Actor: A Novel in Three Acts

I would be lying if it wasn't validating to hear Lisa say what she said. She could have said nothing. When I was starting out, many directors like Lisa didn't even look up after I finished. Neglect at any time in one's career, was common. I got used to being looked through even when center stage.

She could have easily said, "We'll be in touch," while another actor's headshot was tight in her hand as some assistant waved me off. Lisa didn't do that. She said, “Thank you." She said, "That was great." Lisa, the head director at Steppenwolf Theatre, said, "That was interesting. I wasn't sure what you were going to do that whole time."

Per my training, I believed Lisa. I trusted her. I needed to.

I wasn't sure what to do next. So, I listened to the faint whispers from the audience snake through the theatre's seats and its aisles, accompanied as if in orchestra with their squeaks and groans, and waited. Sometimes, that's all one can do. Wait and listen. The audition was over and the side was finished. My dear reader was gone. They didn’t tell me to leave. Was this another test? I needed direction. I waited a beat longer, then started to move off-stage when Lisa, from her seat, asked, “So, what are you?”

“Huh?” I replied like an oaf. “What am I?”

At that point, I was completely out of the scene. Any inkling of Lee, his strength and authority, was gone. Lee would have shot back some quick, venomous verbal punch, but Ave had returned. I had nothing: no status, no character or scene partner or playwright's words to rely on.

“Come downstage," Lisa requested. "Your voice was great, but I can barely hear you now that you’re out of the scene."

At her command, my body advanced. There was an ache in my legs and my feet. Suddenly, I was reminded of my old, tired shoes; my exhausted, bitter bones; my existence outside of the stage and performance. This recognition raised hazy images of my unfurnished apartment, my bank account funded entirely by Dean, and the realization that once this audition was over, I had no-one to meet or go home to. The vision shifted to Edie's living room, white light beaming from its three bay windows with the sky above. Time and any sense of control scattered like dust near the ghost light as I arrived at the lip of the stage.

In my periphery, I saw a few other anxious actors waiting in the wings looking more like statues than performers. All of them were eager for their opportunity to do what I had done. Their arms were crossed, poised in quiet solidarity; a mix of envy and hatred churned in their eyes. Their glares could have been conjured by the Assistant Stage Manager’s headlamp, but I didn't believe that.

Lisa’s question was still unanswered. I didn’t know what I was. I didn’t know if I was anything. What was I? I was a twenty-two year old male. I was an actor. I was my mother and father's son. I was scared. I was many things. The director could not be ignored, so Lisa asked her question again, firmer this time.

“What am I?” I repeated. “I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean."

I put up my hands to block out the lights. Out of the scene, they felt brighter, almost hotter. Whatever protection I possessed from before—gone. The stage felt like a great, expanding, and endless desert. I was lost like Lee in the imaginary world of the play; unable to go back to the beginning, uncertain where it even was anymore.

“Turn down the lights!” Lisa screamed over her shoulder. "Point them at me actually. Just a little bit so Ave can see me." She sighed and shook her head like a dog with a rabbit in its mouth. “There’s no in between with those guys." She let out a deep sigh. "Again, I asked, what are you?”

"I still don't understand."

“What’s your background?" she persisted. "Ethnically, I mean. What are you? Where are you from? It was the first thing that popped into my head after you were done."

Lisa was standing completely still, fully in the light with wide, authoritative shoulders, curling inwards slightly at their ends. She looked unbothered at her question. She was of medium build, about the same as Edie, but with more stature. The mixed, warm complexion of her deep, olive skin was brushed with the faintest bit of scarlet, mostly around her cheeks. She had black, semi-curly hair that lounged just past her ears. I had no idea what she was. I didn't care. What are you, Lisa? Did I need to know?

All of her seemed to refract the stage lights outwards, creating a halo effect. I watched from the edge of the stage as she leaned forward into the seat in front of her, pressing her palms hard into the chair’s back, grounding herself, waiting for an answer. The nails of her fingers were painted a light forest illuminated green. There were a few gold bands wrapped at random on her slender fingers.

“I guess I’m a mutt," I said.