The Playwright

Chapter Two

It was an overwhelming day. 

Let's start with me waking up and finding an empty condo and a note stuck to the refridgerator.

I took the note and read it

Hey Viv!

I've left for work and there's coffee in the pot. help yourself to

anything! I hope you get the job. Good luck!

                                XOXO Sahara 

Then I turned and saw something amazing on the counter. Keys and another note.

Keys to the red mustang. Don't crash it! 

I yelped and started to jump up and down. I was actutally about to drive a mustang. I checked the coffee and rolled my eyes. If i'm gonna make it into show biz at a famous theater, I'm gonna have to start being sophisticated. On my way to the theater, I bought a latte.  

Is that was sophisticated people do?

Finally I parked my car into an ever so big parking lot in front of Lafyre Theatre. People paid tons of money to get in and watch one of the best shows on earth. Was I really about to be apart of it?

I entered through the front spinning door.

A bunch of stressed out looking people rushed about with coffee in one hand a papers in the other.

A man with a excellently trimmed mustache and suit stood at the front desk taking a call.

"No, Mrs. Raymond. Over the Moon is Thursday night at seven, not tonight. Yes, I'll be sure to tell him. Okay, have a nice day, Mrs. Raymond."

He slammed the phone down and sighed.

A girl with wavy 60's style blonde hair walked out of the back room.

"Who was that?"

"Mrs. Raymond again. I don't know what's wrong with her. She keeps forgetting things and she's only thirtynine."

The blonde laughed and placed a stack of papers down on the counter.

She finally noticed me.

"How can I help you?" She asked.

"I'm here for a job interview about a playwright?"

"Oh. Name please?"

"Vivian Greyvall."

"Aha. Scheduled for 11:30."

"Yes." I replied.

"Come right this way, Miss Greyvall."

She led me through a hall with doors entering into different theaters.

We went up a flight of spiraling stairs into a big office with marble floors and deep purple walls.

"Mr. Wimbly, Miss Greyvall has arrived."

A chair spun around behind a desk and there sat a rather good handsome man about in his thirties. He had combed dark hair with grey highlights and deep green eyes. He wore a pinstriped grey suit.

"Pleasure, I'm sure. Cynthia, you may go."

The girl with blonde hair nodded and left the office. "Please, sit."

I did.

"Now. Have you ever worked at a theater before?"

"No, sir. But I have done a few plays for a local theater before."

"Mhm. It says here in your application you're from Michigan?"

"Yes, sir. I'm a college graduate." Shoot. Why did I say that?

"Of course. Now, why do you think I should hire an amatuer like you to work at Lafyre Theatre...One of the biggest theaters in the world. We have a huge reputation among artistocrats and we have the best actors and actresses, the best playwrights and the best sets. Do you really think you can fit in?"

That made me feel like curling up in a corner to die. To never show my face again. What was I doing here?  

"Well..." I choked.

His stare wasn't helping. He was super intimidating. But really good looking. 

"Sir. Isn't there a way I could start as a lower rank and then work up to a playwright?"

"Do you think this is the army?"

"Well, no sir...But-" 

"Look, Miss Greyvall. There are ten other people who are hoping to have the same job as you. We can only accept one. I have lots of work to do. In the meantime, I'll read one of your plays. And then I'll call you with the verdict. Have a good day. Cynthia!"

The blonde came in again and showed me out.

After that I sat in the mustang and listened to the saddest songs on my iPod. What just happened? Seriously. What was I thinking? Of course I wouldn't make it. I'm just a smalltown country girl. There are thousands like me and pretty much all of them won't make it.