“Okay,” I say easily.
Allie remains unconvinced. “You’re being too agreeable about this.”
“Would you prefer I throw a tantrum and demand to fuck other people?”
“No, but…” And there she goes, biting her bottom lip again. “You’re saying you’re perfectly content to just be with me for as long as this lasts? What if I get busy again like I was these past couple days? You won’t go out and jiggle down with someone else?”
I was good with this talk up until this point. Now I’m annoyed. “What, you don’t think I can keep my pants zipped for a couple measly days?”
“We didn’t see each other for three days, Dean, and you wouldn’t stop whining about how hard up you’ve been.”
“Just because I like having sex on the reg doesn’t mean I’m crawling the bars every second of the day looking to get my nut off.”
“Okay. Sorry,” she says ruefully. “But I had to ask.” She fidgets with the bottom of her towel. “Look…do me a favor, all right? If someone hits on you when you’re out and you’re dying to sleep with them, or if you just feel like, um, taking another lover…will you shoot me a text saying ‘fling over’ or something?”
“I will,” I promise her.
But honestly, I don’t envision that ever happening. I haven’t thought about anyone else since Allie bulldozed her way into my bed that first night. Which is disconcerting. I figured that if we hooked up enough times, I’d eventually get her out of my system, but this girl turns me on something fierce. Even now, in the midst of an awkward conversation about ‘taking other lovers’， my body is primed for a second round.
I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever get her out of my system.
*
Allie
I went on my first casting call when I was twelve. I was super pumped about it, and although I didn’t get the part, I still had a blast reading for the casting director, who was the loveliest woman I’d ever met. She gave me valuable feedback I still remember to this day and advised me to keep at it because she saw “something” in me.
It wasn’t too long after that when I realized the audition process isn’t always kittens and rainbows. Doesn’t matter if you’re reading for commercial gigs or day player jobs or juicier roles—you’re bound to face this particular hurdle at least once: the difficult acting partner.
Yep, there’s one of those at every audition. The person who tries to sabotage you even though you’re reading for different parts. Or out-act you because they need to look better. Or behave like an unprofessional ass and forget all their lines, making you look bad in the process. Or sometimes they’re just jerks, and you’d rather boil every inch of skin off than be in the same room as them, let alone read a scene together.
I’ve encountered all types of scene partners over the years, and the best advice I ever got about how to handle it came from Jack Emery, the acting coach at the drama camp where I volunteered.
He told me to use the negative energy.
You can’t control how the other actor is going to behave. You can’t force them to remember their lines, or force yourself to make nice with someone who, frankly, doesn’t deserve the energy it takes for you to fake a smile. Jack instructed me to take that negative energy and channel it into my own performance. Sure, the advice doesn’t necessarily apply when you’re reading for a cereal commercial and you’re supposed to be happy-go-lucky, all smiles as you shovel sugar into your mouth.
But it absolutely helps if your characters have a combative relationship. In that case, it’s easy to use the anger or irritation or just plain hatred and bring it to the performance.
Which is what I’m desperately trying to do at Thursday night’s rehearsal with the senior who’s playing my sister.
I’ve had classes with Mallory Richardson in the past, but this is the first time we’ve acted together on stage. Last week, we had our scripts on hand because it was the start of rehearsals.
This week, our student director wants us to perform sans script. Not the whole play, but a couple of script-free scenes to jumpstart the memorization process. I’m fine with that, because I’ve memorized half the play already.
Mallory? She can hardly string together a full sentence.
“Face it, Jeannette, you’re weak,” Mallory says flatly. “Why do you think Bobby left? Because he couldn’t—” She stops. “Line,” she calls to the front row, where our director and two student producers are seated.