Atlanta Auditions, Part Two and Atlanta, GA to Flat Rock, NC

Wednesday January 24

A brilliant day!

Woke up early and spent the morning doing some more follow-up. No matter how much time I give myself it seems to disappear very quickly and I found myself running out the door to make it to my first audition, saying a hurried goodbye to Margie and bidding farewell to Alpharetta for this trip.

Georgia Shakespeare Festival is housed among the large stone gothic buildings on the Oglethorpe University campus. I made my way there and met with Richard Garner, the Artistic Director. I performed two Shakespeare monologues (Margaret’s molehill speech and a snippet of Touchstone from AS YOU LIKE IT) and Richard seemed to like them very much. He then asked me for a contemporary piece and I did my Doris monologue from Steven Dietz’s play LONELY PLANET, which thus far has proved to be a big crowd pleaser on this tour. Richard enjoyed this piece as well and we spent some time talking. He was truly a pleasant person to talk to and really made me feel welcome; we really seemed to be on the same page. I left there feeling very confident that I would be working with them in the near future. They are doing RICHARD III in the fall, and I expressed my deep interest in that piece, but they also have a three-show summer season coming up soon.

I then drove to audition number two, for Theatre in the Square in Marietta, where a quaint little complex houses their two theatres and their production offices. I met with Jessica West, the Artistic Associate. Initially I was sure that I was doomed…as she was giving me a tour of the building, I got the distinct sense that she wouldn’t “get” me and that my audition would be miserable. I couldn’t have been more wrong! I began with the one-two punch of the Doris monologue coupled with Touchstone. She laughed her way through both and complimented me on my characters’ physicality. She then said I could do a serious piece if I felt like it, so I jumped into the “What a piece of work is man?” speech from HAMLET. I hadn’t done this piece as an audition monologue in years but had been wanting to try it again. I was definitely not pleased with how it felt…it was small somehow, restrained, with no build. I could definitely have done it better. But she seemed to like it nonetheless and we chatted for a little while more before saying our goodbyes. They haven’t picked their next season yet, and Jessica warned me that if there was something I wanted to be considered for, I would have to audition again, which would mean another trip to Atlanta, since they do not audition in New York. Also, they are a small theatre and cannot usually afford to provide housing for out of town actors, so if I were to book something there, I would have to live with Norman and Margie and the kids, or else bunk with Jamie and her roommates. Both sets of cousins had expressed their keen interest in having this happen, and it felt good to be welcomed that way.

Those were the final two Atlanta auditions and I left them flying high and excited at the prospect of hopefully returning soon to work in the area. Suddenly I could see a chain of events that could so easily lead to more work: book one show in Atlanta and I could have the people I’d just met with over the course of the past few days come and see it. I’ve always felt that it’s best to see me in an actual show, not limited by the restraints of the audition process. Nancy from Alabama Shakespeare (was that only two days ago?!) had also said that if I were to book something in Atlanta she would try to get up here to see it, since she did that from time to time, and would do her best to drag Geoffrey Sherman, their Artistic Director. Work begets work. As the peppy Kander & Ebb song goes, all I need is one good break, just one!

As I made my way to my next destination and my excitement at this prospect began to mount, I found myself wanting desperately (and irrationally) to call my father. I could just imagine the happy phone call and the joy in his voice hearing me so fired up about what I was doing. It was difficult to have to remind myself that this was not ever going to happen again. It was interesting though, to think about how close he has felt throughout this trip. Every now and then, it’s as if I feel him standing right next to me and just behind…he places a gentle hand on my shoulder and says “look” or “notice this”, directing my focus in a particular direction. It’s an eerie feeling sometimes but also comforting and I do know he is with me and proud of me even though I can’t call him to gab about the day’s conquests.

My next stop was Norman’s newest movie house, a large complex on a sprawling piece of land in Hiram, Georgia. Actually his newest movie house is currently being built (they just broke ground in December), but this is his most recent success story. A family affair, the place had been ingeniously designed by Norman and wittily decorated by Margie. I was given a full tour of the building by Norman, whose enthusiasm for the business of movies is completely infectious. The projection room was most impressive to me, never having had a chance to see that before. There in the long darkened chamber amidst the noise and the streaming celluloid and the flickering lights from the hulking machines (seeing Ben Stiller’s face on the screen below, of all things) I was surprised to find myself having a bit of an epiphany. I was suddenly deeply moved by the notion of these images of light magnified through space and reflected back into our eyes, refracted into emotion and laughter and visceral response. The magic of film, truly. As Norman continued his explanation, I felt the familiar hand on my shoulder – “Look” my Dad said, “See” and I was filled with such pride at what my cousin had wrought, at how well he was doing. I thought of Norman and his father (my Uncle Marty, who was involved with him in this business venture) and the mutual joy they shared at working with each other on these movie houses. I was glad that the room was dark so Norman wouldn’t see me crying. Had the head projectionist not been buzzing around us tending to the machines, I would have hugged Norman tightly right there and promptly dissolved into a puddle. But Salty finished strong and completed the tour.

Norman headed home and I followed in my car as he led me to the highway. As soon as he took his exit and I continued on my way out of Atlanta, I finally got a taste of that terrible Atlanta traffic my cousins had so dreaded. It was messy, I’ll admit. Margie, it turns out, was not merely a Commute Cassandra. But I pressed on and the cello music (Jacqueline DuPre’s performance of Elgar’s melancholy concerto) on my iPod made it bearable.

Evening became twilight and dissolved into night and I continued my trek northwards. I passed straight through South Carolina, stopping only for gas, and, turning north at Greenville, made my way towards North Carolina and Flat Rock. The ominous looming shadows of the mountains sprung up around me, silent, implacable and humbling as I drove alone in the dark on that winding road.

Flat Rock is a tiny village in nestled in the mountains. I think I knew this but I wasn’t really thinking about it when I planned my trip. I pulled in around nine o’clock and found the Flat Rock Playhouse, where my audition would take place the next day. Then, since I had no lodging and didn’t know the area at all, I drove around until I found something that was open to ask them for advice.

The Flat Rock Wine Store, adjacent to the Guitar Store, has a small wine bar attached, aptly called the Back Room, which I magically stumbled into past the lit tiki torches which marked the entrance. On a small stage in the back of the warm yellow, double-tiered room someone was just finishing a set on acoustic guitar while others waited their turns. A lusty bar wench approached and I asked her if she could recommend somewhere to stay. She brought me to Dave, the owner, who was quick to help. He had me follow him back into the shuttered Wine Store, where he wrote out a couple of phone numbers and made his suggestions…apparently he’d worked at a couple of the inns before as well. On my way out I strayed to listen to the end of someone’s odd, personal take on a medley of Beatles tunes.

The Mill House Lodge, which was Dave’s prime suggestion, was not answering their phones. I called Dave’s second choice, and they were open and welcoming, offering to buy me a glass of wine since the kitchen was closed and I’d missed dinner. However, they were a little expensive and the Mill House felt more right to me, so I went off in search of it. I didn’t have to look far – it was right down the street, just on the edge of a mountain lake. I rang the bell at the darkened office and was let in by a paint-spotted elderly gentleman who introduced himself as the handy man. At length he found the cost of the room, I agreed, and he checked me in.

I played the cello for about an hour until 11:00, certain that I was pissing off my neighbors in this tiny place, but so thrilled to be actually touching the instrument for any length of time. Homer, my poor new cello (whose backstory will undoubtedly be recorded here later), had been all but ignored since I arrived in Florida two-and-a-half weeks ago. This is not like me – I usually play at least a little (and usually a lot) every day. But the insanity that is this trip has affected that as well. I know I’ll get back into it, but the interrupted practice schedule has been by far the most frustrating aspect of life on the Audyssey.

Once I finally took mercy on my inn-mates, I turned on the TV to catch two of my favorites – The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, which I had not seen in a long time – and popped open the computer to write today’s Salty entry. Oddly, the Mill House Lodge has a full range of cable stations, but no internet access – not even a phone to be able to use dial-up! So this entry will have to wait to be posted until tomorrow night.