This Love Must Go On

Deborah

"A cup of coffee?"

"No, I don't drink coffee."

"Tea?"

"No, I don't like hot things."

My patience was wearing thin and the Casting Director's serum-glazed face wasn't hitting that dopamine anymore.

Hello. My name was Deborah Obrian. For the rest of the casting assistants I might be a familiar face. A struggling actress with a worried face. But I saw myself as that stone the ocean waves beat against, but could never knock over. I was someone who patched together her confidence and gave back-to-back auditions knowing very well that she would never hear back from the agents. I feared by the time they might take cognizance of my searing potential, the distressing presence of fine lines and wrinkles at the age of twenty-seven would leave minimal hope of me playing the vivacious college girl.

The desperation drove me crazy, I wanted to shed labels of playing minor, extra and walk-on characters. A breakthrough in the form of a main role opposite a golden-eyed male star before I quit acting and resume busing tables at any burger joint, was my ultimate dream.

I was sitting in the office because there was a heavy chance that I would land this desired role, which I thought was again a dupe audition. The lady cared less about my problems and resumed sparing over her tight work schedule on her phone. Snickering and biting her plump lip to indicate some dirty ideas cooking in her head but ain't removing her eyes from her face.

In that free time, my brain catapulted a layout of items that I'd categorised under hot things: California's weather from mid-July to mid-August, milky hot beverages, air from the hair dryer and well, yeah native boys too. And I didn't like any of these. Or I'd convinced myself to strictly live and think this way.

"Okay." She touched her bangs carefully and revealed the golden heavy metallic loops, projecting her bountiful and saggy boobs that would topple over the table like two irregular shaped muskmelon on a cashier's conveyor belt. She displayed her black talons that glimmered brighter than her pomegranate corset over a white shirt. "You know who I was talking to?"

"No." Anything short of puking from impatience would be a victory. I had to forgive her on many parts. Can you hurry up and say that I bagged this role?

"Kevin Harrods for the public," Her voice dropped a whole octave, and green eyes became dark. "And Mr K for the inner circle."

"Alright."

"Just to remind you quickly, Kevin has directed One Night Exchange, Garden of Eden, and Push it Harder to name a few, and was talking to me about his future project. He's hinted to me to keep an eye out for a fresh face." She punctuated her sentence with a small laugh. "You will learn it. Anyway, it just took me a moment and I didn't even have to watch your screen test twice just to say that ... "

Suddenly, the whole arousal system did its trick and gave me a sight of the Oscar Award and big dollar signs. What was the next unexpected thing supposed to come out of her mouth? Something good I assumed because she was smiling. Thank god I'd been seated all the while, or else I'd have fallen over her desk and spilt her huge coffee tubular. But why did she have to stop? My nostrils sucked in so much air that I risked the possibility of breaking the centre button of my well-fitted white satin shirt.

"You are a polished diamond. I wonder what stopped you from trying your luck in the movies till now?"

Finally! It was as if my luck was frozen and I only fetched minor roles and major rejections. Those were the exact words any struggling actress would want to hear. Big time. The unheralded news of selection charged me up just like how jumper cables on a dead car's battery make it work. It had been five years since I started treating California as my new home, and countless years of insomnia and worries seeping into the nights. And a whole bunch of piles of sticky notes reminding of me hope and determination. I fled from a local town to fulfil my only dream of becoming an actress. And I couldn't be happier than realizing that it was finally taking shape. My passion. My life. I was mute on her telling her about my struggle.