Summer's Rain

AUDITION

Saturday Night

The gun was raised, safety off.

'Janey? What're you doing? Put the gun down, honey.' His words are forced, unnatural.

'... I used to love you, Peter. I really did.' Fluid, nuanced, sophisticated.

'I think you still do.' The man is half-crouching, half-lying against the back wall of the kitchen.

'No, Peter.' She lets out a sob. Nothing extravagant; subtle creases in the lines of her face, a slight break in the voice, moist eyes. 'Don't do this to me. I have to...'

'Janey-'

She pulls the trigger, drops the gun, and stands still, hand still in mid-air, shaking slightly.

Laughter.

The man gets up.

She relaxes.

'Was that good, honey?' She picks up the plastic replica gun off the kitchen floor.

He wipes down his pants. 'That was more than good, Emma. You're gonna get the part for sure.'

Emma Jane, Hollywood hopeful, gives him a kiss.

'Thanks, darling.' This was the sixth time she had rehearsed the scene today; both she, and her husband, had now grown tired of it, and wordlessly agreed that it was enough.

The audition was going to be tomorrow morning, 9:00 am. This was going to be Emma's big break; the movie, Summer's Rain, was a guaranteed blockbuster. It was a thriller-noir, a stylish and defining piece of art, and the director, Adam DeSoul, was literally the director of the century. His two previous works, Grey Lives and Straight Lines, a heartfelt drama, and Zonal, a sci-fi action, had taken the world by storm.

Summer's Rain was going to be his self-proclaimed magnum opus. A-list actresses had flocked to the auditions for the protagonist, Janey. Tomorrow was the last day of auditions; a sign, Emma told herself. She would leave them with something to remember.

'I'm tired, Peter. I'll call for pizza.' Frank Moro's Pizzas was the go-to dinner fix when neither she nor Peter wanted to cook; Frank was an old friend from 'some time ago', and was happy to provide two free pizzas a week.

She put the plastic gun down on the marble kitchen bench, and headed to the dining room to join Peter, who was already melting into a sofa with a bottle of whisky in hand.

'Your show's on tonight, Emma.' A rerun of a soppy soap-drama that Emma had once been part of.
Emma slapped the TV remote playfully. 'Don't, it's embarrassing!' Secretly, however, part of her liked the fact that Peter took it upon himself to never miss a repeat. As of such, she didn't change the channel.
She took out her phone and dialled.

'Hey Frank, it's Emma and Peter here. We'll just have the usual, thanks. OK. Bye. Sorry, didn't quite catch you there. Oh, no, really, I can't. Nothing expensive, just a soda would do. Haha, thanks Frank, I will. See you.' She puts the phone down.

'Frank was going to give me a bottle of wine as good luck for the audition. Wasn't that nice of him?' Peter looked up.

'And you asked for a soda?' He put on an expression of fake shock, but he had expected that; Emma wasn't a drinker, and he tended to stay away from anything that had less than 20% alcohol.

'Yeah, well.' She sits down beside him, and turns the TV volume up.

'Oh, David! I'm so sorry.'

'What – what is it, Margaret?'

'I went to Michael's place yesterday, and, and-'

The doorbell rings, and Peter heads to the entrance to answer it.

'One pepperoni pizza, one spinach fetta pizza and a soda?' The man has a thick Italian accent.

'Yes, that's right. Here's a tip.'

'Thank you. Have a good night!' The man walks away as Peter heads back inside, setting the pizza boxes on the armrest of the sofa.

'Smells good, hey?' He flashes Emma a smile, and she returns it.

'Doesn't it always?' They begin to eat as the episode of Chicago Sins ends and the next begins. They watch in silence as false lives intersect and interact on the screen, with lovers and haters and friends and enemies, as Margaret breaks up with others and breaks down alone, as tears and smiles flash past, one after the other, unending and unrelenting until they all look the same and their meaning fades away.

Emma yawns. 'I'd better get a good night of sleep.' She puts down the last slice of pizza and closes the box on it.

'Come on, honey, not even going to finish your pizza?' But Peter puts down his last slice as well.

'We can reheat it later. I'm dreadfully tired.' Peter knows that there wasn't going to be any action tonight, but he's hopeful for tomorrow.

'OK hon. You alright if I stay to finish this episode?'

'Yeah, that's fine. I'll get to sleep now.' She stands, and walks to the bedroom.

Emma turns on the bedside lamp, and pauses. Is it flickering? No, she thinks, idly. The whole room is flickering.

She falls onto the bed, in a deep sleep even before she hits the mattress.

 

Sunday Morning

'No, Peter! Don't do this to me!' The brunette is over the top, almost laughable. Adam DeSoul crosses off her name.

'Thank you for your time, Clarissa. We'll be in touch.' He's bored. He's already found the girl that he wants for the part. She was fluid, nuanced, and sophisticated. But, he thinks, there's still a few more. Things might change.

The brunette smiles and thanks him, before walking out. Adam looks at the next name on the list. Emma Jane. Quick scan of acting cred; seems promising. He leans back into his chair; he might actually enjoy this one.

'NEXT!' He yells at the door. The man standing beside it looks up.

'She is not here yet, Mr. DeSoul.' He says it like the word 'soul', and Adam feels a twinge of annoyance. Sool, he thinks. With a long O sound.

'Well then, I guess we wait. Can you get me another glass of water, Carlos?'

 

Shit. Why wasn't she waking up?

'Emma. Emma!' Peter slaps her lightly on the cheek, and a second time, not so lightly. 8:30. It was a fifteen minute drive to the studio where the audition was going to be held.

'Oh, come on, Emma, wake up!' He wonders for a moment if this is normal. People would wake up by now, wouldn't they? He runs to the bathroom and cups his hands under the running tap. He rushes back and sprays the water over Emma's face. No reaction.

'Shit. Shit, shit, shit.' He bends down and strains for a moment as he picks her up. Thank goodness she was dressed when she fell asleep, he thinks, or my job would've been a lot harder. He carries her to the car before realising he can't reach into his pocket for his car keys. He looks around, and decides to put her on the lawn.

'Sorry.' He unlocks the car, puts the keys into ignition, then puts lies Emma down in the back seats. He asks himself: studio or hospital? He decides on the latter.

 

'The next girl has arrived.'

'What about, uh, Miss Jane? Still not here?' Adam's disappointed. Even the brainless bimbos didn't miss their auditions. He checks his watch; 9:15.

'I'm afraid not. Should I invite the next one in, Mr. DeSoul?' A stronger twinge of annoyance.

'Yes, yes, go ahead.' He crosses off Emma's name.

 

'She was drugged, Mr. Jane.' The doctor is serious.

'I'm sorry, what?' Peter is in a state of disbelief. 'As in, like, to sleep?'

'Yes.' The man puts his pen into his pocket.

'But – but isn't that kind of stuff illegal? I mean, she wasn't taking anything or stuff like that, someone must have-'

'Mr. Jane, I cannot tell you anything more on this matter. I have informed the police, and they will look into it. There will be no lasting side effects.'

'I -' Peter deflates. He knows that he can't do anything at the moment. 'She's awake now, right?'

'Yes. She woke at around 9:30. She seems rather distressed about something.'

Peter resists the urge to punch the man. 'She missed her audition.'

 

Sunday Night

'Hi, this is Emma Jane speaking. May I please talk to Mr. Adam DeSoul?'

'I'm afraid Mr. DeSoul is busy at this moment. Please relay your message to me.'

'No, Mr. DeSool, spelt S-O-U-L.'

'Yes, that's who I meant. I can pass on your message to him if you would like.'

'I missed my audition today. Do you know if we would be able to organize another time to do it?'

'Let me check, please. Let's see… today is Sunday, so… Monday… Tuesday… No, Mr. DeSoul is busy this week.'

'Look, can you just tell him that I called, and that I would like to audition?'

'I will, Miss Jane.'

'Okay. Thanks.'

'You are welcome. Goodbye.'

Emma sighs, feeling more than miffed.

'Nothing?' Peter asks.

'Nope. Apparently he's busy this week. Did you ask Frank about the drink?'

'He says he doesn't know anything. And anyway, I trust Frank.'

'I do too, it's just… who would do such a thing?' Emma was frustrated; she needed this part. She knows she has the ability to do it, to become a star. 'And why?'

Peter sets down a plate of lasagne for Emma to eat. 'I guess… someone really doesn't want you to get the part.'

Emma flings her hands out as she shrugs. 'It just makes no sense. I haven't done anything to anybody. Besides, no one apart from you, Frank, and the director know that I'm auditioni – was going to audition.'

Peter sits down beside her and begins to eat his dinner of leftover pizza. 'Maybe it was an accident.'

'No, it can't be. There has to be an explanation.'

'Emma, stop fussing!' His words are muffled through his full mouth, but his frustration is clear. 'I'm sure they'll sort out another time. Just relax, okay? It'll sort itself out.'

Emma half-heartedly stabs her lasagne with her fork. 'Maybe.'

 

Wednesday Night

'Hello, this is Carlos Spinosa from NewWorld Studios. Is this Miss Jane?'

'Yes, this is Emma Jane speaking.'

'Yes, hello Miss Jane. Unfortunately Mr. DeSoul has been unable to find a time for your audition.'

'Has been unable to, or doesn't want to?'

'Miss Jane, that is not of your business.'

'That means 'doesn't want to'. Has he already allocated the part?'

'Miss Jane -'

'Oh, come on. You know that I know I can't get the part now. Who did get the part?'

'Mr. DeSoul would not want – Miss Jane, I shouldn't be telling you this.'

'Look, the media are going to know in a couple of days before posting the news on every single website in existence, so you may as well tell me.'

'Her name is Christine l'Estate.'

'Thank you.'

'Are you done, Miss Jane?'

'Yes, I believe I am.'

'Then our business is done. Goodbye.'

'Thankyou. Goodbye.'

Emma puts the phone away. She goes to the study and starts up the computer. She does a quick search: Christine l'Estate actress. No results. Christine actress. Too many results. l'Estate actress. No results. Christine l'Estate. Still nothing. Emma sighs. Christine. Useless. l'Estate. Useless. Emma groans in frustration. Christine l'Estate appeared not to exist. Carlos had given her a false name. She's about to close the search results, when something catches her eye. 'French to English Translator: l'Estate'. Emma follows the link. 'l'Estate: French for Summer'. Curious she tries a different search: Christine Summer. A suggestion pops up: Did you mean: Christine Summers? She adds the s. The name seems vaguely familiar. The search results show: and sure enough, she's an actress. All the information on her is useless though; she hasn't made it to that level of fame. She hasn't starred in any major movies. Emma goes back to the search and looks at the image results.

Emma gasps.

She re-enters the name in the search bar, Christine Summers, just to double check.

The same images appear.

Emma stands, and rushes out of the room. 'PETER!'

The screen flickers, still on the image results.

They are all pictures of Emma.