3

The following morning Rachel dropped me off at the studio before herself heading for the airport from where she was leaving to spend several weeks on location in India. We kissed and she wished me luck and I watched her drive away until she disappeared into the distance. From here on in, I was on my own. I took a deep breath and made my way towards the security booth at the studio gates.

“Good Morning Sir. My name’s Paul Jones. I’m here for the job interview with Mark Ryman.” My hastily concocted California accent seemed to hold up as I offered a hand towards Mike Williams, the director, sat facing me as I entered the audition room. He hesitated for a split second, looking across the room to where Ryan Nichols, aka Mark Ryman my would be future fictional employer, stood casually perched on the edge of a desk with his hands in his pockets. “Mark – over to you.” I inwardly patted myself on the back – my first task of getting them to play along with my plan of arriving at the audition in character had worked.

I turned to Ryan/Mark. “Good Morning Sir.” Contrary to popular opinion, he looked taller in real life than in the pictures I’d seen. His eyes glinted as he weighed me up before he spoke.
“How ya doin’ kid?” he remained perched on the desk but held out a hand. I gripped it as firmly as I could, but still felt like he might crush it without any effort. “So what’s the attraction in becoming a PI?”
“Well, er, my old man used to be a cop and…”
“So why not join LAPD?” he interrupted.
“I, er, he was always complaining about there being too much paperwork these days.”
“Being a private dick can be boring as shit too most of the time. Hell, most folk come here asking if I can help them find their cat…” I smiled, and he continued “You can’t be more than what? Five-six and one twenty pounds? How’s a guy like you look after himself?”
He got up from the edge of the desk and I took advantage of his shift in balance to grab his right wrist, twisting it behind him whilst kicking his standing leg out from under him. He fell to the floor with my knee in his back. I leaned forward, closer to his ear. “Glendale High Ju-Jitsu champion 2015”
Mike burst into laughter and applauded whilst I stood back up. Ryan looked across at him, sheepishly, as he got back to his feet, then grinned at me and held his hand out again. “Nice one, kid.”
“I think we can say that you’ve pretty much nailed that.” Mike said. “Let’s see what kind of cocktail waitress you make though. If I get someone to take you through to costume and make up, could you be back with us in around an hour as Paul’s alter ego?”

Mike arranged for his PA to escort me across the studio campus so I wouldn’t get lost. Outside the sun had got up and, remembering how just a few nights previously I’d had to turn on the central heating back in my London bedsit, I smiled to myself. I could get used to this, I thought. The studio grounds were buzzing with activity - a couple of Marie Antoinette lookalikes in huge hooped dresses and elaborate powdered wigs sat on a low wall alongside the footpath, smoking and discussing the previous days shoot. A platoon of Star Wars type soldiers marched across to another set. Technicians trundled cameras and all manner of technical equipment from studio to studio. I paused and took in a deep breath, the air full of creative potential. This was the environment I had imagined being in when I’d signed up to Stage School three years ago. Here I was, at last. The audition had gone well, so far. All I needed to do now was to revert to being a waitress for a couple of hours. I could do that, couldn’t I? I’d been working as one only a few days ago. I fought back the excitement building in my stomach.

Arriving at our destination, a young woman around my own age greeted me with an array of brightly coloured dresses draped over one arm. Mike’s PA left me with her, after assurances that I could find my way back to the audition room.
The young woman with the dresses spoke. “So. I understand we need to make you into a respectable cocktail waitress in the next hour.”
I smiled nervously. “I actually clean up pretty good, despite current appearances.”
She laughed.
“I’m Sue, by the way. I held out a hand.”
“Gabi. Pleased to meet you.” She looked me over. “It’s a Chinese casino that your character is working in, so I’ve pulled out a few cheongsams for you to try. Do you need any foundation wear?”
I’d brought a bag with me, with a few things to change into in the event that I needed to present myself as Sue at any point. I tapped it with my palm. “No, I’m good.”
“OK. Once you’ve chosen a dress I can get you shoes to match, and perhaps some jewellery and stuff. Then we can do make up. I’ll grab a bunch of wigs we can play with - see what suits. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great!”
“Fab! There’s a room over there you can use to get changed.”

There were 5 cheongsams in a range of different sizes and colours, but all to a similar design, with the traditional mandarin collar and cap sleeves. Two were clearly too large and one too small but the remaining two, both a vivid scarlet in colour with embroidered Chinese designs in glistening gold thread, appeared to be close to my size. I quickly extracted myself from Paul’s interview apparel. In my bag I’d brought along my favourite lace bra and panty set, together with my forms. I dressed in them hurriedly, then pulled the first of the two dresses up over my hips and slid my arms through the sleeves. Where they’d been stored must have been air conditioned, for the smooth satin of the dress lining was deliciously cool against my skin. I reached around for the zipper at the back and pulled upwards, the material drawing in tightly against my belly as it encased my contours like shrink wrapping, flaring a fraction only at mid thigh level where a slit on one side rose almost to hip height. It was the shortest dress I’d worn to date and I tugged on the hem in an attempt to extract every last millimetre of length whilst simultaneously congratulating myself on my decision to shave my legs that morning. I reviewed my reflection in the full length mirror opposite. The anxiety of the interview earlier had dropped away as soon as I discarded Paul’s clothes. I smoothed the satin of the dress down over my hips, mentally replacing the awkwardness and angularity of Paul with the easy, flowing curves of Sue. With a final look in the mirror, I stepped back out of the changing room to face Gabi.

“What do you think?”
“Looks good on you, honey. We can make those legs work with a sweet pair of heels. What’s your size?”
“7. UK”
She made a quick phone call and then invited me across to one of a row of chairs facing a bank of mirrors, each individually bordered by light bulbs. I sat down. She stood behind me, talking to my reflection.
“So. You’re a casino waitress. That is, you’re a boy trying hard to be a casino waitress, so you’re probably going to go a bit heavy on the make up. So we’ll go smoky eyes, brown tones to go with the red of the dress, lots of liner. Red lips. Gloss. How does that sound?”
“Great.” It wasn’t like I was in a position to suggest anything better.
“I’ve asked for some wigs too. I think we’re best sticking with your natural colour for now, but we can try different styles; see which works.”
“I’m all yours.”
I relaxed into the seat and closed my eyes. In contrast to when Jo had done my make up for the premiere, here I could see everything that Gabi was doing and I watched transfixed the ebb and flow of brushes across my face as it transformed from nerdy internee to nightclub hostess.

Too soon she was finished. I stood up gingerly in my new four inch heeled sandals, strappy and gold to match the embroidery of my dress. I self consciously tugged on my hem, careful not to snag one of my freshly acquired glossy red talons in the material. We’d chosen a long, wavy, wig of auburn hair to match my own. Gabi had piled it into a loose up-do, allowing some tendrils to hang informally down in front of each ear. “If you’re a waitress, you’ll need to wear your hair up.” she’d said. A gold hoop ran through each ear. Dark smoky eyes stared back at me from the mirror as I ran my tongue lightly over my bee stung ruby lips.
“Thank you, honey. I guess I’ll be taking myself back to the boys at the audition now.”
Gabi grinned at my breathy LA accent.
I coughed, and reverted to UK English. “Does that sound ok? I’ve not had anyone to try it out on…”
She smiled again. “You sound, and look, amazing. Even if I say so myself. You go get ‘em, girl.”

And so it was that, just over an hour after walking out of the audition as Paul Jones, internee, I walked back in. I’d asked Mike’s PA not to announce me - I wanted to see their reaction to me arriving without prior notice. I’d borrowed a tray, and arranged a couple of glasses on it, filled with bourbon that she’d sneaked out for me from his office drinks cabinet. I remembered what Gabi had said about making my legs work, and with each step into the room I slowly and deliberately pointed my toes, stretching the fronts of my thighs and the tops of my shins to their full extent.
“Y’all ordered drinks in here?”
Whilst I set my focus on Mike, as I sashayed across to his desk, I could feel Ryan’s gaze running up and along me, from the bottom of my heels to the top of my up-do. I reached Mike’s desk.
“A bourbon for you, sir.” I didn’t wait for him to respond, slack jawed, as I turned my focus to Ryan, our eyes locked as I approached him with the remaining drink.
“And a bourbon for you too, sir.”