Maybe I'll laugh about this one day.

There are good auditions and there are bad ones. There are bad auditions that make for funny stories afterwards and then there is what happened to me today.

Today I auditioned for Broadway's new production of Frankenstein.  The casting call specifically asked for a "brief contemporary song in the style of Frank Wildehorn." So I chose a two minute song written by Frank Wildehorn. And I worked on it every day for five days. And it's a beautiful song that shows off my vocal range and my acting range. It was perfect. I was so excited about this audition. So excited. Especially since they were going to let me sing an entire song instead of just the usual sixteen bars. 

I got up early this morning. I primped. I warmed up. I worked on my song. (Again.) I made myself gorgeous. I went to the audition. I'm thinking to myself, I'm totally gonna nail this. I'm totally going to ROCK THIS! I get into the room and smile and say hello. There's the director, four interns and the accompanist. I walk over to the accompanist, a lovely looking woman, and I hand her my notebook which is already open to my sheet music. I tell her that she can skip most of the intro and just play four bars. 

She looks up at me and says, "Well how much are you going to sing?" 

"The whole song. It's only two minutes." 

"Usually people shorten it. People don't usually sing a whole song." 

BUT THE CASTING NOTICE SAID TO PREPARE A BRIEF SONG! Only I don't say that, I just think it. What I say is, "I'd like to try to sing the whole thing and if they don't want to hear it, they can just cut me off," because the guy before me sang at least two minutes worth of a song, if it wasn't his entire song, I add in my head. 

"Well, fine," she says, "If that's really what you want. But people don't usually do that. It's very unprofessional." By the look on her face you'd think I just told her I plan to squat during the second verse and shit on the linoleum. 

I take a deep breath. And then I completely ignore my instincts and say, "Well.... um... ok..."

"How about I just play the last two verses?" she interrupts.

"All right..." 

And she smiles and nods and says happily, "That's great! That's much better." 

I've made her happy. Yay. That's all I care about, really, making other people fucking happy. I walk to the center of the room and I'm a little frazzled because I know that this tete-a-tete with the accompanist has taken up a few too many moments and I'm sure the director is anxious for me to GET IT OVER WITH ALREADY. The accompanist starts playing. I have no idea where she is in the song. None. No clue. I start singing where I think I'm supposed to start, and not only am I wrong, but the notes come out flat. I don't even know what key I'm singing in. My voice cracks. I take a breath. I focus on my character's inner-monologue. I get on track. I start singing... beautifully. I sound great. I'm totally there. I'm getting ready to sing the bridge -- and the accompanist skips it. She just skips it! She just doesn't play it. But at this point, I don't realize that that is what's happened. All I know is that she is not playing the song that I've been practicing every fucking day for the last five days. I'm sure my face is white. I have no idea what she's playing or what I'm supposed to be singing. In fact, I've stopped singing. 

I force myself to smile and I look at the director and I say, god this is great, I say, "You know what? Never mind. Thank you!" 

I walk over to the accompanist and I smile and, because I'm too full of self-hatred to think she might have been the one who screwed up, I say, "I'm so sorry. I don't think I communicated very well. I'm so sorry. Thank you." 

She smiles, a bit condescendingly I think, and I take my book from her. I turn to the director and his four minions, who are all either inwardly laughing at me or else cringing for me, and I say, "Thank you so much. I'm so sorry." 

And I walk out. I barely got to sing sixteen bars and I have just blown an audition in a way that I don't think I ever have before. I might as well have had frogs jump out of my mouth. 

I walk down the stairs, my eyes burning, my breath caught in my heart, my limbs tingling as if they've fallen asleep and I'm trying to wake them up. I walk out of the building just as a hot tear rolls down my face. I stare at the sidewalk, knowing that if I release the breath that's caught in my chest I'll burst into uncontrollable sobbing. And I walk. I walk as long as I can without breathing and then I breathe and the tears just start streaming down my face. And I start thinking, Five months I've been in this city and I'm still too stupid to get an audition right. Five fucking months I've been here, pounding the pavement, and I haven't even gotten a call-back. I stare at the ground while I walk so that no one on the full New York streets will see my crying. Construction workers whistle as I walk by and my tears fall harder. I walk without knowing where I am going or what I am walking to. I walk without looking at traffic signals, or watching for cars. I just walk.