She lovingly assembled the sandwich: turkey, cheese, fresh spinach, tomato from the vine, and my favorite mustard. She presented it to me with a big glass of water and sat at the far end of the couch. I alternately munched and complained.
“There were so many others auditioning for Starbuck,” I spat, spewing breadcrumbs. “The Rainmaker is one of the great modern roles for men. Dozens of people turned out at the Hillbarn. The other guys were pros. They were so good looking… they had such good reads…”
“I know, dear,” my wife said. “You’ve worked so hard on it.”
“That’s the thing!” I said, waving the glass of water. “I know every line, every moment of the character. I’ve spent months living inside the character’s head. And to see it all burned away in a bad audition…”
“Well, dear,” she said. “You don’t know that you didn’t get the part.”
“They let me go,” I whined miserably. “Don’t you see? There were other actors there reading the part of Starbuck after they said I was done. You don’t let your first choice go. You let your third and fourth choice go, maybe. Not your first choice.”
“Interesting idea,” she said. “But you don’t know what’s going on in their heads.”
I munched the sandwich. “Thank you for the sandwich,” I said.
“Now I guess you just wait,” she said.
So I waited and ate the sandwich. Ten minutes later, the call came. So mark your calendars for Valentine’s Day 2004. I can’t vouch for the quality of Starbuck yet, but I guarantee you that the assistant prop master for the show will be of the highest possible caliber.by