“No, no, no!” she yelled from her director’s chair. She wasn’t the director–I was–but she might as well have been.
“What was wrong with that one?” I asked, more than a little frustrated. We’d gone through a line of fifty auditioners. She had a complaint about every one.
“That one’s eyes were brown,” Malacia said, tossing the feathery curtain of grey hair away from her face. “My husband’s eyes were blue.”
“This is 2065, Malacia,” I replied as gently as I could. “CGI can fix anything. Honestly, if you weren’t so keen on making this film with real actors, we could’ve made a digital version of your husband and skipped the whole thing.”
She rolled her eyes. We’d agreed to disagree on the complete digitalization of films. One more “good old days” rant from this woman, and I would can the project. Without their generous commission, this film wouldn’t be happening anyway. Or if Malacia hadn’t been childhood friends with the producer.
“Fine, then,” I said. “Next!”
Another one walked in. It didn’t help any that the kind of actor she wanted was a type hard to find these days–thin, pale skinned, blue eyes. I couldn’t even remember the last time I saw anyone with blue eyes before the audition process. But the call went out, and they came in droves.
This one didn’t look any different than the rest to me. If anything, he was a hair plainer. We had paraded handsome man after handsome man in front of her, and she had snubbed them all. Said they weren’t nearly as handsome as her husband. This one wouldn’t fit the bill, I was sure.
He looked almost embarrassed to be there. He was thinner than the rest, and taller. He read well, and his lopsided smile was cute, in an odd way. But he was a nobody. And he looked like nothing compared to the rest of them.
I looked over at Malacia. She was on the edge of her seat while he read his lines, her eyelids fluttering a little desperately behind her glasses. It took me a moment to see the tear gliding down her withered face.
“That one,” she said. She smiled. “That one.”