Fiona on Fire | ONC 2023

03. a chance

"A word of advice: don't even think you're going to get the role."

Fiona felt her eyebrows draw together. Her grip on the phone tightened. "Okay?"

Her agent's words rushed out. "Go into it like nothing is at stake, like it'll never happen. Because for one, believing it could be you is usually setting yourself up for heartbreak. And two, auditions sometimes go better when you don't care at all, when you least think you'll get the role."

She swallowed heavily. "Thank you."

Fiona hung up. She was beginning to feel the weight of it. She didn't even have the script yet, but she'd need to prepare as thoroughly as possible—to know the character inside out, her motivations, style, and quirks. She had four days until the audition.

***

The director sat forward, his chin resting on his hands. He watched her intently.

She hadn't expected him to be here. His presence in the room felt like a black hole, everyone's eyes so easily gravitating in his direction. Everyone worked to please him, from the intern bringing coffee, to the casting director, to Fiona.

A middle-aged woman spoke. "On page forty-three, if you can do the monologue please."

Fiona tried to hide her trembling fingers as she flipped to the correct page of the script.

She quietly cleared her throat and began to speak. Her voice came out strong and confident, masking the terror in her heart. Her volume rose with the anger and betrayal the character was experiencing.

Now the director sat back. "You're hamfisting it."

Fiona stopped and felt confusion spread across her face.

"You know, chewing the scenery—overdoing it. Tone it down a bit, like the emotions are inside and you're fighting against showing them."

She released a shaky breath, inhaled deeply, and read the lines again. This time her voice was subtly strained with turbulent emotion kept at bay. She let the fury seep into her face, then be wiped away as her character regained composure, refusing to let the dam break. It felt natural and raw.

After she finished, it was silent. The director was jotting down notes.

He looked up at her. "I like you. But not for this role. My friend, a fellow director slash producer, is casting for an indie movie. I'll pass along your info." He smiled. It felt genuine.

Fiona smiled back, widely. "Thank you, sir. Thank you all for your time." She gave an awkward appreciative bow.

Then she left, reeling. The hot air outside almost felt cool against her skin, damp with sweat. She found herself giggling, her heart pounding fast with excitement.

She didn't get the role. She knew this. But one connection with an influential man, someone who knew other powerful people in the industry, could open doors that might otherwise remain locked forever.

Fiona would need to call a ride home, but she decided to wait and walk through the city a bit. She hadn't done much of that—enjoying her surroundings, a beautiful bustling city. She was too busy chasing her dream. Nearly everything she did was toward her singular goal—to become an actress. But when would she know she had made it? And how much was enough?

She had been lost in thought, staring at her feet as she dodged cracks in the sidewalks. When she looked up, a very polished young man was heading toward her. He wore sunglasses, but his angular jaw and swept back hair was unmistakable. His sleek, obviously expensive black suit confirmed her suspicion. He was famous.

She couldn't help herself. "I know you. I love your work," she called out.

He gave a downward nod and a slight smile. "Thanks." One word, smooth as silk.

She turned and watched him go, coming to a stop as pedestrians flowed around her like a current of water. There were stars in her eyes, sparkling with admiration and jealousy.