We sat on the stage for evaluation. Grant turned to my scene partner first. “Nick, that was fabulous, so brave. You really went there. Everyone applaud Nick.” Everyone applauded. Then Grant turned to me. “Why are you here? You were given an opportunity to use Nick’s gift to you and you ruined it. Audrey Hepburn would be ashamed.”
Well, I’m pretty sure Audrey Hepburn wouldn’t want to see her scene partner’s dick hanging out for no apparent reason—she was pretty classy—but I wasn’t sassy enough at the time to say that, and I broke down crying.
“Where was THIS in the scene? Dismissed.” Annnnd class was over.
I went home, my self-confidence crushed.
And I kept going back for another month.
Yes, I was a total idiot, but there was a weird, cultlike atmosphere in the class, and I had recently moved out of my mom’s house and didn’t know any better. Every day Grant’s assistants told us if we quit, we’d never make it in Hollywood. They used that old cliché line AND I BOUGHT IT. Clearly, they were right; I mean, the girl who told me that had two whole lines on Will & Grace!
I finally wised up after a more experienced actor told me, “You probably shouldn’t be paying three hundred dollars a month to go home crying every night,” and I decided Grant wasn’t gonna teach me to be good by abusing me OR being nice to me. I called up to quit class.
His assistant heard me out, then said, “You can’t quit.”
“Yes, I can. I just did.”
“No, you have to have an exit interview; it’s in the class rules. Come down and talk to Grant tonight.”
“Come down tonight to talk?” I was holding my then boyfriend’s hand because I was so scared to confront these people and looked over. He shook his head vigorously.
“No, I don’t want to do that.” My voice trembled. Lame.
“Do you want to work in this town as an actor?”
“Yes.”
“Well you better . . .”
STOP, FELICIA! It’s a trick! RUN! “No. Wait. Good-bye!”
I hung up, and they immediately called back. Again and again. All afternoon, and later that week. I didn’t have to cancel my phone number because they stopped calling, eventually. But I’m not going to lie. I weighed it as an option.
That wasn’t the ONLY bad situation I encountered taking classes around LA, but it was definitely the worst. Anyone can put a sign up and call themselves a teacher. Hell, one time I went to an audition class INSIDE a laundromat. But after the Grant thing, I learned that the most important thing about taking classes is to find a place you look forward to going to. That way you actually get better at what you love and don’t want to retire and become a barista every time you walk out the door.
Also if you want to start a new profession, it’s better to get some references on your instructors and not pick them out of the back of the classifieds section.
[?I Need a Job, Please!?]
Education mastered (slightly), I decided I needed to conquer the other side of Hollywood: the business of getting work. Specifically, I needed acting work to pay my bills. And to get acting work, you need an agent. To get an agent, you need to prove you have worked as an actor. It’s like a set of Russian nesting dolls, stabbing each other from the inside with tiny needles.
For a year after I moved to LA, I searched for someone to represent me. That’s a great process, because it makes you want to shoot yourself. The few agencies that would meet with me gave me amazingly blunt and contradictory opinions.
“Fix your teeth so you don’t look like a rabbit.”
“Your smile is charming, your best asset!”
“Lose some weight, and you could be a lead.”
“Gain weight; you’re too bony.”
“The red hair isn’t working, make it darker. No one likes a ginger.”
“Love the hair, very unique. But pad your bra. It’s very flat up there.”
(No one contradicted that last piece of advice.)
My favorite was, “You’re pretty, but you could use a . . . shoop, you know?” The agent made a gesture down his nose with two of his fingers, accompanied by a slurping sound. I think he meant a nose job. I also think he was an asshole.
It was hard to hear all the criticism, but I was still relatively fresh off the boat and na?vely self-confident, so I spurned it all. I knew by being myself, I had achieved some awesome things in life. Like local theatre awards and two Real Degrees. I was studying hard, I was doing all the right hard-work things, I was a unique and precious unicorn and FINE exactly the way I was!
Also, I couldn’t afford a nose job. I would just have to work hard to make up for the ugly face.
After my five millionth interview, I got an agent who didn’t want to rebuild me from scratch, and I started auditioning for television commercials, which was great, in a metaphysically soul-searing kind of way.