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“She forced me to be that way,” Dwayne added, “but I’m just thinking that I can see a middle school kid getting crazy pissed off. No one knew what he was dealing with, and then they took away the one thing he loved…to punish him. It makes me think my folks got me more than I thought…” Dwayne’s voice trailed off.
“Yep, same. I read the letter from the high school coach who went to bat for him and actually took him in after the incident. He said he was one of the most intelligent players he’d ever coached, and that he saw a decrease in his behavior when he got a lot of playing time,” I added, looking at Dwayne.
“If we draft him, maybe I can chat with his old high school coach if Jaxton approves,” Dwayne inserted, sitting up straight. “What’s next, Coach?”
“Let’s address some of the other positions since we’re good with the receiver. We’ve been looking at some of the inside linebackers who are hitting the free agent market, so that should give a good anchor up the middle, and we won’t need to use draft picks there. We’ll aim for a defensive back in the early rounds and another middle linebacker for some depth. Obviously, we’ll keep an eye on the board to see who’s up there, but we’re not ruling out getting some big bodies for our offensive line if one of the better guys doesn’t get snatched up by the other teams.”
I jumped in with, “Hey Coach, I don’t think we should ignore an early-round, big-bodied tight end to give me another target and help with the running game.”
Dwayne seconded it: “Yeah, Coach, a Kelce or Kittle-like tight end would go a long way.”
Coach seemed to consider it and retorted, “I’m pretty comfortable with our offense the way it is. Grady is young, but he listens well and surprised us all last season, especially for his first year. He caught a few of your pistol-like throws, Jake. I do appreciate your insight that a Kelce or a Kittle would be helpful. Maybe just dial up a Mean Joe Green for the D-line while we’re at it,” Coach added, obviously mocking us. “One of our soft spots last year was on the defensive side of the ball. We’ll focus on the defensive priorities I mentioned. Also, you can never have too many big bodies on the O-line to keep our quarterback safe and open the running holes. We need to get Tracey comfortable jumping in for you. Rodger will be back as a player-coach, but this is his official last year. That said, we’ll keep an eye on who is available in the free agency market and during the draft weekend. We won’t pass on a big upgrade if we can grab one.”
Chapter Ten
Staring out into the massive body of water, Rakell thought about how the idea of L.A. had been as much a part of her dream as the image of being a famous actress. This glamorous city, with its umpteen pockets of grit and heartache, grew tentacles into the mountains. Those mountains surrounded this beast of aquatic origin with a world vaster and more intricate than L.A. itself. At that moment, a region defined by opportunity felt like a vacuum to her, the inane bursts of exchanged words disguised as conversation from the previous night were splattered across her brain.
“L.A.” had become her mantra while working late nights at the London Fish-n-Chips place, the long hours spent on stage training being criticized, then doing the scene over, hoping for the approval of a professor. It was also her chant during the nights she’d prettied herself, gearing up for an escort date…mouthing “L.A.” and relishing how her mouth and tongue had to work in unison to make those letters sound like one big dream-come-true. “I’m in ‘Llll-Aaaa,’ Mom…I have another audition in ‘Llll-Aaaa’…my agent in ‘Llll-Aaaa’ called,” she’d say to the mirror, bringing her tongue to the roof of her mouth and letting the L lasciviously sift into the air before her lips went lax, allowing the long A to linger languorously, the whole time watching as her eyes sparkled with victory, just before the tip of red made contact with her lips. Gazing at her reflection; she was not always sure who she was, but she was certain she wasn’t the girl from the ranch in Australia anymore. Then she’d say, “Llll-Aaaa welcomed me with open arms.”
“Bullshit, Llll-Aaaa,” she muttered now, her head twisting to take in the views; the water was lapping on the beach, runners with their expensive gear contrasting with the homeless, aching for food. Nothing about this place added up. It was as if there were multiple personalities shoved into one being. One thing was sure about this town: L.A. would make you twist and contort yourself until you had become a different entity altogether, unsure if you even liked that new version. But if you were going to get to utter those initials from your lips, the way the Hollywood elite did, you weren’t staying true to anything except getting the next role.
She started a slow jog along the coastal path, watching the waves dancing along the shoreline, sometimes breaking long before they reached the sand. Then the surfers caught Rakell’s attention, paddling furiously out into the ocean, not knowing what lurked beneath. They seemed not to care, only focusing on the next wave, frantically working to catch it, then hoisting themselves up onto the board for the ride. They did that for a small snippet in time while riding the water’s current, a surreal moment that they could be both one with the sky and the ocean, only to get knocked down and do it all over again. “Damn,” she said, laughing into the breeze as she picked up her pace, “I’m doing the same thing, paddling like crazy, risking the unknown for a ride.” Then it hit her: the surfers who spent hours upon hours got to ride longer and enjoyed the ride, but the ones who dabbled here and there had to be content with the shorter rides, grateful they got to do it at all.
She could do this; she’d give this dream the time and focus it needed, and nothing would stand in her way. She pushed herself forward, running harder and harder, embracing the exhilaration that the water sashaying with sand granted. She shook off the strain of yesterday’s events, the weight of others' opinions, and her own internal dialogue that would yank her off the board. Just like the fatigued surfer who missed the last wave and readied themself for the next one, she’d be ready for this audition. She’d heard others say how time at the beach had renewed them, made this town worth it, and here…now, she understood what they meant.
Her dad used to drive her to the ocean; he didn’t surf himself, but when she was twelve, he brought her for her first surf lesson. He used to say that surfing is another one of those things you have to immerse yourself in to get good at it. ‘Just like languages, you can’t jump in and out; if you really want to be an actor, you will have to submerse yourself and always have a backup plan.’ “I hear you, Dad.”
Ana: Good luck today. I know Bernardo can be intimidating. Stay in character; he likes to challenge a new actor’s ability to hold a character…Send
Rakell: I have three different bikinis. I am thinking about this one… (a picture of a pale blue bikini with white polka dots attached)…Send
Ana: It’s perfect. Sweet, but alas, on you, sexy as well…Send
Rakell: I re-read the scene...memorized all the lines…Send
Ana: You have the address. You will need to say your name at the gate. You’ll be auditioning at the mansion they plan to use for this exact scene. Don’t be intimidated. You are there because they are interested in you…Send
“They are interested in you,” she repeated to herself, walking toward the front door of the Bel-Air mansion, waving haphazardly at the workers busy grooming rows of multi-colored roses that circled a black, shiny, tiered waterfall. The house fit the description in the script—the same shingle style with the look of a seaside abode embodied by sloping asymmetrical rooflines—something she imagined you’d see in the Hamptons, which seemed unusual in Bel-Air. It made sense that they would want to film here, she thought just as the door opened. A woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, with short wavy hair, holding an iPad, looked at Rakell and shot her a quick, perfunctory upturn of her lips before glancing down at the tablet, then back up to Rakell. “Rakell McCarthy, correct? Here for a 3:00 p.m. audition?”
Rakell did her best to neutralize her features, projecting a relaxed air as the woman unabashedly studied her. Her expression was not forthcoming, making Rakell sway nervously, but she shoved her negative self-talk to the back of her brain. Finally, the woman’s expression softened, her eyes crinkling as if she were somewhat human. “Come in,” she said as she stepped to the side, gesturing for Rakell to move past her.
“Yes, I’m here for the role of Emmerson,” Rakell said.
“Emmerson…okay, yes, Emmerson,” she repeated, keeping her eyes on Rakell before shifting them to the duffle bag hanging from Rakell’s hand. “You have a swimsuit?”
“Yes, I brought two bikinis and a cover-up.”
“Well, okay, we also have suits to choose from. Follow me. There’s a room you can refresh and change in. We’re just finishing up the auditions for the young Emmerson,” the woman said, twisting her neck, her eyes flicking over her shoulder, just as a little girl with long dark hair and big greenish eyes, holding her mom’s hand, walked past them.
Rakell heard the little girl say, “Do you think I got it, Mom?” The mom smiled at Rakell as they walked by and said, “You know how this goes. They are talking to other girls. You were great, but we know that doesn’t mean you’ll be in the movie. We are just doing this for fun.” Her voice was so warm and reassuring. “We’re getting ice cream no matter what,” the mom said, guiding her daughter through the door as if preparing the little girl for the inevitable Hollywood rejection.
“Just wait in here. We’re running behind. You can change, someone will be back to get you when they’re ready. We have all your paperwork. They may run the scene a few times…” She peered at Rakell, pursing her lips as if deciding how to deliver her next line, then hesitating. “This scene is being slightly altered for the film.”
“Okay, no problem. Are there more lines, or…” Rakell responded, making sure she sounded agreeable to the last-minute change. She’d been in other small roles where the scene was literally rewritten and even commercials that were altered as she was on camera.
“No new lines, but since this will be the opening scene, the director and producer agree that instead of Emmerson simply pinching the bikini strings, she pulls the back strings then reaches up and unties the one around her neck so that the swimsuit top falls from her body. The camera will briefly show her breasts.” Rakell could tell the woman was studying her response. “Then the camera will pan to his face before the shot moves back to Emmerson smirking at Bernardo before letting out what’s being described by the directors as a seductively evil laugh, but mind you, not the kind an experienced woman would use. It is more like a girl who’s finally understanding her power. Does that make sense?” she asked.
Rakell’s chest tightened, but she offered an enthusiastic nod, knowing there were more instructions to follow.
