It's the day of the audition, and I'm stressed.
I've sang through my song a hundred times, emoted my monologue over and over into the mirror, painstakingly chosen the right clothes, and rushed to make it there on time. Once inside, I try to calm down, breathe deep, and get my head into 'audition mode'. But who's standing right next to me there on line?
My ex-girlfriend.
In what other career would someone have to deal with this?
Most of the time, when you and your girlfriend/boyfriend break up, it's hard enough, right? But once you've been through that wrenching ordeal, you don't really want to see them again at next week's Hairspray audition.
Now, I don't necessarily look to date actresses. (Honest!) But hey, I'm a straight actor in musical theatre. That's not as uncommon as, say, free soda refills at a NYC diner, but... it's still something of a rarity.
So I meet a nice girl at an audition and we go out a few times and, for whatever reason, it doesn't work out. No big deal. But it's a completely different ballgame with someone I was serious about.
Last September, after putting it off for a few years, I finally joined Actor's Equity. As I started hitting the AEA auditions, I saw people I hadn't seen in awhile—folks who'd long since advanced to Equity while I toiled away in non-union. It was great catching up with some old faces, seeing what they were up to.
Then I ran into 'Laura,' my ex-girlfriend. (Not her real name.)
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We met at one of my very first auditions in New York, back when we were both young non-Equity kids just out of school. We'd both shown up at an audition on 72nd Street and had a few hours to kill, so she took me up on my offer to get a soda.
I thought she was beautiful—in that slightly Jewish-looking way that I liked (being Jewish myself). She had long dark brown hair, a pretty smile, and a wickedly sharp sense of humor. I fell for her right away, even though she had a boyfriend when we first met. I learned a lot from her; she had gone to NYU for theatre, and knew a lot more about the business than I did. We kept in touch, and after a few years our friendship grew into something more.
We started a long-distance relationship while she was home on a visit from her job at the Allenberry Playhouse. At first things were great, but once she was home we started squabbling, fighting more often than not, over things that I just thought weren't important. And although things eventually got sorted out, to me the damage was done. We broke up after I came home from a job in Virginia. Although I regretted it later on and tried to get her back, I messed that up too, and she was gone.
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I hadn't seen Laura in three years, then, just like that, we bump into each other. We said a quick hello and moved on, but less than a week later, we were standing on the same line, so we made some small talk.
At first, I was really glad to see her. We caught up on jobs and apartments, and basically got along. Then the gears in my head started turning, and I thought, "What if we'd worked things out?" and "If only I could try again" and so on.
But the truth is, when we were together we did have real problems—stuff you tend to gloss over when you romanticize a past relationship. Thinking things like "If only..." isn't really helpful, especially when you've struggled a long time to put someone behind you.
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Now, this wasn't the first time I'd run into an ex at an audition. About five years ago, while waiting at an audition at Michael Carson Studios, in walked the very first actress/girlfriend I'd had when I came to NYC—who I'll call 'Kristen.'
Kristen was the first girl I ever said "I love you" to. We met at Radio City Music Hall, on line for a cruise ship audition. She walked with me all the way to Penn Station, even though it was out of her way, and I bought her some McDonald's.
We were one of those happy smiley couples who liked to kiss on the subway—the kind you hate when you're single. She was tall, with long blondish brown hair, and an infectious laugh. She was from Kansas, a very sweet girl. We dated for about a year, but soon after that, I found myself starting to look around to see what else was out there. I don't know why: I was young and stupid, and thought maybe there was more for me somewhere else.
I asked her if we could see other people, to which she reluctantly agreed—at first. She was at a point where she wanted to think about getting married, and I, only 23, felt like I had much more to do in my life before that.
Eventually, she gave me the ultimatum: we date only each other, or we split up. After a lot of hemming and hawing, I broke it off, and sometime later she met someone else, whom she married shortly thereafter. She called me to say she was moving to California, and I didn't expect to ever see her again.
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When Kristen appeared at this audition, I was understandably shocked— and happily surprised, as I still had very fond feelings for her. But it was actually bittersweet, because a part of me felt that she had been the one for me, but the timing just wasn't right.
Anyway, my new girlfriend (who was there that day too) started chatting her up, and as it turned out, they actually knew each other already from auditions! My new girlfriend had even heard about me before—she just hadn't realized I was that Scott. Awkward.
Now you might be reading this and thinking "Hey pal, tough luck! You made your bed, now lie in it!" And you're totally right. I brought it on myself, I don't have to keep dating actresses. But in my defense, for the most part, that's just who I meet. And dating within the industry sometimes has its advantages as well.
But it's hard enough to get an acting job without these romantic distractions at the audition. If you're in the business, you've probably dated another actor/actress at some point. So you might agree that when the relationship fails, it can sometimes be pleasant to see them again at auditions, but it can hurt a lot too. And if you're going to keep on auditioning in the city, maybe it's not something you want to go through again.