Actor: A Novel in Three Parts

Around 2, the other actors and I began to get uncomfortable waiting outside the theatre. I was an hour early, but they hadn't opened the doors. On the glass, a piece of binder paper read, "BACK SOON." No one knew what that meant, only that whoever was supposed to be there and running everything was nowhere to be found. I was new to the city and already landing a potential booking, so there was no room for me to complain. Everyone else? They were doing that for me.

"Fuckin' terrible leaving us out here like this," one actor in front of me said, straightening his dark blue suit. "Undignified, unjustified...fuckin' criminal."

It looked like he was reading for Austin. Counting him, there were six actors ahead of me with a whole line of others behind. Dark blue suit was vocally the most pissed but the way everyone was shuffling around, I sensed the rest were too.

Another actor, maybe five feet tall in nothing but cut-off jean shorts and a tank top, was literally drinking a beer. He was right over my shoulder. When I had absently turned around to feign staring at the sky, I noticed their face was swollen red like a bruised tomato. The same went for their eyes. His hair was thin and disheveled, with a monk-sized bald spot in the middle of his head. He almost didn't seem real...like someone who had made their choice about their lifestyle long ago and had zero intention of ever changing. He was definitely reading for Lee. After another "random" glance of mine, he spoke to me.

"Want some?" he asked, holding up the beer bottle.

"Would love to," I said, trying my hardest to look cool. "But I'm more terrible than I already am if I've been drinking."

"Unlucky for you," he said, pulling the beer back. "Exact opposite. What's your name?"

"Ave," I said, turning my entire self around to face him.

I withheld my last name, but I doubted he even knew who Edie was.

"Like Avenue?"

"Like "Hail Mary," I replied.

"That's pretty cool."

His gaze rolled upward and his forehead scrunched. The bottle, fast in his grip, fell to his head. He appeared to be thinking deeply about something. This filled me with relief. I was so desperate to be accepted, by anyone, anything. I asked for his name.

"Andrew."

"Oh!" he snapped, appearing he had found what he was looking for. "Ave like...Ave Maria. So, it's Latin?"

"Yes," I lied simply, suddenly wanting whatever this was to end.

"Your Mom's name isn't named Maria, is she?"

"No," I half-laughed, feeling caught. "She's a woman with a woman's name like most."

I didn't even know what that meant but I let it go.

Their head cocked to one side. Then, he shrugged.

"Same," he said, and turned around as he finished off the rest of the beer, leaning against the wall of the theatre.

Leaving my apartment early may have been a mistake. I had given myself three hours, afraid that the Chicago train line—"the L" as the locals called it—was going confuse me. It did, but not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to with a one-way ride from my stop on the Red Line to North/Clybourn. In new places, I never gave myself the benefit of the doubt or trusted I would figure it out. I couldn't run lines alone in my apartment anymore. At some point, preparation becomes a crutch...a false notion of action—of acting!—and eventually, procrastination.