I have been in the devoted process of self-torture since last night. It takes a lot of will-power, a great ability to self-loath, and an amazing lack of self-esteem. I am really, really beating myself up the best I can, and it’s working. I was even dedicated enough to pop open my eyes at 5AM and only manage a light and angry sleep, making sure to be pissed at myself all the way ’til 9.
A week ago I went on an audition for a feature film and it went spectacularly. The director became so enthusiastic about my performance that he nearly cried when I announced my hour long meter was up and I had to go. He sighed in disappointment but added, “I will see you at the callbacks! Absolutely.” The producer’s eyes popped in surprise. This must not be his usual protocol, I imagined. We all shook happy hands and I left, floating on a cload of my own approval.
When I received the callback notice I thought, welp, gotta wait ’til Wednesday to claim that role. It was so mine. The other two girls had no idea they were wasting their time. A whole summer on set; I could hardly wait.
The situation at the callback was to be, 3 potential leading men, 3 potential leading women. We would be interchanged to determine who proved the greatest sexual chemistry, as it is an intense film on love between a younger girl and an older man. So, last night I arrived and found myself to be the only chick on time. The 3 men waited and we all chatted until the director pulled me and the first man into the room. I was really not attracted to him and, although I should have pushed that aside, I did feel it hindered my audition. I shrugged it off knowing I had two more chances to make it right. However, when I entered the foyer again there sat a girl I would let ruin my whole night.
We actually looked and dressed quite similarly. She was much more petite but we essentially wore the same outfit and a nearly identical desire to be the funniest in the room. She purposefully ignored the other girl and I, only making eye contact to ask me to hand over a bottle of water. The rest of the time she spent buttering up the guys and cultivated a flirtatious relationship with the most attractive guy of the three. I got the distinct impression she knew the role was hers and it was just a matter of deciding which guy she preferred.
For some wretched reason her assurance slowly chipped away at mine. The greatest audition blunder is comparison and this one gave me three entire hours to ruin myself through her. She went second and when she reentered the room she was practically holding the guy’s hand; it was as though they decided it would be them. And unfortunately, I believed it.
From then on, I could not bring myself back to planet earth where I am fun, confident, and talented. My mind made the experience a competition for a role I cared about instead of an exhilarating opportunity to act. My greatest regret is that the director was on my side and I still couldn’t deliver. He kept saying, “Where’s your electricity? The real you I know? Give that to me this time. Action!” And instead I performed a half-assed rendition of, “God, why won’t that girl get sick and go home?”
The man tried everything to bring me from my shell. At one point I was even straddling an actor on the floor, kissing, and trying to be intimate… but yes “trying.” “Acting,” not being present. I was on planet jealousy…or rather, insecurity.
Long story short, what hurts the most is that I thought I was so past being such an idiot. I keep thinking I know who I am and what I have to offer. I was so sure I knew better than to stoop down so low. I can’t even believe how badly the director wanted me to succeed… and I didn’t.
All I can say to the benefit of myself, is that it was a great awakening to my heart. I am so grateful to become aware of this monstrous problem now, because I’ll be damned if I let myself be that way again. I need to work on this issue, starting this instant, to be sure my brain takes a 180 on this. Three cheers to that being the last time insecurity ruins me. Here’s to confidence! Hip. Hip. Hooray.
Tags: audition, competition, director, envy, fail, feature, film, insecurity, jealousy, men, movie, older, regret, ruined, sexual, women, younger
In my life, every once in a gloriously blue moon, a girl and I form a brand new friendship. These are the stories of 4 particularly unique ones. These are 4 girls that brought my life into such vast adventures that I thought Id be young forever.
“Courtney, the Supermodel that Poops”
by Jacob Sutton
Scene 1: Pennsylvania: 2002: Late Afternoon: Set of Music Video
(Cut to)
Crowd jumping up and down, loving the music, or pretending to. Close on two unusually tall girls. A brunette stepping on the blonde’s stillettoed toes. Blonde getting angrier by the second. Brunette apologizes to blonde; they exchange emails and the promise of potential roommate-dom in Los Angeles, California…
And so began the cinema-like tale of Brenda Marie and Courtney.
That first day, we stood in line to pocket our 50 dollars in pay and head into the dim streets towards our respective homes. The girl I only knew as I envied her - vibrant, outgoing, commanding, and beautiful - held my email address on a wad of paper in her pocket. She was engaged, in love, and passionate about her lofty dreams. She was the former homecoming queen of her high school, and the lusted-after object of most male’s affections.
Looking back, I wish God would offer you a brief montage of the events you would an encounter with an individual so you could decide whether or not to embark on that rollercoaster; to decide whether or not to hand the beautiful girl your email address. I would have offered the inked paper and seen flashes of cross country road trips, houses of guys, near homelessness X 2, streams of tears, awkward fights, side-numbing laughter, Playboy parties, elite dinners, movie premiers, opened velvet ropes, a completed screenplay, a broken engagement, a stabbed friend, a love triangle, cherished confidence, a momentous marriage and baby, and a friendship that could withstand any storm that came its way.
And if that was the way God worked, one can bet, every ounce of my courage, that I would’ve taken a deep, full breath and handed her the paper, still.
When I boarded the plane that first June, I was a discouraged and scared little girl. I just spent a full semester at USC and, the usual social me came out of it with only a few acquaintances and no friends. I sincerely hoped that living in a fraternity house for 2 months would change that, but after my previously failed attempts at friendship, I wasn’t feeling so sure.
I lugged two full suitcases up the West wing of TKE’s stairs and was met with shouts, “Brenda?! Brenda!” Before me she stood and we had to admit, after only 2 hours of face time a year prior, we had forgotten what each other looked like. I was still tall and blonde, but undoubtedly jet-lagged. However, Courtney was a sight for sore eyes. She already had at least 7 of the guys and five of the girls wrapped around her elegant piano fingers and her form-fitting white tank hugged her ample chest and perfect abdomen. She wore a black skirt that hung low at her hips and her straight brown hair was pig tailed, braided, and pinned so the ends would shoot out wildly from behind her ears. It didn’t take long to gather from her crude humor, burping contests, brags regarding excretions, and constant notation of her “monster B.O.” that she was no ordinary beauty…
Acting like idiots, as usual
In the midst of all our adventures, we attended three distinct dinners that defined, encouraged, broke, and strengthened us. This will be the tale of the two known as “The Twin Towers,” “Those Heterosexual Life Partners,” “Those Bitches,” “Those Beauties,” and “That Forkus and Horrenda.”
“Hello,” the well-dressed man whispered as he leaned into Courtney’s personal space. My usually friendly and unassuming friend was instantly turned off, for not only was she amazingly social, but also amazingly intuitive. Something about this oh-so-important “industry” man was simply a bit off to her.
“Hello,” and as she shimmied her body out of the corner he pinned her in, “Excuse me.”
His angry eyes followed her to the buffet table until he suddenly turned his attention to me, “Well, I suppose Ill talk to you now.”
His comment prompted a roll of my eyes and only mildly affected me until he continued, “What? What is the matter? Surely being with her,” motioning a strong hand to Courtney, “you are entirely used to being second choice.”
My eyes shot up to meet his and nausea rose in my stomach. I quickly turned away before I allowed him to see my tears. My head knew better, but my heart knew he was only confirming what I was already choosing to believe: I couldn’t compare to Courtney.
This particular dinner party was hosted on a millionaire’s personal yacht. The 3 story floating mansion was flooded with young beauties hoping for stardom and old men who supposedly had the power to deliver those lofty dreams. Naturally, Court and I hated the notion, weren’t naive enough to fall for any schemes, and merely longed to go back to our friends at TKE. We both darted off, in heels, only narrowly missing the boat’s departure, which would have trapped us in that hell for at least 3 additional hours.
When I finally gathered the guts to explain the reason for my tear-filled eyes, Court, of course, made fun of the jerk and proclaimed his statement absurd. However, in the back of both our heads, we knew this wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, time we were compared.
Weeks later, Ian handed me a script. “Excuse me, waitress! This cup is, well, look. Can’t you see this? Surely you see this.” He taunted the hard-working girl with a glass she certainly wasn’t responsible to wash or to set on the table. All she could offer was a flustered apology as he waved the cup in her face. Court and I looked on in horror. This dinner was never-ending. The painfully embarrassing experience just refused to end and Ian’s antics got worse and worst.
He turned back to me after slamming his glass down, “See the role of the Angel? That could be you.” I was in a quandary. Is this man for real? His business partner won an Oscar for producing, his newest script laid before me, and he was treating my best friend like the dirt under his fingernails. He had already interrupted Court mid-sentence a good three times and now she reached for her second dinner roll…
Court and me about to delve into the pizza we got, broke as jokes, for free with a smile and a corny dance
Ian turned his attention to my beautiful, waif friend. “Courtney. Are you Italian?”
“Mostly Dutch.”
“You ought to be more wary of your figure. Do you work out?”
“Excuse me?”
“I just noticed you ordered a cheeseburger and…well…”
Her brows narrowed, “So, you’re saying I’m fat.”
He smiled maliciously and spoke slimily in his English accent, “Oh, no darling. I’m just saying you ordered a cheeseburger.”
Only one underlining statement was spoken to my heart through his evil words: My name is Ian and I only feel valuable when I degrade women to enforce my power. I want to sleep with Brenda so I will impress her by reducing her friend to nothing, thereby making her feel special.
Suddenly, I understood, at last. Perhaps this tactic was all over Hollywood. Perhaps women are just catty and insecure enough to enjoy watching the degradation of the fellow beauties around them. Unfortunately for this slime bag, there was no chance in hell this scheme would work.
However, these two dinner parties that left both Courtney and I without an appetite were worth looking at. In the secret places of my mind, I was glad Ian had favored me over her and I couldn’t help but wonder if she enjoyed when she was favored over me.
As I said before, we entered into each other’s lives like a whirlwind. We set goals, grabbed friends, hosted parties, and ran around Hollywood before we knew each other’s last names. Now, we were made to decide, “Am I prettier than her?” “Do you like me more than her?” “Do I value her enough to not enjoy your favoritism?” “Can I eat one less meal to be as skinny as her?” “Must you pick a favorite?” “Must we compete?”
Then, one evening he pushed in our chairs and sat before us, “Order whatever you desire!”
Courtney and I incessantly kicked and squeezed each other’s legs under the table. Only an hour prior, I hung up my call from Martin Landau and, short of breath, announced the dinner date to Court.
If Mr. Landaus name is indistinct, all is forgiven. Martin is before the era of most myspacers, but nonetheless, an absolute legend in film and within The Actors Studio. He is a soft, turtle-like gentleman with white hair and thick black-rimmed glasses. Yet, he has an energy and animated personality that would rival Jim Carrey’s. Speaking of Jim Carrey, Martin had nothing but shining things to say about his character and morale as a man. As a matter of fact, Court and I simply sat in awe as Mr. Landau told stories upon stories about all kinds of legendary actors from Johnny Depp , with whom he co-starred in Ed Wood, to Marilyn Monroe, who he dated…
Don't mind me, looking like a freak, with Court and Martin
The three of us laughed during a gleeful swordfight between our butter knives, stopped breathing while he spoke of former best friend James Dean calling him for date advice, and disturbed other diners while we loudly argued over our different flavored slices of cheesecake.
By the time Court and I slammed our bedroom door and rolled into bed, we could do nothing but sigh. Suddenly our happiness and self-esteem was built up like an iron tower. “You two are gonna get your chance to make it,” he promised, “I guarantee that. The question is what you choose to do with it. I suggest, when you get your chances, you both kick ass.”
Martin believed in us, equally, adored us, equally, and favored us, equally.
Even though Court and I constantly looked to God for our esteem and value, it was so refreshing and such an indescribable blessing to hear it confirmed yet again:
Today, she sits in her bedroom on the second floor of her townhouse. Her baby sleeps in a room across from hers and her husband lies beside her, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
Today, I write from my laptop within a closet-sized room I’ve decorated like a haven. My boyfriend, friends, and family strengthen, adore, and believe in me.
Best of all, today, Court and I continue to think of and root for one another. Our screenplay still awaits a buyer and our dreams are yet to be seen, but thanks to so many adventures, ups and downs, and faith in God, we never consider failure. We simply wait, still hand in hand.
Ode to Courtney, The Supermodel that Poops. I love you, girl.
Tags: california, carrey, celebrities, competition, courtney, dean, depp, ed, elite, fat, frat, house, jacob, james, jim, johnny, landau, los angeles, marilyn, martin, monroe, music, playboy, sutton, tke, usc, video, vip, wood
