Devin James Leonard
When struggling amateur actor Desmond Renna heard about the open call for a local film, he immediately dialed the office, made an appointment, and printed out his headshot, and the following week he raced to the shooting location that was a mere five-minute drive from his house.
The casting director led him onto the set, a big, one-story structure atop a graveled hill overlooking a golf course. They passed construction workers in one expansive, high-ceilinged room, men hard at work throwing up drywall over the exposed walls and ceiling. Filming equipment was absent, but that was likely due to the set still being built.
“So this is what pre-production looks like,” Des quipped.
“Pre?” sneered the casting director. “We’re right in the thick of it. Almost finished.”
“Really? So, what is this? Just a couple of last-minute parts to fill?”
“A couple of positions.”
Des had only recently heard the news of this movie and was amazed that they’d somehow gotten almost an entire film in the can, right under his nose. How his roommate Logan had discovered it at all and brought it to Des’s attention was a damn mystery itself, considering Logan was averse to reading.
“What’s it called, anyway?” Des asked while following the casting director.
“The Green,” he said.
“Ah, like golf,” Des said, pointing at the course beyond a glass front wall.
They reached a small office, with nothing more than a desk and chairs inside, some documents tacked to a corkboard hanging on the wall. The room was unfurnished and the scent of spackle and sawed wood lingered in the air.
The casting director took his place behind the desk, gestured for Des to take the seat opposite him, and said, “Let’s see your resume.”
Des handed over his headshot and sat. The casting director squinted at the photograph and said, “What’s this?”
“If you turn it around,” Des said, “you’ll see my work experience, credentials, and skills are on the back.”
He turned the photo around and skimmed the print, his eyes somehow narrowing further. “Fluency in multiple languages,” he quipped. “Horseback riding, fencing, boating, dance. What—?”
“Some of it I don’t have that much experience in,” Des said. “Other than English, I don’t speak any other language. But I can do a bunch of accents.”
“Uh—”
“I can dance a little. Boats, yes, just not sailboats. I’ve never ridden a horse and I’ve also never built any fences, either. I don’t know why that’s on there. Maybe to keep the horses corralled?”
“Hang on,” the casting director said. “I’m a little lost—”
“Wait!” Des snapped his fingers and pointed. “Fencing means sword fighting. Not building fences.”
“Well, either way, how does any of this count as work experience?”
“I don’t know. You haven’t told me anything about the part yet.”
“We need waiters and busboys,” the casting directors said. “Dishwashers, reception—”
Behind Des, an abrupt, forceful knock rattled the door.
“Just a minute,” the casting director hollered over Des’s head, then said, “Anyway, you can take your pick. We’re going to be ready to roll here soon and need to fill these positions.”
“Hmm.” Des rubbed his chin. “Which part’s got the least amount of lines?”
“I’m sorry?”
Since the man had mentioned their gearing up to roll film very soon, he figured he wouldn’t have much time to memorize his lines and rehearse. He said, “The least responsibility. If you’re starting soon, I don’t want to be unprepared, you know? Don’t want to have too much on my plate, so to speak.”
Another rap shuddered the door, this one hard enough to shake spackle dust off the ceiling.
“In a minute!” the casting director hollered. His cheeks began to flush.
“That’s probably my roommates,” Des said. “They wanted to throw their hat in the ring, too. I told them to wait in the car, but they’re a little overzealous to try out.”
Three knocks clobbered and pounded, and a voice outside the door said, “What’s taking so long, Des?”
“They’re not gonna go away now,” Des told the casting director, then shouted over his shoulder, “Come in!”
The casting director parted his lips, but before he could say a word, the door swung inward and Des’s pals JT and Ollie stormed inside. Ollie, a humongous, bearded man, filled up so much of the cramped quarters that it felt as if he’d sucked all the oxygen out of the room. JT was much smaller and had to squeeze his head around Ollie’s enormous frame to see what the hell was going on in front of him. Their faces were shriveled with impatience and frustration, and they continuously looked from Des to the casting director as though they didn’t know who to blame for their agitation.
“What the hell’s the holdup?” JT asked.
The casting director raised a hand and snapped, “Excuse me—”
“You’re excused,” Ollie said in his deep, intimidating voice. He said to Des, “What’s the deal? Did you get the part or not?”
“I was working on it,” Des said.
“Christ, man, I’ve seen turtles cross the road faster than you.”
“We just started.”
“Sir,” Ollie said to the casting director, “did Des get the part or not? Other people’re waiting out here.”
The casting director considered each face separately, his frown deepening with every glance. “I’m not sure I understand.”
JT squirmed around Ollie and said, “Listen, your honor, we all drove here together. You could save yourself and us a lot of time if you just do all of us at once.”
Des cringed and sank in his seat with embarrassment.
The casting director stuttered, “I mean—I could—I suppose.”
“What do you got for us?” Ollie said with urgency. “I want the easiest part. The least amount of dialogue.”
“Nope,” Des declared. “I already called it.”
“You can’t call it,” Ollie urged, “if we’re not in the room to hear it.”
“That’s cheating,” JT agreed.
“Snooze you lose. I got here first,” Des said.
The casting director raised his voice, saying, “Guys, guys! I’m the one who decides!” And once they shut up, he pointed to Desmond and said, “You’ll be the Matre’d.”
“What’s that?”
“Receptionist. They greet and seat the diners.”
Des winced. “Ooh. That doesn’t sound like minimal speech. Do you have anything with less dialogue?”
“Dialogue?”
“Talking to people.”
“Every position involves speaking. You want the job, you’ll be the Matre’d.”
“All right,” Des huffed. “I’ll work on my French accent.”
The casting director wagged his head and rolled his eyes at that.
Ollie raised his hand. “I’ll do it if Des doesn’t want it.”
“Wrong—the Matre’d needs to be a welcome and pleasant sight. You’re far too scary-looking with that beard. If there’s any job that involves not being around people at all, that’ll be yours. And while we’re on the subject of your beard, you shouldn’t be anywhere near food either, so that leaves the dishwashing position for you.”
Des was still concerned about how much dialogue the receptionist role would require. “You got any sides for us?”
“The kitchen isn’t built yet,” the casting director said.
Des frowned, uncertain what a kitchen had to do with reading script pages for an audition.
JT raised his hand. “What about me?”
“You’d fit perfectly as a busboy.”
“Is that an important role?” JT asked.
“Everybody’s role is important,” the casting director said.
Ollie bent close to Des’s ear and mumbled, “Bet he tells that to the unpaid extras, too.”
JT said, “And the busboy does…?”
“They clean off the tables when they’re done eating,” the casting director said.
“Am I allowed to eat whatever food is left on the plates? Unless the food is fake. How does that work, anyhow? Is the food real or do you use props?”
“Prop—?”
“Is the food real or fake?” JT screeched.
The casting director dropped his head and rubbed his temples as if he were surrendering his will to live. “Why,” he said with a huff, would the food be fake?”
“That’s all I needed to know,” JT said. He considered his friends with puckered lips and a nod. “I’m happy with that. Are you guys happy?”
Ollie shrugged, and Des said, “I suppose.”
“Opening day is in three weeks,” the casting director said. “Any questions?”
“Do you not want us to read for you first?” Des inquired.
“Read?”
“Rehearse?”
“We’ll call you when construction is finished and have you come in for training.”
Ollie’s hand shot up like a schoolchild. “And how much is our stipend for these rehearsals?”
“You don’t get paid to be trained.”
“Well, you just wait until Des’s union rep hears about this,” Ollie groaned. “He’s a member of the Screen Actors Guild.”
“Actually,” Des said, “I’m not.”
The casting director’s eyes widened. So did his mouth. “Oh. I see what’s going on here,” he said.
***
When they got home, their fourth roommate, Logan, was sitting in his recliner, feet up, eating ice cream out of a carton and watching TV. Des stormed into the living room first, followed by Ollie and JT side by side. They surrounded Logan, and Des said, “Nice trick you pulled, Logan, but it didn’t work.”
Logan shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his grinning mouth. “Auditions went well, I take it?”
“That’s a cruel joke you played,” Ollie said.
“Especially on Des,” JT said. “You know how sensitive these actors can be.”
“Wasn’t a joke,” Logan said. “I knew the only way to get you there was to say it was a casting call instead of a job interview.”
“We are filmmakers,” Des said, “not food peddlers.”
“Plus,” JT said, “if we get jobs, we won’t have time to make our movies.”
“You don’t have jobs now and you’re not making movies,” Logan said.
“You’re our money man, Logan. The deal was you get to live here as long as you front the dough and support us while we work on getting famous. If we get jobs and pay the bills ourselves, you’re no use to us.”
Logan calmly slurped his ice cream, tossed the spoon into the container, set it aside, and sat up straight. “That’s the thing,” he said. “I’m gonna be out of the picture for a stretch.”
“Where are you going?”
“Jail. Six months. That’s six month’s rent and utilities you jerkoffs are gonna need to scrape together while I’m gone.”
Silence filled the room.
Then Ollie declared, “Dibs on Logan’s room!”
“No!” JT screeched. “You can’t call it when he’s not out of the house yet!”
“Why not? Des called dibs on the movie role when we weren’t even in the room.”
“There was no movie,” Des said.
“There wasn’t?” Ollie said, astonished.
Des said, “Logan, when are you going away?”
“In three weeks.”
“That’s about the same time rehearsals start,” Ollie said, and hustled out of the room.
Des could hear the sink hissing, water sloshing, and plates and glasses clattering. “What the hell is Ollie doing?” he said.
JT shrugged. “Must be getting into character.”
“Six months, boys,” Logan said. “Time to get your—act!—together.”
A native of upstate New York, Devin James Leonard prefers the countryside over cities, and animals over humans. His favorite word is urchin, though he’s never used it in a sentence. When he isn’t writing or devouring books, he likes to make crop circles in random cornfields to entice the Men in Black. His published stories can be found on Instagram @devinjamesleonard.
Featured photo by cottonbro studio (Pexels)
