Rating is to cover my ass for future chapters, just in case.
Santana is used to auditions. Big studio, navel-gazing indie enclaves, disinterested casting directors who can say things like "we're not going ethnic with this role, but we'll keep you in mind" with straight faces. All of it with a smile on her face. But she has never wanted a role as bad as she wants this stupid, stupid, romcom lead. It's not even like the story is good: it's your typical boy meets girl, boy and girl think mutual interest is unrequited, boy and girl fall in love, The End. But the writing, the dialogue, it's sharp and clever and the lead isn't a well meaning but ultimately useless manchild that prompts the staid romantic interest to loosen up and love him despite his myriad flaws; there is no manic pixie dream girl that teaches him to close his eyes and fall, desperately and madly.
The romantic interest, Lillian, is a whole, rich character irrespective of the lead's feelings towards her; she has her own life and her own dreams and her own goals and she's sometimes blunt and harsh but the narrative doesn't punish her for it. It's the kind of character that can elevate a trite storyline, and god, she wants to do that.
But she's just one in a wash of faces, and most of them are paler and blonder than hers. They're doing all the calls at once, guys through one ominous door and ladies through another, and the line for the ladies' room is, as usual, much longer. She curses herself for being intimidated by all of these other hopefuls, but at least she doesn't let it show. Instead she hides behind her checkbook, trying to figure out how two hundred-some dollars has gone unaccounted for. She's religious about keeping track of where her money is going, even if she doesn't make the best purchasing decisions with it all the time, so she knows she just fucked up the numbers somewhere. Or a lot of somewheres. She leans up against the wall with her book in one hand and her calculator app on the other. It's a welcome distraction from the fact that the waiting area is so crammed that she hasn't been able to sit for an hour.
The stream of people coming in to read is slowing to a trickle now, mostly late comers who probably won't even make it to the front of the line. One of the late comers, Santana notices, neglects to sign in, instead wandering around a little aimlessly until she finds a slice of wall to hold up while she finishes her excessively large coffee drink. She wars with herself. The girl is competition. Not just that, but she's got the kind of "girl next door", surfer babe looks that romantic interests are made for. Not plastic, not "classical", but the kind of gorgeous girl that audiences not only want, but that they feel like they could get - the kind that makes it so easy for them to connect to the nebbish, everyman lead. But she's here, even if she's incredibly late, and Santana just can't - she's trying to move far away from that dark place where she assumes everyone is trashgarbageawful and in direct opposition of her own goals, even if they more often than not turn out to be exactly that.
"Hey," she says, trying to catch the woman's attention, only to feel like an idiot when she realizes immediately after that the woman has headphones on. People look at her, some confused and some dismissive, and it gets her back up even though logically she knows it's not worth getting worked up over. She just doesn't like to look stupid, like a fool. But she keeps her head on, her chin up, and goes over the girl, prodding her a little bit harder than necessary to get her attention. The woman doesn't jump at her sudden touch, instead pushing her headphones down and turning to Santana with a big smile.
"Hi!" Her voice is friendly and even though she probably isn't any louder than anyone else in the room, it feels like she is.
Santana gestures to the table at the back of the room with the two signup clipboards. "You need to sign in or they won't know to call you for your turn." The girl grins wider, her eyes crinkling with deep smile lines.
"Thanks, but I already signed in. I left to grab this," she shakes her huge iced coffee. "Do you want some?"
Santana feels so stupid now. "Uhm, no. Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you."
The girl doesn't stop smiling and it's starting to feel like she's being laughed at, until she goes to turn away and a hand touches her arm gently, briefly, to stop her from walking back to her spot. "You're fine, it was really nice of you to check like that. I just got bored standing around." She makes a gesture with her head to the space next to her. "You wanna wait with me?"
"Sure. I mean, I'm kind of working on some stuff so I might not be the best conversation," she hedges, lifting the hand with the checkbook a little. The other woman hasn't stopped smiling, and suddenly it kind of feels like she's in on the joke.
She laughs, a short bark that sounds like it almost surprised her, and twists her body to lean her shoulder against the wall and give Santana her full attention. "That's fine, you can stand there and do your thing. Just nod every once in awhile so I don't look like I'm talking to the invisible friend you decided to sit on."
Santana smiles and settles in. "I'm Santana, by the way."
The other girl offers her hand, and Santana clumsily transfers all her belongings to one hand, and then has to transfer them to the other because it's the wrong hand (idiota), but then they're shaking hands and the other girl is chuckling gently. "I'm Brittany, Santana. Pleasure to meet you." Santana nods in response, still swearing at herself a little for being so off her game today, and reshuffles her belongings so she can see the numbers again.
"What part are you reading for?" It's mostly a rhetorical question, but she doesn't really have anything else.
Brittany smirks, sly and confident. "The lead." Santana nods, an obvious answer to a stupid question. Brittany leans in closer. "Can I tell you a secret? I've never auditioned for a movie before."
Santana looks her up and down. Her aggressively BoHo outfit, warm orange and tempered by an obviously well-loved panama hat, wedge heeled sneakers, and a distinct lack of obnoxious jangly jewelry that usually accompanies the style. Her calm demeanor. Her ballsy ability to straight up leave the holding area without being terrified to miss her spot. "No offense, but I can definitely see that."
Brittany's smile drops, looking down at herself to see what Santana is seeing. "Is it really that bad?"
She feels like shit. "God, I'm sorry. It's just- I'm saying stuff without thinking first. You're fine. You look really good, actually. It's just - nothing."
Brittany nudges her, smile on her face again. "Just what? I'm a big girl, I got my big girl underwear on."
She runs one fingernail under another nervously. "I was being stupid. When I started auditioning, I got this tip that I should go into auditions dressed like the character I wanted the role for. Like, to help me get into character and stand out. And you're just… not how I imagined the character looking. But I clearly just don't have enough imagination," she says.
Brittany nods, considering. "I didn't really think about it that way. That's a good tip. But I probably wouldn't have done it anyway - I really wanted to wear a skirt today."
Santana looks at herself, at her personal vision of Lillian, at her comfortable pencil skirt. She supposes turnabout is fair play, but it still hurts to hear right now. She buries her face back in her bankbook, trying to bite down her feelings. Everyone is entitled to their own wrong, stupid, wrong opinion she reminds herself.
"Are you auditioning for Lillian?" Brittany asks, casual and conversational. Somehow it hurts more than the question usually does, coming from Brittany. It shouldn't - Brittany has no idea how many times a director has asked her to read for the best friend, the other half of the beta relationship, the bitchy ex who doesn't know what a great guy she missed out on, instead of reading for the headline role she really wants. But it really, really does.
"Yeah," she says, her tone clipped. The other woman gives her a concerned look.
"Are you nervous?" she asks.
Santana has no interest in revealing weakness, least of all that particular one, to this woman. "No."
"Good. You don't need to be. I think you look like an amazing Lillian. Very… self-assured, but you've got the cute jacket and boots so it doesn't make you look like a hard-ass. More like, 'I'm on the job now, but after I'm gonna go dancing'. I think it's a really good read of the character."
She's not sure if Brittany is walking her earlier comment back or what, but Santana knows an apology when she hears one. "Thanks. I really like her."
Brittany nods and knocks her own boots against the wall absently. The girl behind her cuts her a dirty look, and Santana gives her one right back.
"Do you do this a lot?" Brittany asks, looking beyond Santana to the rest of the room.
An understatement. "As much as I can. I've gotten a few walk-on things and I did a commercial a few years ago, but nothing you'd recognize me in."
"Wow," Brittany breaths. Then, "That sum is wrong."
Santana jerks, instinctively pressing her checkbook to her chest. Brittany leans back out of her space, her nose going a little red. "Sorry, that was rude. I wanted to help, I'm good at maths. I shouldn't have gotten all up in your business like that though."
"It's fine. Weird, but fine." She hits the equal sign on her calculator app and Brittany's right, it comes up fourteen bucks and change short. "Wow. Look at you, fucking Billie Nye. I'm so fucking bad at math," she says, scratching out the old number and putting the new figure in. Brittany chuckles and raps her knuckles against the wall.
"I wish I was like Bill Nye, he knows so much! I'm not good at, like, biology and stuff. I'm pretty much just a maths monkey. And most of my work is theoretical." Brittany sees her look, and rushes to clarify. "It's not, like, theoretical like fake. Like, it's an actual job with a paycheck. I just mean the theories I work on are for theoretical concepts."
If she didn't feel stupid before… "No offense, but how did you even hear about this audition? Do you get a lot of tear off fliers in your theoretical math lab?"
Brittany grins, flashing her teeth. "Their social media presence is really impressive. I figured I'd try out, and even if I don't get the part it would give me a chance to talk to them about their promotional team. I'm always interested in new ways to promote my webshow."
Gorgeous, genius, sweet, kind of funny, and spends her free time talking to strangers on the internet and doing random auditions. "You are something else."
Her smile falters a little. "In a good way?" The way she looks at her makes Santana reach out and touch the hand pressed to the wall, trying to assuage that faint tremble that reminds her of that stupid voice in her own head that sounds like her grandmother most of the time.
"Definitely."
Brittany gives her this little half smile before she sinks down the wall to the floor, then takes off her shrug and settles it around Santana's feet. "Sit," she says, and she adjusts the wrap as Santana awkwardly lets herself slide down after her so that it protects her clothes from the dirty floor. "Do you want me to help you with your numbers?"
It kind of sounds like a bad idea, but Brittany looks so sincere. And god, getting this one small stress out of her life would feel so good, even if it's only to make more space for her audition stress to take over. "Yeah, ok. Thanks."
"No problem." She takes the book and a pen from Santana, and starts skimming down the page. She gets through three pages in about twenty seconds before she says anything. "This is wrong, it should be 318," she informs Santana, before noting the adjustment and flipping to the next page. It's really impressive, because she doesn't seem to have any problem holding all the numbers in her head, even if she can't see them. Santana kept getting confused because she notes the final sum from the last page at the top of the next page, but when the final sum on the last page is wrong she doesn't always remember to change the corresponding number on the next page and then the math is still wrong and it's a clusterfuck. Brittany burns through it all, faster than Santana herself was with an actual calculator and then like some kind of fucking magic the final tally is exactly what it should be, according to the number her bank gave her this morning.
"You are some kind of number wizard. Thank you, so much." Brittany hands her back the book and takes a long pull of her coffee.
"NBD," she says. Like, the actual letters. Santana laughs. Brittany tips the still half full drink in her direction, silently offering again. Santana nods, because why the fuck not at this point, really, and Brittany pops the lid off and hands it to her. She can't quite hold it with one hand, so Brittany grips the bottom. With her free hand she protects her clothes from an errant dribble, holding it cupped under her chin, and Brittany takes it from her cleanly when she pulls it away from her mouth.
It's strong as fuck even after half the ice has melted and she didn't realize how bad she needed that. "A wizard, and a mind reader. I feel way better now, thanks."
They pass the cup back and forth until it's gone and Santana has told Brittany all about her cliche job as a waitress - the kind that wears a ridiculous skirted uniform ("Hot.") and entertains every hour, on the hour, and thrice during the dinner service. Brittany's trying to get her to spill the address so she can see the ridiculous mess firsthand when someone who isn't her calls the other woman's name.
"B-Brittany? Uhm, Brittany Pierce?" The woman with the clipboard says, her brow furrowed.
"Present!" Brittany says, prying herself off the floor leisurely. There are a few snickers and Santana takes note of every one of them. She's trying to keep Snix caged, but she's never been interested in getting rid of her entirely, not when she still serves a purpose. Namely, taking these bitches down a peg should the opportunity ever arise. And she can hold a grudge for a long, long time. The city is only so big, and there are only so many auditions. "Watch my stuff?" Brittany asks, snapping her out of the faint red haze.
"Of course," she says, giving her a double thumbs up and a big, reassuring grin.
Brittany gives her a thankful smile before striding towards the back of the room. The woman with the clipboard stops her and seems to be asking her some questions rather than just sending her through. Brittany shakes her head and says something in reply before going… the wrong way, into the men's casting room. Everyone is watching and some people are laughing and Santana "accidentally" kicks over the purse of the girl next to her, sending makeup and feminine hygiene products flying across the floor. She doesn't even bother to give her an insincere apology, too busy considering yanking her chair out from underneath her when she tries to sit back down after collecting her things. Would serve her right for making fun of an honest mistake.
The woman with the clipboard looks like she's not quite sure what to do, but Brittany doesn't come back out after a minute or so, so she calls the next name.
It's a long five minutes. The next five are even longer. As they edge toward the fifteen minute mark, she starts to feel squirmy and nervous. It's the longest any interview has gone yet, and people keep giving her the side-eye like she knows more about what's going on than she does. She's also starting to worry that her name is going to be called before Brittany comes back out and gets her stuff.
Soon after Brittany does come back, looking smug and right at Santana. Santana scrambles up, trying to not tear her skirt or Brittany's shawl. Brittany gives her a hand, pulling her to her feet and looking so proud. "So, can I tell you a secret?"
Santana nods, breathless. Brittany leans in close and whispers into her ear. "I got the part." Her belly does a funny swoop as Brittany pulls back and presses a finger to her lips in the universal motion for "keep your mouth shut". And god, it sucks. It sucks so much. But if anyone else was going to get the part, she is genuinely happy that it was Brittany.
She smiles and tries to keep the disappointment off her face. A part of her felt like maybe, if they saw her perform, maybe - but it never even got that far. Maybe that's better than yet another "we'll get back to you" that steals the strength in her spine bit by bit, until she's bowed under the feeling of failure. They weren't looking for her anyway. They were looking for a "Brittany", just like they always are. But at least they got the best "Brittany" they could have ever got. She stoops to collect their things and grabs Brittany's hand, dragging her to the exit. When they're closer and out of earshot from everyone else, she turns to Brittany with the biggest smile she can muster. Brittany looks at her in confusion. "What are you doing?"
Santana drops her hand like it burnt her. "Sorry. I just thought that we could go celebrate your first movie role." She is trying so hard not to rain on Brittany's parade but maybe she is anyway. Maybe Brittany can see how upset she is and doesn't want her ruining this with bittersweetness.
"Hey," Brittany starts, and then drags her to the bathroom just off the waiting area. She locks the door behind her and grabs her purse out of Santana's hands, making most of their stuff hit the ground and it's pretty much the last straw. She can feel tears starting to build up behind her eyes and she wills them back. "We can't leave," Brittany says, handing her a packet of tissues she dug up from the bottom of her bag. "You haven't auditioned yet."
"I'm not really interested in the other roles Brittany. I'm just going to leave."
"I thought you were auditioning for Lillian?" Brittany says, her confused face making her look like a puppy who can't figure out why its squeaky toy won't squeak anymore.
"Yeah, Brittany. You got it. So let's go and get a drink. My job has a bar we can probably sneak into this early."
Brittany laughs, grabbing Santana's purse off the floor. "I didn't audition for her, I auditioned for Martin. That's the role I got." She digs out Santana's makeup bag and forces it into her hands. "Get your face on, you still have to let these people know that you're here and you're exactly who they've been looking for."
Santana is still a few steps behind. "Martin's the male lead."
Brittany nods. "Yep, he was. But not anymore. Lillian is playing opposite… whatever name they give me, now." Brittany gives her the up and down. "You ok with that?"
The swoop in her stomach turns to butterflies, filling her up with a confidence she hasn't really been able to tap this whole day long. "It'll be a challenge, but I think I can manage." Brittany's laugh is loud and round in the enclosed space.
"Game face time Santana. Get cleaned up. I'm going to stand outside so I can hear if they call you." She starts to turn away and then stops and comes back, fast, and wraps her arms around Santana, giving her a huge hug. It feels like Brittany is molding steel to her spine, her earlier dark thoughts crumbling to dust. "This is your part Santana. You just have to tell them that. They're going to see it."
Santana nods, a little blind from a film of tears she can't let fall because it will ruin her eye liner. She should have splurged on the waterproof.
"Ok. Ok."
Brittany smoothes her hands down her shoulders, smoothing out her slightly rumpled outfit like a doting parent on the first day of school. "Ok. Also, make sure you make eye contact with the dude in the wheelchair when you get in there. He's apparently some kind of big deal. He's not actually a robot so it won't hurt you."
Santana barks out a laugh and Brittany grins. "Thanks Brittany."
Brittany pets her, soothing and gentle. "You're going to be amazing."
Santana has never felt more amazing in her life.
