Will the Real Abi Sanders Please Stand Up? (3 page)

Just looking at the concerned expression on his face soothes my nerves a little. He has this way of grounding me.

“Okay,” I say, glancing down at our still-joined hands and then back up at him. “How’s Selina?”

Selina is his latest girlfriend. Not that he sees her often, since he spends so much time at the dojo and with Liv and me.

“We’re not together any more. She wanted me to meet her parents. And you know I don’t do that.”

I certainly do. As far as he’s concerned, meeting the parents means the relationship is serious. And the one thing he doesn’t want is a serious relationship. This is why he can never know how I feel about him. Girlfriends come and go for Matt. And he flirts like there’s no tomorrow. With friends he’s different. As a friend, there’s no one more reliable or true than Matt. He’s always got your back. No way am I going to risk that.

“Another one bites the dust,” I say arching an eyebrow.

“Yep.” He looks at his own sports watch, the guy’s version of mine. “So are you going to go to the audition, or…?”

I tell myself to stop being stupid and to suck it up. Because if I don’t do this, then the next time something comes along I might not do that either. I don’t mean another movie audition, because that’s hardly likely, but anything else.

“Okay, I’ll go. Because when they turn me down, which they will, no one, a.k.a. you and Liv, will be able to moan at me for not giving it my best shot.”

I sit up straight in the seat and draw in what an old speech therapist once called “a positive breath.” I can do this. I can.

“Good. Because you’re gonna kill it.” Matt turns on the engine and pulls out into the road.

We drive for another few minutes then he turns into the studio parking lot. He parks and practically leaps out of the car while I take my time. Zodiac Studios, where they’re holding the audition, is a small office-type building that looks about ready to be demolished. It’s gray brick, and I count five floors. Fire escape stairs snake down the east wall of the building, facing us. It seems pretty deserted. There are only two other cars parked there. We head toward the main entrance.

Before I can change my mind and decide to remain in the car indefinitely, the passenger-side door swings open, and Matt tugs me out. He then propels me to the studio’s front entrance.
Can’t be any harder than a tournament match, right?

“I’ll go the rest of the way on my own,” I announce, shaking him off before he can reach for the door handle.

“Why don’t I go in with you?” he asks, biting his full lower lip with concern.

“Thanks, but I don’t know if it’s allowed.”

His green-and-gold eyes fix on mine, and he starts running his palms up and down my shoulders, looking as if he wants to say something. But he doesn’t. He breaks contact and shrugs. “Okay. I’ll see you back at the car.”

After watching Matt stroll across the parking lot, I push open the door and follow the red arrows on the sign saying reception.

The reception area turns out to be just a small room with a glass window that has a space underneath to talk through. An old woman is sitting at a desk behind the window speaking on the phone. She mouths “one minute,” and I take a step away so she doesn’t think I’m trying to listen. Though it’s hard not to hear everything she says since her voice is really loud. My ears prick up when she mentions Danny’s name and tells the caller he has an appointment this afternoon but should be free in about an hour, maybe less.

That’s strange. How many people is he going to be able to see in an hour? Not many. Unless we’re auditioning as a group. I hope so. A group audition, with any luck, won’t require me to speak as much.

“Abi Saunders?” The sound of the woman’s voice cuts across my thoughts.

“Um, yes.” I frown. How does she know my name before I’ve even spoken?

“You’re a little early.” Tell me something I don’t know. It’s the story of my life. “So, if you take a seat over there.” She points to a threadbare red-striped sofa crammed against the opposite wall. “Danny will be with you as soon as he can.”

“Thanks.”

“The bathroom is through the double doors, first door on the right,” she adds as I walk away.

The bathroom is in the same state of disrepair as the rest of the place. There’s an old white sink with green stains down the back from where water has dripped, and the taps look so rusty, it wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t turn at all. The room isn’t dirty. Just old. I don’t know what I expected for a film studio but not something like this. Then again, Bill did say Zodiac is an indie studio—which it would have to be, being located in Nebraska of all places—so they won’t have the money they do for the big blockbuster Hollywood movies.

I glance at my reflection in the cracked mirror. Big mistake. My skin’s devoid of any color. I pinch my cheeks a few times, and they become pinker. If only I could fix my pounding heart so easily. Some more deep breathing may do the trick. I often do deep breathing before matches, to get myself in the zone.

After a few more minutes, and feeling calmer than before, I go back to the reception. Just in time, because as soon as I push open the door, the old woman speaks.

“Here she is. Abi, this is Danny.”

Danny’s so tall I have to strain my neck to look up at him. He must be close to seven feet. The opposite of Bill, who I can look square in the eye since he’s only about five feet six. Danny’s six-pack shows through his dark red tee. He must work out for hours every day. He’s not even that young. Looks about the same age as Dad, and he’s forty-five.

He strides over to meet me.

“Hello, Abi. Good to meet you.” He smiles, and it doesn’t come off as cheesy and fake like a stereotypical Hollywood producer—it lights up his whole face. He holds out his hand for me to shake, leaning down slightly in the process.

“H-h-hi.” I shake his hand and curse inside my head for not even managing to get one word out without stuttering. I draw in some deep breaths without being too obvious to try and calm myself down.

“I don’t know what Bill told you, but we need a stunt double for Tilly to start ‘yesterday,’ since our original girl injured herself. She’s done a lot of the more difficult stunts, but we still have quite a few choreographed fight scenes left. Bill has told me great things about you. His star student.” He grins. I smile back weakly. “Right. Let’s get started.” He rubs his hands together. “Is Studio One okay, Jean?” Danny calls over to the old woman, or Jean, as I now know her. She glances down.

“For the next forty-five minutes, then Dave wants it.”

“Thanks, we should be out by then. C’mon Abi.”

I follow Danny through the double doors and down a long corridor. Eventually, we get to Studio One. It’s smaller than I’d imagined and is bare except for five cameras surrounding the big wooden floor. There’s a guy standing beside one of the cameras.

“Make yourself at home,” Danny says after introducing me to the camera guy. “Take five minutes to warm up.”

“O-o-okay.”

I go to the back of the studio floor and take off my shoes and jeans. Underneath, I wore my black leggings, as roundhouse and axe kicks are too hard to do in jeans. Not that I know whether he wants me to do any. I just wanted to be prepared.

I begin to relax while I’m doing my warm-up stretching exercises. It’s just like being in class. I can do this.

I glance up and see Danny talking to the camera guy, who then wheels the camera to about three feet away from me.

“Ignore us,” Danny says. “We’re just setting up. Tell us once you’ve finished, and we’ll start recording.”

That’s easier said than done. How am I expected to ignore them when they’re so close. As in,
in my bubble
close?

I pull my right arm across my chest, stretching my triceps and shoulder muscles. I take my time warming up, and not just because I’m procrastinating—the last thing I want is an injury. There’s a match in a few weeks that I need to be one-hundred percent fit for if I’m going to take the trophy. Because I sure as heck don’t think I’ll be cast in Tilly’s movie.

“I-I-I’m r-r-r-ready,” I say after a few minutes.

“Are you okay?” He frowns and looks in my direction.

Oh, God, didn’t Bill tell him?

The mixture of concern and puzzlement in Danny’s eyes is far from reassuring, because it takes me back to how the teachers used to be at school, when my stammer was bad. They tried to hide it, but I could see their impatience at having to wait for me to say the words. It was mortifying.

“U-u-u-um, y-y-yes. I th-th—.” I want to curl up behind one of the cameras and die. Why did I let Liv and Matt talk me into doing this? I should have gone with my gut and said no. I know my limits. “I th-th-think s-s-s—”

With a glance at the cameraman, who is making a big show of adjusting his equipment, Danny walks over to me and sits down on the floor, patting the space in front of him. I gladly give up on finishing my sentence and join him. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, obviously trying not to embarrass me in front of the camera guy. “But maybe you’re not right for this. Bill said you have the technical skills, but there’s a certain”—he waves his hand in the air, trying to conjure the right word—“
confidence
that Tilly has, that her stunt double also needs in order to pull it off. I don’t think it’s going to work, Abi.”

My jaw drops. He’s handing me the chance to back out. Well, not the chance, he’s actually made the decision for me. Except I’m not sure it’s what I want. I’ve spent years trying to control my stammer and not let it control my life, and here’s one situation out of the ordinary, and I lose it. I’m suddenly possessed by the feeling that I can’t let this happen.

“L-let me try. Please,” I say, relieved that most of the words came out on the first attempt.

“Well—”

I push myself to my feet, putting my weight in my toes, my hands curved into loose fists. “I won the regional kickboxing championship after my first two years at the dojo, and Bill’s already told you about me winning the WAKO Pan America youth title in my weight class. I’m here because I can fight.” Wow, I have no idea where that came from. “You did need someone ‘yesterday,’ r-r-right?”

He stares at me for what seems like forever, then jumps up. “Okay, as long as you’re here. What’s the harm?”

He seems like a nice guy, just doing his job, I guess. Well, I’m gonna show him what I can do. If he doesn’t want me after that, then I know it’s for the right reasons and not because I can’t talk.

“Thanks.” The word comes out fine, and I feel my confidence return.

“First of all, I need to see if you could pass for Tilly on screen from the different angles we’ll be shooting. Ignore the camera. I don’t have a set routine for you, I’m more concerned with how you look. So just show us some of your kickboxing moves. Include some jumps, and use as much of the floor space as possible.”

But we don’t do jumps, apart from jumping jacks during the warm up. I bite on my bottom lip and think. My mind’s a total blank until, suddenly, I remember the sparring exhibition we did a couple months ago at the Woodrow Center. Matt and I were partners, but I could do my side of things, which involves lots of punching, kicking, and blocking.

Yes! That should be perfect.

I force all thoughts of Danny and the camera out of my mind and launch into the exhibition routine, and luckily it comes back to me almost instinctively as I go. Hardly surprising as we practiced it so often I could do it in my sleep. I make a couple of tiny mistakes, but hopefully it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m scoring points here. It’s hard not to notice the camera, though. It feels like I’m being stalked by a Dalek from
Doctor Who
.

At the end of the routine, Danny and the camera guy applaud. Does he mean it, or is he feeling guilty for what he said earlier, and he just wants me to feel good?

“Was that okay?” I ask, scanning Danny’s face.

“More than okay. You’re a natural. Like two different people on and off screen. You know, the camera loves you—come and look.” A tingling feeling washes over me. He can’t be serious. Me, a natural?

I run over to where he’s standing behind the camera looking at a small screen, and he replays my screen test.

If you don’t count my face, which by the end of it is all red and sweaty, the actual routine looks great. I’m not sure I’d say I’m a natural, though. Not that I know what counts as one. Even so, I’d love to have a copy of it to take home and show everyone, not that I have the nerve to ask.

“Thanks. And thank you for seeing me.”

Danny starts to roll the camera away toward the side of the studio, and I pull on my jeans and shoes. Once I’m back in my street clothes, I head for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” Danny calls.

I turn and walk back toward him, chewing on my bottom lip. I hope he doesn’t think I’m rude. “S-sorry, I thought we’d finished.”

“I want to explain the process. I’ve already seen a couple of other girls earlier and now I have to talk to the casting director, and we’ll make a decision and let you know later.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

For some reason, I feel a bit deflated. But the main thing is that I did it and that my nerves didn’t get the better of me. It’s not like I expected to be offered the job on the spot. That only happens in the movies. But now that I’m here, and the audition is over, my dread is that I’ll go home and receive the
thanks but no thanks
call because they’ve decided on someone more suitable. Which is one-hundred percent going to happen, no matter how much I want the job now. I have no experience, and that’s the beginning and end of it, even if Bill did persuade him to test me. So I should stop daydreaming about how exciting working on a movie would be and just accept that my chances are slim, if that.

“You haven’t asked me anything about the job. Don’t you have any questions?” Danny asks.

“Sorry.”
Question. Think of a question
. “Um. Can you tell me more about the movie?”

“Sure. What do you know about New Zealand?”

Help. I’ve never been good at geography. Hope it’s not going to affect my chances if I tell him I haven’t a clue. Then again, it’s not like it will determine how well I do the stunts, if they want me.