again.

The third group finishes and I hear my name being called. I run onto the floor and flash a smile.  We are staggered with two boys in the front and I am in the back.  We get a count in from the Choreographer “5,6,7,8!” he screams.

My body jumps into motion.  Listen to the music my brain tells my body.  I begin to glide and my feet move at a great speed beneath me. I can hear my breathing and my heart has doubled its pace. Jumping higher and higher, I finish and move downstage.  Do it again the Choreographer screams.  We now get to do it a second time and we are asked to switch lines.  Front to back and back to front.

5,6,7,8 the Assistant to the Choreographer screams.  This time I am so sure of every step that I take and my body relaxes into the movement.  I finish, hold my spot and wait to be sent to the side of the room.

I run back into the group of waiting boy while the next group hits the floor. “Nice job,” someone says and taps my butt.

My dancing becomes a blur in my mind, was it all right? Did I forget anything?  Did I stay on the music?

I am anxious for this group to finish dancing.  I look at the clock on the wall and the second hand seems to have slowed down.  I feel that I can hear the gears in the clock grinding as it moves the hands around the clock.

Group after group hits the floor and works hard to ‘sell’ the combination.  I can’t wait to be finished.  I will either stay or I will go no hard feelings.

Sweat is now dripping off the group in the center of the floor as they move to the music.  Group after group is dancing; some people lose their nerve and forget the combination while others seem to outshine all of us.  I begin to question my talent again. “You should have stayed home!” my brain screams at me.

The dancers all finish and we stand to the side of the room. “Talk among yourself”, says Casting.

We create a bullshit dialogue about the weather or something else just as useless.  “Will the following people please stay”, says Casting

You can feel the tension in the air and our collective breathing ceases.  Name after name is being called out by Casting. Did I just hear my name?  No, not yet.  “You suck!” my brain screams again………………

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.