"Number 127!" The audition moderator read from her clipboard, making an effort to project over the throng of auditioners cramped shoulder to shoulder in the small hallway.
Blair Waldorf extricated herself from the corner she was lodged in and tossed her expertly coiffed chestnut mane over her shoulder with a self-satisfied smile meant to intimidate the competition as she pranced over to the door that would surely lead her to a future of stardom.
"Blair Waldorf," she corrected the lady, placing an emphasis on her last name.
Before entering the space, Blair took a moment to breathe and loosen her body the way her acting coach had taught her. True, acting was a relatively new passion and she had only been taking classes for a few months, but Blair was a notoriously hard worker and having spent hours integrating the skills taught to her by Kate Winslet's own teacher, she was confident her prepared monologue would be successful.
She pushed open the door and reeled slightly from the contrast between the fluorescent-lit hallway and the darkened auditorium. Gathering her balance on her four-inch Christian Louboutin's, with a million watt grin, the young socialite strode across the stage to her mark.
The house was quiet. Not losing her smile for a minute, she introduced herself and the piece she would be performing. Blair had rehearsed her piece to an inch of its life and when she wasn't rehearsing it, she was visualizing herself executing it perfectly, a technique she had heard Olympic athletes used before competitions. Therefore it was no surprise that she performed to the level she expected.
Silence followed before a raspy male voice rose from the audience. Blair could just make out of the shape of a tall, well-muscled man through the glare of the stage lights. "Very good!" the man said, "Solid technique! You are obviously well practiced!" Blair nodded her head humbly, but she was swelling with pride.
The man came up to the stage and held out his hand. Junior year Blair had won an award at Constance Billard for her paper detailing the importance of the handshake in business communication. She was pleased to find that this man had a firm grip. "Matthew Gulden, producer," he introduced himself. Color rose to Blair's cheeks. He was younger and less balding than she expected a money-wielding producer to be!
"Very good!" he said again, and then, "but not quite what we're looking for."
Blair's smile froze. She blinked incredulously as if she hadn't heard correctly, "Not quite what you're looking for?"
"If I may speak frankly," Mr. Gulden said, "Your performance was flawless! But, that's just it. It was too perfect. Miss Eliza Doolittle lived on the streets."
"I can do street!" Blair blurted out before she even comprehended what she was saying. She had been dreaming of playing this part since she was nine years old and this was her chance! Hurriedly she whipped out a few lines in a Cockney accent to prove her point.
Mr. Gulden laughed and shook his head, "Wonderful!" he said, "Still, for some reason," he referenced her heather wool Dior dress, "I have difficulty believing that you have ever scrounged for a penny in your life."
"Believe me, Mr. Gulden, I have been in some tough situations." Blair remembered the time her mother had read that article in the Times about the younger generation not appreciating the worth of a dollar and had withheld her Amex card for a week. "Let me prove it to you at the callbacks."
"You certainly have some of Miss Doolittle's drive," he admitted seemingly impressed. "Tell you what. We still have a round of national auditions to go through. Come back in three weeks when we're back in New York, dressed down, and prove to us that you can be both the princess and the pauper at the callbacks."
Blair could have punched her fist in the air in triumph had she been that kind of girl. Instead she tilted her head coquettishly and crooned in her best Audrey Hepburn impression, "You won't regret this, Mr. Gulden."