Watching the End of the World – 3
The irony of it all was that he hadn���t even wanted to go to the audition. It was his roommate, Trevor, who dragged him along. Trevor was also an aspiring actor and not a bad one either. He at least took the craft seriously, which was more than could be said of a lot of those who dreamed of acting. The day Trevor came home and announced he was trying out for a reality TV show Nate mocked him.
���Reality TV is a joke,��� Nate said dismissively. ���The lowest form of entertainment there is. Marx had it wrong. Truly the opiate of the masses.���
���You won���t get an argument from me on that,��� Trevor said, taking an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter and starting to cut it into quarters.
���Then why are you trying out for it?���
���The real question, Nate,��� Trevor said, taking a bite, ���is why you aren���t.���
���Maybe because I���m a real actor,��� Nate replied.
Trevor shook his head in disbelief. ���I���m sorry, but how much acting do you get to do at your day job?��� Nate worked in retail at a clothing store.
���All in good time,��� Nate said, feeling a little heat rise in his voice. ���I���ve only been here two years.���
���Yeah. Two years. Then it���s three. Five. How many years pass while you wait for your break? Take a chance, Nate. You never know where it will lead.���
���But it���s reality TV, not acting.���
���It���s not?��� Trevor finished cutting up the apple and started wiping up the mess.
���I���ve watched them. Trust me, it���s not acting.���
���Then make it acting. Look, I know you���re not one of those airheads like you see on the reality shows. But that doesn���t mean you can���t act like one. Look at it as an opportunity to play a role. You never know who might be watching. There���s a million bucks waiting for the winner. Who knows? It could be you.���
And so Nate reluctantly agreed to go with Trevor the next day to the audition. Somehow, one thing led to another and here he was. Sometimes the universe had a perverse sense of humor.
The door to the lounge opened and an attractive brown-haired woman walked in. She was wearing an exercise top and a pair of those black, stretchy, exercise pants ��� Nate thought they were called solows ��� that were so popular these days. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Sunglasses covered most of her face, but what Nate could see he liked. He gave her a smile. Stone faced, she looked right through him and went and sat down across the room. From her bag she took a book and started reading it.
Great. This just got better and better.
A moment later another woman came in. She looked to be Indian, with long, lustrous black hair and friendly eyes. She was wearing a long, green dress and heels. She paused just inside the door as if unsure if she was in the right place.
���If you���re looking for the cast of Reality Island,��� Nate said, ���you���re in the right place.���
���Yes, I am. Thank you.��� She had a very elegant, cultured British accent. Nate sat up a little in his seat. Maybe this thing wouldn���t be a total loss. She sat down two seats away, but she didn���t lounge in the seat. She sat very straight and proper, her legs crossed, her hands folded on her knees.
The woman who came in after her had shoulder length, dark hair and fairly dark skin, as if she was from the Middle East or the Mediterranean area somewhere. She was wearing black jeans, a black top and aviator sunglasses which she took off as she surveyed the room. Her eyes landed on Nate, paused, then moved on. He had the feeling he���d just been measured up and classified as ���not a threat.��� There were pronounced muscles in her arms and she moved like an athlete or a fighter. Nate decided he did not want to get on her bad side.
A waiter came by then and asked Nate if he wanted something to drink. He ordered a club soda. The waiter moved on and the door opened again.
