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By the time I got back to New York, I’d missed deadlines, messed with schedules, and generally had Zeke cursing out my name loudly enough to be heard inJersey.
He put me out on myass.
Getting into Vanier through a connection was grace in the highestsense.
The throng of students who were all like me—I’d never been around people whowantedso fucking much—grounded me. Piece by piece, I rebuilt myself and tried to put it behindme.
Beck helped, and so did mymusic.
Even though I’m not where I expected, I’m a better musician than I was lastyear.
But it wasn’t until a girl who looked like Annie Jamieson walked through the halls last April—of course it was her, but at the time, I swore I was hallucinating—that I pounded on Zeke’s door again, demanding he revisit ourarrangement.
He “declined.” A nice way of saying “Fuck off.” I didn’t stop calling, and within weeks, I was offered my first sessiongig.
Today, we spend four hours running the tracks on the list. I do as I’m told, even lose myself in it once ortwice.
Before I can leave, the producer calls me over. “Appreciate the help with this. I have another gig for you next week. Youinterested?”
Yes, I’m interested, but I want to say,This isn’t the work I pictured. I want more. I’m better thanthis.
“I’ll check my calendar,” I say atlast.
After heading back to our place and making my way back to our building from the parking garage, I come across my roommate smoking a jointoutside.
“Guy never came to fix the fridge,” he saystonelessly.
“I’ll call him. How was theaudition?”
Beck holds out the joint, and I shake my head. “I’m not getting a callback. I was fucking De Niro in there,” he says with a wry grin. “But when I left, there were a dozen guys who looked exactly like me lining the hall. Stopped at the lobby vending machine for a Coke, and there was a guy who just had his change eaten who was shaking it. He even sounded like me. If that’s all there is to look forward to, what’re we even doing thisfor?”
As I take in his expression, I feel a pang ofempathy.
Beck’s good at what he does, and it’s still an uphill climb every day just to get a chance at adream.
If I was smart, I’d line up session jobs, string ‘em together to make for enough paydays, but it’s notenough.
The life I once told myself I wanted is within my grasp, but I’m restless. Maybe the thing Vanier’s helped me realize is that I want to create something that’s mine, that no one can take fromme.
“It’s almost your birthday,” I remind him. “Twenty’ll be good, Beck. More auditions, more gigs, more pretty boys giving you prettyblowjobs.”
“Fuck it. I’m gonna curl up under the covers until someone notices I’mgone.”
“I’llnotice.”
He gives me side-eye. “Not once the fridge isfixed.”
I bark out a laugh, and he offers me the joint again. This time, I take it, but mostly for an excuse to stay withhim.
“You heard from your parents since the party last weekend?” Iask.
He shakes his head. “Nah. We always used to go to this restaurant for my birthday. Get a private room. Hell, last year I even started to think my parents were coming around to the acting thing. My mom beamed when I told her about my Shakespeare in the Park gig. My dad told me about this guy he replaced two valves on who was a big ex-producer from Hollywood.” His eyes glaze. “Between the entrée and dessert, the prettiest waiter showed me his cock in the bathroom. It was a good birthday,man.”
Something tells me that’s not happening this year. Beck’s always been a good friend, but with coming out to his family and his upcoming birthday and this bad auditionnews…
I need to up my roommategame.
* * *
