An aspiring actress is venting to her best friend after a brutal day of pilot season auditions.
“I’m exhausted,” she sighs, tossing her headshot onto the table. “Today, a casting director looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘Honey, we love your energy, but we’re looking for someone who looks like they’ve never seen a carb and has the soul of a Victorian ghost.’“
Her friend laughs. “That’s rough. What did you do?”
“Well,” the actress says, smirking as she adjusts her dress, “I told him I’ve been on a strict diet of ‘Air and Audacity’ for three weeks. Then I leaned into his desk, gave him my best sultry ‘femme fatale’ gaze, and whispered, ‘I can do Victorian ghost… but just so you know, in the bedroom, I’m much more of a Poltergeist.’“
“And?” her friend gasps. “Did you get the part?”
The actress shrugs, taking a sip of her martini. “No. But he did ask if I was available to haunt his beach house this weekend. Union rates, of course.“
