Entr'acte by Frank Juliano

sad little voice.
    Joyce introduced herself, feeling a kinship to these two. Danae was from Illinois and Beth was from Wisconsin; they had gone to college together.
    They had just exchanged phone numbers and were sharing some information on auditions when Joyce’s name was called.
    The three waved their goodbyes and genuinely wished each other luck.
    The woman who took Joyce back to her cubicle wore her pearlized glasses on a thin gold chain around her neck. She held the glasses up just in front of her nose and read the resume that way, like a jeweler inspecting a diamond.
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    “How long have you been in New York?” the woman finally said, not unkindly.
    “Counting today?” Joyce smiled.
    “Two things,”’ the casting assistant said. “Your hair color. It’s hard to classify. I’d say you’re a brunette if I had to, but it’s very light—you might want to consider going blonde or a shade or two darker.”
    Joyce nodded.
    “There are a few strands of early gray—what are you, 20 years old?”
    “Nineteen,” Joyce said. “We get gray early in my family.”
    “I would do something about that. And your eyes. They’re lovely, but kind of a pale green. Have you thought of emphasizing them, maybe with contacts to heighten the color?”
    “No, I hadn’t. I’m here for acting work,” Joyce said, getting a bit miffed. “I don’t see what all this has to do with it.”
    The casting assistant leaned over her desk and whispered conspiratorially to Joyce: “We always say we’re looking for fresh faces, but in reality the easier it is to classify you as a certain “look”
    the more readily casting people can slot you.”
    “You mean pigeonhole me,” Joyce said. But she moderated her tone to one of interest.
    “Yes. No!” the woman corrected herself. “Look, who knows from this if you can act. Eventually that will be very important, I promise you. All I’m saying is to get that far you have to have a certain look.”
    Joyce thanked the woman, who sounded very sincere. She said that Joyce’s information would be kept on file and she would be asked to read for suitable parts. Joyce also asked to be considered for work as an extra, and that was noted on her resume.
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Chapter 10
    The reception area was nearly empty when she emerged, and Joyce headed off to her next stop, the open call for the industrial show.
    There, harried assistants were handing out numbers and scheduling auditions, and Joyce was able to choose a time to come back.
    She left her photo and resume and signed up for 2:10 that afternoon. Joyce noted that she would have all of 10 minutes to impress whoever was putting the show together.
    The product being glorified was a line of pre-fabricated kitchen cabinets. At least I don’t have to come up with songs about pine and maple, she thought. Hopefully, just singing them will be enough.
    A dash across Seventh Avenue brought her to the office of the person who advertised as “looking for talent” without specifying what for.
    Joyce was full of trepidation riding up in the elevator. What if she had misunderstood the ad and was about to look foolish?
    What if she was getting involved in something shady?
    Debbie hadn’t been sure that this ad was on the up and up, but 56
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    she did say that “artist’s representatives” did advertise for new clients, and often took people on based on a feeling they’d find work.
    The man she found inside the tiny office was fat and balding, and reminded Joyce of nothing as much as the child’s toy “Mr.
    Potato Head.” That toy came complete with outsized black-rimmed glasses, large jug ears and bushy eyebrows—accessories this man was already equipped with.
    There was an unsavory air about the whole situation. The posters behind his desk were of “straight-to-video” slasher movies and teen sex comedies.
    The office looked a little too studied—as if a set designer had come in and tried to create an agent’s office for a