Cruz holds up his palms and climbs onto the stage, disappearing into the wings. I’m still frowning. I wasn’t looking forward to the audition before, but now I have mixed feelings. While I was dismissive before, now, I’m curious. I’m interested and strangely disconcerted.
I’m Liz McKay.
That voice…low and throaty and…arresting. The kind of voice an audience would remember…A voice I want to hear again.
I shut down the thought. She’s just an actress. One of the many angling for the role.
Except, when our eyes met, I’d felt the earth lurch. I’d felt as if I had to reach for her to find my balance again.
It’s ridiculous.
She’s just an entitled little girl using her father’s influence to advance her career.
The sooner she flubs her audition and leaves, the better for all concerned.
She doesn’t flub the audition.
I remain in the auditorium until Cruz returns. Dennis Mckay arrives after a while, looking nervous and proud at the same time. For a minute, I feel regretful about his inevitable disappointment when I reject his daughter for the role. However, he’s a professional. He didn’t get to his level of success by letting sentiment derail his work.
Arthur Bain joins us. He’s a respected forty-something actor who will read with Liz. Natalia Barrow, McKay’s assistant, also joins us. She’s as convinced of Liz’s talent as McKay is. A point in Liz’s favor.
A few minutes later, Liz walks onto the stage.
I study her, telling myself that I’m a director inspecting an actress. Her hair is a shiny, rich auburn, loose around her shoulders. She’s slim as a wine stem, but curvy enough
in the right places. Her eyes are a wide, luminous green, set in a face that would have been classically beautiful, if not for the unexpected lushness of her full pink lips.
She’s smiling, maybe nervous. “Hello,” she says in the general direction of the seats.
That voice again. It’s like aural temptation. Vainly, I try to stop myself from wondering what her lips taste like, what her skin smells like.
Get a grip, Aidan.
Arthur joins her on the stage. He gives her a reassuring smile, and she smiles back. She has a lovely, brilliant smile. The audience will fall in love with her.
If she can act.
Cruz reads the name of the scene. Arthur checks his notes, then starts to read.
Leaning back in my seat, I wait for her. On the first try, her voice cracks. She stops, a pained look on her face. Not that good after all, I decide, strangely disappointed.
She whispers something to Arthur, and he nods, then says his line again. After a brief pause, she responds.
She doesn’t need her notes. Hell, she doesn’t need anything. No costume, set, or music. Once she becomes the character, her presence fills the stage. It’s like she has lived in my mind and seen the character exactly as I imagined her, or even better.
I lean forward, the director in me thrilling like an addict at the sight of his preferred poison. She’s a natural, her voice, her body, her hands, her face…she was made for the stage.
The scene ends. I’m still leaning forward, intent. Cruz turns to me, waiting, but I can’t tear my eyes off Liz.
She’s watching me too, her face set in a proud, stubborn expression, her eyes challenging me. Leaning back, I call out another scene.
It’s the same, she flows through it like it’s a part of her.
Who the fuck are you, Liz McKay?
The new scene ends, and this time, everybody claps, even Cruz. Dennis McKay is beaming with pride. I can feel his eyes on me as he waits for me to say something.
I ignore him. My attention is still on her. She meets my gaze, chin up and shoulders high, and my own words come back to haunt me.