The waiting room of the casting office felt more cramped than usual, the faint smell of stale coffee lingering in the air. Roxie sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, her script in her lap. She flipped through the pages for what felt like the hundredth time, but the words were already burned into her memory. Every line, every pause, every emotional beat had been meticulously rehearsed. This was it, this was the role she was meant to play.
The indie film, though small, had a compelling script. It was about a woman grappling with a moral dilemma, whether to turn in her corrupt brother, knowing it would destroy their family, or to stay silent and protect him, no matter the cost. Roxie felt like she understood the character on a deep, personal level. This was her chance to show what she could really do.
She glanced around the room at the other actresses. Some were murmuring lines to themselves, while others seemed calm, confident, too confident. Roxie shifted in her seat, trying to shake the creeping self-doubt. No, she had this. She knew she had this.
A young assistant peeked out from the audition room door, clipboard in hand. "Roxanne Miller?" she called, her voice flat and indifferent.
Roxie stood up quickly, clutching her script. Her heart pounded as she followed the assistant down a narrow hallway to the casting room. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, the familiar buzz of pre-audition nerves setting in. But she couldn't let that take over. She had to stay focused.
As she stepped into the casting room, the fluorescent lights felt blinding. Three people sat at a long table, their faces illuminated by the cold, harsh light. The director, a man in his forties with a salt-and-pepper beard, sat in the center, his expression unreadable. To his left was a casting director Roxie had seen at other auditions, someone with a reputation for being tough to impress. To his right was an assistant, typing notes into a laptop.
"Take your mark, please," the casting director said without looking up from his notes.
Roxie moved to the taped X on the floor, her heart racing. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself. She'd practiced this monologue in front of the mirror a hundred times. She was ready.
"Whenever you're ready," the director said, still not looking at her.
Roxie began, her voice steady, her eyes focused. She was no longer in the cramped room. She was in the world of the character, a woman on the verge of losing everything.
"You think this is easy for me?" she said, her voice rising with emotion. "You think I want to do this? Turn in my own brother?"
She took a step forward, her hand shaking slightly as she pointed toward an imaginary figure in front of her.
"You don't know what it's like... what it's like to love someone and hate them at the same time. To know that the one person you'd do anything for is the one person who's destroying everything around you."
Her voice wavered, the vulnerability clear, but she pushed on. The next line was the hardest, where the character had to admit to herself that she was choosing to protect someone who didn't deserve it.
"I should... I should walk away. I should turn him in. I know that," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "But I can't. I can't just let him go to prison. He's still my brother. He's still family."
There was a pause, the room eerily quiet, but Roxie pressed on, pouring her heart into the final lines.
"Family means everything to me. Even if it means losing myself in the process. Even if it means letting him drag me down with him."
The words lingered in the air, her voice barely above a whisper now. She took a deep breath, holding back the flood of emotions that the character had pulled from her own life. The director finally glanced up, his face expressionless. The silence that followed was suffocating.
"Thank you," the casting director said, her voice cold and detached. "We'll be in touch."
Roxie blinked, the sudden shift from raw emotion to bland professionalism jarring her. "Oh. Uh, thank you," she mumbled, stepping back from the mark. She felt the sting of tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, but she forced herself to hold them back.
As she turned to leave, the door barely clicked shut behind her when she heard it. The casting director's voice, low and matter-of-fact: "I told you we already had someone. We didn't need this audition."
Her stomach dropped.
The assistant's response was quiet but clear. "It's in the contract. We have to audition at least three more for the role."
Roxie stood frozen in the hallway, her hand still resting on the door handle. The words echoed in her mind: We didn't need this audition. It had been a formality, a box they had to check. No matter how well she had done, they'd already made their decision.
The knot in her chest tightened, the disappointment hitting harder than usual. She had given everything in that room. She had laid herself bare, and for what? Just to be another name on their list, another face they'd forget the moment she walked out the door.
Her feet felt like lead as she forced herself to walk down the hall, past the waiting room full of other hopeful actresses, and out into the glaring afternoon sun. The warmth did nothing to thaw the cold realization settling over her.
Another audition. Another rejection. Another reminder that no matter how hard she tried, this industry was ruthless.
She checked her phone, she was late for her shift at the diner. She had no time to wallow. No time to process. Just enough time to plaster on a fake smile and pretend none of this mattered.
With a deep breath, Roxie stuffed her script into her bag and started the long walk to the bus stop.
The bell above the door jingled as Roxie pushed her way into the diner, already feeling the weight of exhaustion creeping over her. The familiar scent of stale grease and burnt coffee clung to the air, a constant reminder of how far she was from the life she wanted. Her apron, hanging on the back of the counter, awaited her like a noose.
The diner was half-full, the usual mix of tired families, truckers, and late-night regulars. It wasn't glamorous work, but it paid the bills, barely.
"Cutting it close today, Roxie," came a gruff voice from behind the counter.
Janie, a seasoned waitress in her late forties, stood at the coffee machine, her expression unreadable behind her thick, smudged glasses. Her frizzy, chestnut-colored hair was tied up in a loose bun, strands sticking out in every direction. Janie was always chewing gum, her lips smacking together in rhythm with her words. She was tough, built with the kind of weary strength that came from years of slinging hash and dealing with the worst kinds of customers, but beneath that gruff exterior, she had a soft spot for Roxie. When Roxie had first started at the diner, Janie had taken her under her wing, offering gruff advice and a thick skin to match.
"I know, I know," Roxie muttered, pulling the apron over her head and tying it around her waist. "Rough day."
Janie eyed her over the top of her glasses, one eyebrow raised. "Audition didn't go well?"
Roxie shrugged, unwilling to go into details. "Let's just say I didn't stick the landing."
Janie didn't press further, just gave a grunt of understanding and went back to filling coffee mugs. "Well, welcome back to reality. The tip's better here, anyway," she said, her smirk full of sarcasm.
Before Roxie could respond, a loud clang came from the kitchen, followed by a string of Spanish curses.
"That's just Carlos losing his mind again," Janie said with a grin, jerking her thumb toward the back.
Carlos, the diner's short-order cook, was a wiry man in his early thirties with a patchy beard and dark, expressive eyes that were always narrowed in concentration. His jet-black hair was pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head, and his white apron was stained with grease and ketchup from the day's work. He could often be found flipping burgers and yelling at anyone who dared to step into his kitchen. He had a temper, sure, but Roxie knew it was mostly for show. When things slowed down, he'd sneak her a plate of fries or offer a kind word in his own gruff way.
"Roxie!" Carlos called from the kitchen, his voice sharp but not unkind. "We got a full house. Tables 3 and 4 are yours, chica. And if that one lady gives you trouble again, let me know, I'll spit in her eggs this time."
Roxie cracked a smile, but she didn't have time to respond before the door swung open again, bringing in more customers and more chaos. She grabbed her order pad and headed to the tables Carlos had pointed out.
"Better hustle," Janie said as Roxie passed, her gum snapping loudly. "Boss is in one of his moods tonight."
Roxie didn't need to be told twice. Mr. Hillman, the owner, was known for his sour moods, which usually translated into him barking at the staff for not being fast enough, polite enough, or clean enough. He was a tall, thin man in his fifties, with a thinning head of silver-gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. His posture was always stiff, like he was perpetually ready to reprimand someone. He wore the same gray cardigan every day, its sleeves frayed at the cuffs, and he spent most of his time standing at the counter, arms crossed, surveying the diner like a general surveying his troops.
"Roxanne!" Mr. Hillman's voice boomed from the other side of the diner. "Get to work! You're not being paid to stand around."
"I'm going, I'm going," she muttered under her breath, though loud enough for Janie to hear, who gave a small snort of laughter.
Roxie took a deep breath and made her way to Table 3, a family with a crying baby that looked about ready to burst eardrums. The parents were slumped in the booth, their exhaustion evident. They barely glanced up as Roxie approached, too consumed with trying to calm their baby.
"Hi, folks. What can I get you tonight?" Roxie asked, keeping her voice polite and professional despite the tension in her shoulders.
The father muttered something about coffee, while the mother ordered a salad with dressing on the side, her eyes never leaving the squirming baby in her arms. Roxie scribbled down the order and moved on, grateful to escape the shrill cries that filled the air.
Next was Table 4, a group of loud, gruff men who had probably been there since early evening. They were regulars, the kind who made inappropriate jokes and stared too long at Roxie when she walked by.
"Hey there, sweetheart," one of the men said, a greasy smile spreading across his face. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes roving over her as if she were something to be consumed. "How 'bout another round of beers for me and my boys here, huh?"
Roxie bit the inside of her cheek, forcing a tight smile. "Sure thing," she said, scribbling the order down as quickly as she could. She turned to leave, but one of the other men grabbed her wrist, not hard, but enough to make her stop.
"You got a name, honey?" he asked, his breath heavy with the stench of beer and cheap cigarettes.
Roxie yanked her arm free, her pulse quickening. "Just doing my job," she said, her voice cool and firm. Without waiting for a response, she headed for the counter.
Janie shot her a sympathetic look. "They giving you trouble again?"
Roxie shrugged. "Same as always."
Janie shook her head. "You want me to tell Carlos? You know he'd love to throw those guys out."
"No, it's fine," Roxie said, glancing over her shoulder at the men. "They're harmless. Just annoying."
"Better you than me, kid," Janie said with a smirk, going back to her coffee pot.
Roxie grabbed a tray and started loading it with beers, her hands steady despite the growing knot in her stomach. She'd had worse customers, sure, but nights like this chipped away at her little by little.
As if the night couldn't get any worse, the door chimed again, and in walked Karen. Roxie didn't know her real name, but "Karen" fit her perfectly, short blonde bob, purse slung over her arm like a badge of honor, and a face that looked like it was constantly judging everyone around her. She always had something to complain about, and Roxie had learned early on that no matter how well you served her, it was never good enough.
Sure enough, halfway through her meal, Karen waved Roxie over with an exaggerated sigh.
"Excuse me!" she called, her voice dripping with annoyance. "This food is terrible. I can't eat this. I demand a refund."
Roxie kept her expression neutral, though inside she was screaming. "I'm sorry to hear that. I can have the kitchen remake it for you if you'd like, "
"I don't want it remade," Karen snapped, her tone rising. "I want my money back. This is unacceptable. I know how this works. Just get your manager."
Roxie clenched her jaw, her eyes flicking to Mr. Hillman, who had already noticed the commotion. Before she could respond, he strode over to the table, his face a mask of professional politeness, though Roxie knew better than to believe he wasn't seething inside.
"Is there a problem, ma'am?" Mr. Hillman asked, his voice calm.
Karen launched into a tirade about the food, her voice loud enough to draw attention from the other tables. Roxie stood to the side, feeling her patience wear thin. It was just one of those nights, one of those long nights.
Eventually, Mr. Hillman offered Karen a partial refund and sent her on her way. As soon as the door closed behind her, he turned to Roxie, his eyes narrowing.
"Keep a better eye on your tables," he barked. "We don't need more scenes like that."
Roxie nodded, biting back a retort. She was too tired to argue, and besides, this wasn't the first time she'd dealt with a Karen. It wouldn't be the last.
The rest of the night dragged on, the hours ticking by slower and slower. Babies cried, plates clattered, and rude customers came and went, each one leaving a little more weight on Roxie's already burdened shoulders. By the time her shift finally ended, she could barely feel her feet. Her apron felt like it was suffocating her, and her mind was too foggy to think about anything other than getting home.
As she clocked out, Janie gave her a small, tired smile. "Go home, kid. Get some rest.