Audition: Wife Of Cheating Husband.

I was super excited about this audition because it was for the role of “Wife who’s husband cheated on her” and not “Mom”, which I’ve been getting all the time (but which I love being paid to play!).

I wore exactly what they called for — “Brunette” (Check), “Hair pulled back, maybe she’s in a business suit, just getting off of work” (Well, my hair was brown and I pulled it back).

The audition location was 7700 Sunset Blvd. “Is that the place with all the models walking in and out?” Ervin agreed. I had only seen this – multiple times, because there’s a Chipotle across the street where I have been known to stuff my face with cheap burritos, while observing “Wow, she’sh SHOOOO shhkinny…. (gulp). I should have gotten cheese on this.”

SO, of course I was looking forward to being surrounded by exotic beauties, when I’m being called for the role of “Brown Haired Person”. Because brown means ugly, people. There was also something on the callsheet about them wanting my character to physically differ from “the other girl”. Super looking forward to what the other girl looked like.

I arrived at the location, my first time auditioning there, and followed signs through various hallways, around the back, through another entrance, down the river and through the woods. I arrived at a reception desk. The pretty girl behind it said, “Hi!” I said “HI! I’m here to audition for…” and my hand made this weird reach for an invisible pen and sign in sheet. The pretty girl goes “Oh! I think you want the other office.” At that moment, I looked around and realized I was the only white girl, in a sea of gorgeous black models. MODELS, not just extra-pretty girls. Super tall glasses of chocolate milk, versus short, stubby White Cheddar Cheez-It.

“…Ah, no, I believe you’re mistaken, I’m here for the black supermodel audition”. I laughed it off and walked back out and through another maze to find my audition. Thanks, unclear signage. I could have used something more like “You must be this tall to ride” and have a marker at 6 feet.

I arrived at the suite for my audition. I signed in, and looked around. OH! “Other girl” looks like a blonde supermodel. I didn’t see anyone who was called in for my role. Everyone waiting in the lobby, was “other girl” and “cheating husband”.

They threw me right into the room, before I even got a chance to look at the first frame of the storyboard.

A typical “slate” for the camera is: you, standing on a piece of tape on the floor, the casting director pointing the camera at you, and you saying something like “Hi! I’m Lauren Bair” if that’s your name. They do a quick zoom out to make sure you don’t have a peg leg, then it’s on to the audition. THIS TIME, ’tis a dramatic reenactment, after all… they wanted a profile shot with a sloooooooooow head turn toward camera, eyes first.

I could hardly contain myself. It was happening. Mel. O. Dram. A. I LOVE IT! I did my best evil, soap opera side glance and made murder to the camera. One of the “other girls” did a super dramatic, mouth open, squint eyed thing that made me think “She has done this before. In real life.”

The audition consisted of an improv fight with my cheating husband while our young children were asleep. Nailed it. Then a scene in which I’m driving by Tiffany’s and see my cheater Husband and “other girl” walking out, with a new diamond engagement ring (In this scene I sit in my car – which was an office chair – and become crestfallen. “Squeeze out a tear if you want – not necessary.” I tried not to think about the side glances from earlier which were making me laugh.)

Also, talk about serendipity: driving by Tiffany’s at the exact moment your cheating spouse is walking out?? The luck!

The last scene was me, approaching my husband from behind, and oh yeah – WITH A GUN in my hand – and SHOOTING HIM IN THE BACK. Crushed it. The paper gun shuddered in my hands as I slowly brought the pistol down and surveyed my kill.

I was free. At last. No more trying to make my house a home, all alone. No more checking his phone, no more wondering where he is at night. No more lipstick on shirts and perfume that isn’t —-


Casting Director: “I said, can you stay for the next group? We’re out of brown haired chicks.”

“Next time, can I shoot the gun like a gangster?” (I hold the gun sideways, looking like I’m auditioning for Weeds.)

“HA. No.”

“K. Cool.”

I walked out, an inch taller (and still a few good feet shorter than the models), feeling like I totally rocked that thing. I didn’t get cast this time, but let’s pretend it was because I’m too similar looking to a blond supermodel. And because maybe I’m a little too gangsta.

In reality, who the F knows. It could be anything. I lost out on an audition once, because of the sound of my voice. Which, as much as you want to think “Whatever! That’s one person’s opinion!” makes you go home and practice sexy-but-more-monster voices in front of the mirror.

At The Coffee Bean, I grabbed a latte and sat down in the seats outside with my laptop. “I hope you’re not gonna shoot me for real.” I looked over and saw the dude who played my cheating husband, and the girl who played the mistress.

“I fake shot you in the ass, so you could possibly survive if you call for help in time… If you can make it to the landline, because I shot your cellphone. And you’re welcome.” Revenge is sweet.




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