Chapter 7

Sandy was better than her word the next day, she arrived at eight am, I’d been up at six-thirty, rung home to let them know all was fine, and was surprised to find my brother there. We’d caught up for a few minutes and then he passed me on to the aged ones.

My sister asked me why I hadn’t rung the previous evening and I’d told her that I’d been busy with my guide all day. She asked me, very archly, if she’d been worth it. I’d said yes, I think so, before I realised it.

When I opened my room door she walked in and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“Yesterday,” she said.

“What did I do yesterday?” I asked.

“How long have you got?” she asked.

“Well, lets see, I’m 16, and average life expectancy for males where I’m from is about 76.4, so I reckon I’ve got about sixty years. Is that long enough for you?”

“I mean for me to tell you what you did yesterday,” she said, “are you always this silly?”

“No,” I said, adopting my serious face, “sometimes I’m MUCH sillier.”

“I’m trying to be serious here,” she said.

“Sandy,” I said, “I didn’t do anything yesterday but be myself. That’s what you saw, that’s what you get. That’s me.”

“You really are that sweet?” she said.

“Sandy until two weeks ago, I had a girlfriend. I’ve loved her since we were five, we grew up next door to each other, started school together. Do you remember a story last year about the young actor who spirited his girlfriend away from a bad situation with the health service?”

“Yes I do, they were Brits and they ran away to LA,” she said.

“That was us,” I said, “then two weeks ago, she did something bad. I gave her the choice of coming home and talking it out with me or staying where she was and carrying on doing it. She didn’t come home. When she did, I sat down with her, and it became obvious that she needed to do some serious growing up. Her problem is she gets a ‘brilliant’ idea and just goes for it, she doesn’t think things through, so we broke up.”

“That must have torn you apart,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied, “it did, hence my reason number four last night. If she’d just been honest with me from the start, we’d still be together. She just couldn’t communicate.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” she asked.

“I prefer to think couldn’t, but really, I don’t know,” I replied.

“Are you going to be involved in the shooting of this series?” I asked, changing the subject away from Cal.

“Yes,” she said, “I’ll be a production assistant.”

“How does that sit with your course at CUNY?” I asked.

“I get credit on the course for it, I have to write up what I’m doing and present a report to my teachers.”

“Any idea where we’ll be filming?” I asked. “Not in Chicago I hope.”

“No, filming will be in Vancouver, either on location or, probably, at Mammoth Studios in North Vancouver.”

“Location?” I queried.

“The high school scenes will be filmed at a local school, the family home in a local neighbourhood, and there’ll be some outdoor shooting too. Streets of Chicago, parks, that sort of thing.”

“Why there and not in Chicago?” I asked.

“Two reasons,” she replied, “the climate is milder, but it still gets snow in winter.”

“And the second?” I asked.

“It’s a hell of a lot cheaper.”

“So, you’ll be there all the time with us?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “I’ll be responsible for making sure all you idle actors are on set on time every day.”

“So, what’s the plan for today then?” I asked

“Well, first you’ll do the audition. There are four of you up for the part, but the other three are all Americans,” she said.

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“No, unless you count their British accents,” she said.

“Explain that please,” I said.

“Have you seen the film Mary Poppins?”

“I think everyone in the UK under the age of ninety has seen that film at least ten times,” I replied.

“Well, shall we say that the other three all seem to have gone to the Dick Van Dyke school of elocution,” she said.

“That bad,” I laughed.

“Gor blimey Guv, they’re atrowshus.”

I laughed out loud at her poor imitation of a cockney accent.

“So, you think I may have an advantage?” I said.

“I think the part is yours to lose,” she replied.

“That should be easy,” I said, “king of the cock-up, that’s me.”

“No way, you’ll knock ‘em dead,” she said, “I’ve seen Star Academy, and quite frankly, they’d be stupid not to give you the part. Just your name on the cast list will improve audience figures by miles.”

“Well, we’ll see,” I said, “do I get to keep you after the audition?”

“Do you want to?” she asked, “officially I’m off duty as soon as I deliver you back here.”

“Then we’ll just have to see to it that you don’t bring me back too early then, won’t we?”

“I like the way you think,” she said.

We went down for breakfast, and at nine-thirty, set off to walk up to the network’s premises over on 59^th Street. We took our time and stopped off to look in a few shops and restaurants and arrived at the offices ten minutes before time.

Sandy had very carefully let go of my hand before we could have been spotted from the offices, and we walked together side by side but looking very businesslike.

I signed in at the reception desk, while she just used her staff pass to get access to the building. I had to wait until someone came and got me.

I was led up to the fifth floor, to a room labelled ‘Rehearsal space C’ I took a seat in a small ante-room, along with three other young men of similar ages to me, all speaking to each other in faux cockney accents.

“Hello,” I greeted them, “I’m David, I take it that you folk are all here for the audition?”

“Pete,” one of them introduced himself, “where’d you learn to do that crap fake British accent?”

I didn’t answer him immediately, merely pulled my passport out of my pocket and flashed the burgundy cover of it at him.

“At home, with my parents, in England,” I said, “where did you learn yours? Dick Van Dyke Academy?”

“You mean everybody in England doesn’t talk like that,” one of the others said.

“Nobody does,” I replied flatly.

“What?” he answered, “you’re kidding us right?”

“No,” I replied, switching to received pronunciation, “just listen to the BBC America news broadcasts.”

“Damn, and I thought I had this in the bag,” the third one said, “and they go and bring in a ringer from England.”

We were interrupted by a young woman opening the door, popping her head in and announcing, “David J Barker?”

I held up my hand and walked towards the door.

“This way please,” she said.

The interview section of the audition went well. They asked me about my family, school, life in England, my acting experience, girlfriends, hobbies and sporting interests. Then they asked me to read.

First, they asked me to sight-read a poem. Happily, they had chosen The Lady of Shalott, one of the poems I’d had to study for GCSE, so I aced that. Then they had me read a short piece of dialogue from the first episode of the show. It was the script that I’d studied most so I got through that quite well, even managing a reasonable facsimile of an American accent, though it was standard American, rather than mid-western. Probably, I thought, every bit as good as the English accents of the other three candidates.

Finally, an hour after they called me in, they sent me back out to wait in the ante-room.

The next one in, Pete Zimmerman, was only in ten minutes before they called the third, Steve Chapman, who returned after thirty minutes. The fourth one was Geoff Gulbenkian, he went in and was in there nearly as long as me. Finally, he came out, looking frazzled.

“How was it?” I asked.

“Piece of cake,” Geoff replied, “you guys may as well go home now.”

“How would we be able to congratulate you when they make the decision later,” Steve asked.

The assistant poked her head around the door again.

“Listen, guys, we’re going to be another hour or so, so, why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and get some lunch,” she said, handing over four cards, “these should feed you pretty well.”

“Where is the cafeteria?” I asked.

“Oh, sorry,” she replied, “take the elevator to the third floor, turn left and follow the corridor round.”

“Thank you,” I said, as we each took a card and headed to the lifts.

The only thing I could say about lunch in the CBS canteen is that it was better than school dinners, just. The main dish on offer was the same as school dinner. Mystery meat and overboiled vegetables, coupled with congealed gravy. Still, it was free. We talked as we ate, Pete saying very little and the other two were more than happy to fill the gap by talking about themselves. So happy that they appeared decidedly unhappy with any subject other than themselves. They were both experienced actors, neither had been to an actual school since they were twelve. They were all surprised that I was still at school and that I was determined to keep up my studies and go to University. Their comment was ‘why do all that studying when you can earn so much as an actor?’

“And what will you do if the acting jobs dry up?” I asked.

“They won’t,” Steve said, “and even if they do, I’ve made a pile, I’ll be set for life.”

Geoff just looked at us thoughtfully.

Just as we were leaving, Sandy walked in with another young guy, chatting away like they were old friends. She saw me and smiled. I waved as we passed, and the four of us got in the lift back upstairs.

We’d been back in our little ante-room, where the coffee was an order of magnitude better than that in the cafeteria when the door opened, and Rebecca Foreshaw, the producer of the series walked in.

“Hi, guys,” she greeted us, “first of all, thank you for coming in, I just wanted to take this opportunity to say to all of you that you were all excellent, and we have now made our decision. I hope you have all been well taken care of.”

We all nodded our agreement.

“Good, that’s gratifying,” she replied, “so down to business. Our decision has been a hard one, but in the end, close as the race was, there has to be a winner. Steve, Geoff, Pete you were very good, but I have to tell you, that David here just edged it by a nose.”

She stuck a hand out to me.

“Congratulations, David, the part is yours,” she said as we shook hands.

The other three both added their congratulations, with varying degrees of sincerity, as they stood up to leave.

“Don’t go just yet, guys,” she said, “there are a couple of recurring subsidiary roles, we’d like to talk to you about. Marcie will be out in a few moments and take you away and meet with you about those. David, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go to the production office and you can meet some more of the team.”

I stood, shook hands with the others and wished them well, then followed her out.

“It’s only one floor up,” she said, “we’ll take the steps.”

It wasn’t a big production office, just four desks and a small cubicle at one end of the room.