Given voice
Lynda Shermer
June 8th, 2014

Just before the end of the alleyway was an unmarked door; by the litter on the ground around it, it was left unlocked for smokers. I pulled, and went into the stairwell. Up one short flight, the door gave upon a relatively dim carpeted hallway. I slowed, and tried to catch my breath, so as not to seem suspicious. Ahead of me, a side door opened. The person who came out thrust some papers into my hand, and pushed me through the door.

Inside, I found myself in a small room with carpeted walls. There was a large glass window, mostly acting like a mirror at the moment, a tall stool, a table, and opposite the window a large screen with a drawing of a girl on it. If it were more rundown, it would have resembled a precinct interrogation room, I thought.

"Ok, you're the last one for today. We'll run the clip once, and you just read normally, then you can try a couple to find the character."

The girl started moving. The words, in the script I'd been given, were superimposed on the screen. Without thinking, I started reading them aloud.

At the end of the clip, the voice came back and said, "Ok, now as to your character, she's a sweet, innocent girl, and the others are trying to talk her into something she doesn't want to do."

And the clip started over, so I was going to have to do it again, but in character, as a girl. I'd stumbled into voice acting auditions, and they assumed I was here to try out as the voice of this female character.

The longer I stayed in here, the further pursuit would get from here, expanding from where the alarm had started, a little further up the alley. So I had an incentive to keep their interest. I'd always driven my sister crazy, mimicking her on long car trips; could I do it in a less mocking tone?

So I started in.

"No, no, no; no accent! You actors... Try it normal."

In my nervousness, I'd started using a southern accent. The clip was rewound. Biting my lip, I just pictured the girl on the screen, letting her talk inside my head, and letting that flow out my lips.

Suddenly the clip was over.

"Better; want to try some more?"

"Sure, I have time.” Have time, or do time, it seemed to me.

A new clip appeared on the screen. As the text appeared along the bottom, I read it aloud, trying to judge the tone from the images, never consciously, but letting the icon in my mind go and use my throat and mouth.

We finished two or three more, and then they ushered me into a small conference room. There were two of them, a man, who was the one who'd done all the talking, and a woman, her hair in a high bun, wearing glasses.

The man turned out to be the director; the animation I'd seen was a Japanese import project, being dubbed for American release, and he wanted me to voice one of the major roles. I stammered that I wasn't sure, and he said he'd leave me with his partner to work out the details.

"So who are you with?," she started.

"No one, I just came here for the heck of it; you know, actors, dish washing, waiting tables." Cobbling together a story from half remembered stories and plot lines.

"Bull. You aren't represented by anyone because you just stumbled in from that alley door, trying to get away from the cops. I'd turn you in but you're the only person he liked for the part all week, and we're behind schedule. But you're going to have to keep your nose clean."

She'd been the person who'd shoved me through the door into the little room. She'd seen me come in through the out door.

We went back in the room. She gave me a synopsis of the plot line of the film, and a couple of pointers on dubbing. We ran through it again, and again. And then we went back to the conference room.

"You're going to need to be represented," she told me,"Here, go see Manny." She scribbled on the back of a business card, "he owes me a favor, so he'll cover for you. But stay out of trouble, the last thing I need is for you to end up in the papers."

I thanked her again, and as I turned to leave, she added, "Do you know you're still talking like her?"

"Really? Oh, goodness, you're right," and tried to modulate back to my normal voice.

She escorted me out the front door, giving me a time card. "Call Manny, he'll tell you where and when."

I returned home. Once there, I set a mirror up in front of the monitor of my old computer (stolen, but unfencable.)

I debated reading up online about the art of voice acting and "looping" dialog. I decided to just pretend I'd only done regular acting and let them help me do it their way.

Manny set me up all right. We set up a stage name, and an equity card, backdated. I had the feeling I wasn't the first person he'd done this sort of whitewash job on, and that he'd owed the woman something big. Still, it took a good deal of my stash, and Manny was going to take a big cut of what I got on this gig. I hoped that for all that, he could be trusted.

Having taken care of issues with Manny, he, Catherine, and myself met for the contract signing. There, Catherine revealed that the studio didn't want to disclose that my part was cross cast, and that I was going to have another stage name, and be absent from any press events for reasons she was going to have to come up with. Afterwards, taking her aside, I asked if she wouldn't rather just keep looking. I left unspoken that I'd already escaped pursuit without a trace, so my fondest desires from when I'd ducked through that door were already fulfilled.

"No. We were already behind, and once this guy takes a shine to someone, he sticks. You may still be doing this sort of thing with him 20 years from now, even if you get busted. You'll be absent, you aren't the lead, after all, and if we can't swing that, I'll find a stand-in for you. Soon we'll be out to the coast, there'll be lots to chose from. You'll be surprised how cute you'll be."

"The coast? You mean, like Atlantic City?"

"No, California, Hollywood. The studio will put you up for the duration."

There was a little trouble at the first table read. One of the actresses almost threw a fit when they found out I was playing her female friend. I spoke to her, trying to talk her down, in my character voice.

Afterwards, Catherine walked me into the depths of the studio. Everything was fascinating; I wasn't even casing the joint, I was just caught up in how everything went together. Finally, we got where she'd been subtly guiding me. The hair and makeup department.

"He needs to look more androgynous, without it being an extreme break from how he looks now."

I considered objecting. I'd never been extremely macho, but as a thief, I did live in a competitive environment, and had always tried to puff up to warn others off my patch. But I was 3000 miles from home, wasn't trying to lift anything, and figured it would be a good disguise, and might help in dealing with my coworkers.

First, they numbed my earlobes, and put two piercing through each. Next, they thoroughly conditioned my hair, tinting it, and putting in extensions, so I could draw it back into a pony tail.

Shaping my eyebrows followed, along with some light foundation, eyeliner, and lip gloss. A manicure, which left my nails rounded and covered with a nude gloss. Then we went to wardrobe. Here, I was given loafers, thin socks, loose flowing pants, and a loose silk shirt.

"It's too much.", I protested, "they'll notice."

"They'll notice, but we'll tell them this is what you normally look like, and yesterday you were just off something for cable where you were a tough guy. Now we need to work on your movement and speech."

"What's wrong with my moves?"

"You still move like you are striding through the room, in a hurry to be somewhere else. I figure you do that to avoid being stopped. But for this part, you are in the room to be in the room, to meet people, to try to get them to remember you, and find you interesting. Which I figure is the last thing you want, normally."

We worked a scene. Halfway through, she stopped me. "You're mirroring me. You're trying to get me to like you more by repeating my gestures and speech patterns. Old dating trick?"

"Old trick to get people to accept you more, yeah."

"Someday, we're going to have a conversation about your old days."

Yeah, and then I was going to have to try to remember anyone who might owe me enough to help me get back to Manhattan.

We finished the dubbing. I was sticking around to do the DVD extras, in character, when it was announced we were up for some awards, with a show (on cable.)

"The girl who was supposed to sub for you broke her leg skiing in Aspen with a casting director. And from what I hear on the inside, you're going to win."

"I'd like to thank the academy," I started, in character.

"Wait. Wait. I'm getting a brainstorm. YOU could receive the award."

"I'm not up for the award, Jessica is."

"But you are Jessica."

"Short memory? We just comprehensively proved that I'm Frank. Me Tarzan, you Jane!"

"But you could be Jessica."

So off we went to a salon. I'd come to be comfortable enough with my androgynous presentation while working with Susan, enough that she'd come to accept me almost as a woman. But could I accept going further? I was about to find out.

First, waxing. All over. The anesthetic gel merely dulled the raw aching. The white wine helped me hold it at a distance.

Then, the pedicure, complete with polish. The pumice stone, almost until I bled. Who knew there was so much callus to remove, the mound of powder was most impressive.

Then, the fingernails. Extensions were fitted, making my nails an elegant half inch longer than my fingers.

My hairline was shaved back a bit, my eyebrows more fully plucked then before. Cunning bits of some sort of tape adhered to my skin, and strings attached to them drawn back and tied, lifting and shifting my skin.

My male parts were pressed, tucked, and taped until my panties would show a convincing camel toe if anyone got an up skirt photo. When it was suggested we allow that deliberately, I put my foot (complete with pretty pink toenails) down.

The hip and ass padding, the corset, followed. Soon, from my feminine waist down, I was a woman, right down to my stockings.

The breasts were affixed, and blended to my skin. Now I was a woman from head to toe.

The slack of my skin having been taken up by the cunning tabs, I got painted like a trompe l'oeil mural. Cheekbones where I had none, my nose altered, a hint of epicanthic folds, which would play big with the anime crowd. In fact looking, I noticed my face had been given a yellowish cast, and my contacts were of the circle type, aimed at making my eyes more anime like.

Scented and brushed, I was introduced to my date, by Manny. "Don't worry, he's only into boys, but he should carry this off quite well."

"But I'm a boy."

"But he doesn't know that; neither one of you is what the other is looking for."

I held his elbow as we entered. I noticed him eyeing all the ushers as we walked.

When my name was called, I carefully stood up, gathered my skirt in one hand, and walked gracefully to the podium. I thanked the people who'd created the original movie in Japan, the US director, the casting director, and my parents, crying. And went back to my seat.

Afterwards, I went up for the photos. Catherine was there, and escorted my date and I to limo. We dropped him at a club, and went back to my hotel room. There, I pulled my heels off as I crossed to the couch, hopping a bit.

On the couch, Catherine started to massage my feet. It felt good. I pulled out a hair ornament or two, and shook my hair down. And sighed.

"Jessica?"
"Yes..."

"How do you feel?"

"Happy, I suppose. I mean, it was just voice acting, and I followed direction, but still, I created that voice, I spoke the lines, fighting when they seemed wrong. I feel like yes, I earned this award."

"More than that, you created Jessica. Before, she didn't exist. But tonight, thousands of people, watching live and at home, would testify, she exists."
Her hands had moved up my legs, caressing them through my stocking. Reaching the tops, she us unclipped them from my garters, and skinned them down my legs. I shivered.

"Jessica?"

"Mmm, yes..."

"Let me get your zipper."

"Ok..."

I twisted my torso, presenting the back of my neck, lifting my hair out of the way. The zipper rasped down my spine. Releasing my hair, I stood up slowly, I moved the gown off my shoulders, and it fell to the floor about my feet. Stepping out, I dipped to pick it up and drape it over a chair. Turning slightly, I caught sight of myself in a mirror. Looking, I put one hand behind my back, and using thumb and forefinger, unclasped my bra. I clamp the band under my arm, and tweaked the straps off my shoulders with my nails.

"You're beautiful," my companion said.

I turned to face her, my breast forms free of my bra, hair draped over one shoulder. She advanced upon me and took my lips in hers, full on. A slight moan escaped my occupied mouth.

She backed me into the bedroom, where I went sprawling on the bed. Straddling me, she slipped my panties down my legs, and ripped the tape off my groin. As my maleness reasserted itself, she straddled me, cupping her hands around my augmented ass cheeks, and pulling herself down upon me. Once I'd fully entered her, her hands moved to massage my breast forms, which (despite being unable to feel her touch) further aroused me.

"I've wanted to do that to you since I first saw you in that corridor."

"What, all of that?"

The next morning, I showered and got dressed. As I was sitting at my vanity, I realized I was facing a decision. Looking deeply into my eyes, I made it. As I finished, Catherine, wearing a shirt (and nothing else) came in behind me.

I turned, and stood up.

"Jessica?"
"Yes; that's me. I'm Jessica."

I walked towards her, feeling my jeans resting against my hip padding, feeling my breast forms bouncing slightly in my bra, my hair in the breeze, the makeup coating my skin, the contact lens against my corneas. All part of me. The real me.

I sat on the couch, curling my legs under me, picking up something from the coffee table with my nails.

"What's this?", I asked, puzzled.

"It's a script you should look at. They want you to play a cat burglar." And we both burst out laughing.