Excerpt
It's Different This Time
Chapter 1“The show’s not getting renewed.” Theo’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
My eyes cut to the time on the car dashboard, which reads 8:27 a.m., and two things cross my mind. The first being how I no longer have time to pick up a coffee before getting to the studio. The second being that there should be a general rule of thumb for bad news. Specifically, that your agent shouldn’t tell you you’re out of a job before 9 a.m.
“Oh,” I respond, trying to sound cool. “Well, that . . . f***ing sucks.”
Swindlers is . . . or I guess was a half-hour comedy following the lives of TV executives in the seventies. Was it my defining role as an actor? No. Did it pay the bills? I mean, it was starting to.
“I know, but it happens all the time,” Theo assures me. There’s a painful stench of optimism filling my car through the Bluetooth speaker. I crack a window open and breathe in what one would normally call fresh air, but let’s be honest, it’s smog. Right now, LA’s eighty-degree weather in September is more suffocating than anything. “And, June, I know it’s shitty,” she continues. “But the industry is suffering right now. They’re barely making more than one season of anything.”
My brain goes on autopilot as I drive down Melrose, which is, no surprise, congested. These things do happen, especially on streaming networks. Shows have been getting canceled all year, leaving most of my actor friends out of work for months. While I can more than empathize, landing a recurring role on a show felt like a new chapter of security, a steady career.
I’m a working actor. That means I’ve had a few lines in almost everything, yet am known for nothing, and, ironically, never know when I’ll be working again. People definitely don’t stop me on the street when I go out, which I prefer, and I’m lucky if my monthly residual checks are enough to pay the rent.
My knuckles turn white, gripping the wheel as I try not to feel overly defeated.
“Okay, so what’s next?” I try to pump myself up. “What about the self-tapes?”
“Well, that’s actually one of the things I want to talk to you about,” Theo says. “Film and TV are great, and I can get you the auditions . . . but let’s chat about theater again.”
“Is there a production in the city?”
“No, New York.”
“Theo . . .” I shoot an exhausted look at her name on the car’s display screen.
“I know it’s a stretch, but there are some amazing revivals happening, and with your background, you have a good shot. June, theater is steady, and you’re good at it.”
Theo’s been my agent for the past five years. She holds a level of authority most people work decades to attain, and she’s the most honest person I know, whether I like it or not. At thirty-two, I don’t find it easier to hear she’s not white enough, she’s not Asian enough, she’s not ethnic enough, she’s too pretty to be the friend but she doesn’t have leading lady potential. So, when Theo says that I should go back to theater . . . she’s probably right.
“What are the revivals?” I ask.
“A few Off, but there’s two for spring that are on Broadway. They’re shopping around some big names.”
Almost missing my turn, I pull into the studio entrance. I tap my key card and nod toward the older man in the security booth.
“Morning, Gus! So, did we win the Powerball?”
“Morning, June.” He playfully tips his hat. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“There’s always next time.” I give an encouraging smile.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he laughs. “Have a good one!”
“You too!” The gate rises and I drive onto the lot for what might now be the last time in a while. “Theo, I just got to set. . . . Can I think about it?”
“Of course. Happy last day.” She lets out a weak laugh.
“Thanks.” I realize the irony.
“Okay, how about you give me a call next week and we can see how you’re feeling?”
“Sure, sounds good. Thanks.”
I jerk my key out of the ignition and close my eyes. There’s a pulsation around my temple that could be from the news or the lack of caffeine in my system. I rub the side of my head with my index and middle fingers, trying to ease the pain.
Lately, my career has been less dependent on how well I can deliver an emotional monologue and more on my ability to be socially relevant behind my phone screen. Which is hardly. It’s not that I don’t want to do theater. I’m in no position to turn down a role on a Broadway or even an Off-Broadway play. I just can’t relocate to New York.
New York is not an option.
•
Before landing the part on Swindlers, I went almost a full eight months without booking any jobs. That meant giving up my studio apartment and moving in with my friends Shivani and Zach until I found something stable. Yes, I’m bummed about the show getting canceled, but I’m more bummed about losing a steady paycheck. A paycheck that, if I was guaranteed another year of work, could get me a place of my own.
“Okay . . .” Shivani initiates a cheers motion once all of our happy-hour drinks arrive. Somehow, they managed to drag me to a bar in Silver Lake to “celebrate” my last day of filming. “How are we all doing?”
It’s a toss-up what to celebrate first, my health care ending or my next job being nowhere in sight.
“You know.” I nod sarcastically. “I’ve been better.”
“This just means that the universe has something else planned for you.” Shivani reaches across the table to squeeze my hand.
We met when I was still new to LA, almost five years ago. We went to the same Pilates class and she’s now an instructor and has managed to become a pretty successful influencer at the same time. It’s not surprising—Shivani is absolutely stunning, and since she started to date a shortstop on the Colorado Rockies, she’s someone the internet likes to pay attention to.
“I really thought Swindlers was what was planned for me,” I say.
“Don’t feel bad—the show was trash anyway,” Zach says with a shrug. Zach has been roommates with Shivani for the past couple of years, and he’s someone I immediately hit it off with.
“You literally said last week that it was the best show you’ve watched in a while and it was going to be a game changer for my career.” I laugh.
“I was hyping you up! Being a good friend.”
“Why do you think it wasn’t renewed?” Shivani cuts a piece of her wedge salad.
“Nobody’s getting picked up for a second season,” I say, scooping more guacamole onto my nacho chip.
“What about soap operas?” Zach says.
“Zach, please . . .” Shivani rolls her eyes.
“What? That actor on The Young and the Restless has played Victor Newman for like fifty years.”
Shivani squints. “But do we want that?”
“I mean, I’d want that paycheck every week.” He shrugs. If it were anyone else, I’d be slightly offended, but Zach’s a videographer who very much understands the ups and downs of freelance work.
Shivani turns to me. “June, what’s your agent saying?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. “She wants me to go back to theater.”
“Okay, you have to do it.” Zach sits up. “If I could sing and dance, it would be over for everyone.”
“No, he’s right,” Shivani says, nodding. “All these celebrities are doing theater now! Do you have anything lined up?”
“She said there are some auditions she could get me . . . but I don’t know how I feel about going back to New York.”
“Mmm, I get that.” Zach nods. “I can’t do the subway.”
“First off, New York is amazing,” Shivani dismisses him. “Besides, it’s not forever. If you get a part, aren’t runs only like a year tops? Just come back after.”
Despite my career trajectory, I never fantasized about my face being on the big screen. Performing on stage and the thrill I get from a live audience was always my first love. When I was growing up, you would find me burning through my Music Man VHS tape or reciting all the parts of My Fair Lady. My grandparents pretty much raised me, and when they passed away, I left home to study theater. The one place I could be anyone but myself. And I did it. I made it to Broadway. I had the career. I had the life I wanted. But I can’t go back.
