Note: This was written as a monologue, so please read it as such.
Larry is really good at his job. What makes him really good at it probably has a lot to do with the fact that he really loves doing what he does. He's the assistant director to a guy named Zach. During auditions, like the one that's going on now, Larry is, of course, the only one of the two of them that actually works – he runs the audition – while Zach just sits out in the house, annoyingly gnawing on that stupid pen of his, taking notes every now and then. But Larry really doesn't mind.
Larry loves kneeling on the apron of the stage, back to a non-existent audience, and watching most of the dancers in front of him sweat their asses off, trying to remember what comes next, hoping the did the last part right, realizing that just now they should've lifted their right hand, not left... Larry'll point to the few who looked confident throughout the number, tell them to go stage left, and tell the others to kindly leave.
He loves looking at the kids as they dance, thinking how that girl in the pink is really gonna make it big, how the boy in the black leotard has so much potential, then addressing them by their clothing, and telling them to move stage left while the others will heave disappointed sighs and exit.
As he watches these kids, sometimes Larry'll think that he probably shouldn't mentally refer to them as kids. Most of them are usually only a few years younger than himself... They all know that their careers will be over in a few years, if they haven't stopped audition-hopping yet. But the job Larry's landed with Zach's gonna last him a while.
He hates being jerked out of his thoughts by kids who're fucking up Zach's choreography – like the guy in the front row, right now, who's at least two counts behind everyone else. And he's not the only one who's off. Larry'll get up and show them the correct way to do the combination; the kick is before the pivot, you step with your right foot, the hands go down on seven... He'll yell, "a-five, six, seven, eight!" and second group of boys will go back to dancing their hearts out.
Larry loves watching the hundreds who came here hoping for their lucky break being narrowed down to a mere sixteen. After the sixteen have lined up in a chorus line downstage, Larry's collected their résumés and given them to Zach, he'll go to the dance/prop room below the stage.
When he gets down there, he'll dig one his old tapes out of his bag in the corner of the room, pop it into the ancient tape player that really needs to be replaced sometime soon, push play, and dance. Just dance. When Larry dances, there is no thinking involved, and he knows that that's the way it should be. He simply allows his body to wholly immersed in the music, regardless of whoever might be there watching. And this – this is what he loves most about what he does. He loves this job. And Larry is really good at that job.
Larry is really good at his job. What makes him really good at it probably has a lot to do with the fact that he really loves doing what he does. He's the assistant director to a guy named Zach. During auditions, like the one that's going on now, Larry is, of course, the only one of the two of them that actually works – he runs the audition – while Zach just sits out in the house, annoyingly gnawing on that stupid pen of his, taking notes every now and then. But Larry really doesn't mind.
Larry loves kneeling on the apron of the stage, back to a non-existent audience, and watching most of the dancers in front of him sweat their asses off, trying to remember what comes next, hoping the did the last part right, realizing that just now they should've lifted their right hand, not left... Larry'll point to the few who looked confident throughout the number, tell them to go stage left, and tell the others to kindly leave.
He loves looking at the kids as they dance, thinking how that girl in the pink is really gonna make it big, how the boy in the black leotard has so much potential, then addressing them by their clothing, and telling them to move stage left while the others will heave disappointed sighs and exit.
As he watches these kids, sometimes Larry'll think that he probably shouldn't mentally refer to them as kids. Most of them are usually only a few years younger than himself... They all know that their careers will be over in a few years, if they haven't stopped audition-hopping yet. But the job Larry's landed with Zach's gonna last him a while.
He hates being jerked out of his thoughts by kids who're fucking up Zach's choreography – like the guy in the front row, right now, who's at least two counts behind everyone else. And he's not the only one who's off. Larry'll get up and show them the correct way to do the combination; the kick is before the pivot, you step with your right foot, the hands go down on seven... He'll yell, "a-five, six, seven, eight!" and second group of boys will go back to dancing their hearts out.
Larry loves watching the hundreds who came here hoping for their lucky break being narrowed down to a mere sixteen. After the sixteen have lined up in a chorus line downstage, Larry's collected their résumés and given them to Zach, he'll go to the dance/prop room below the stage.
When he gets down there, he'll dig one his old tapes out of his bag in the corner of the room, pop it into the ancient tape player that really needs to be replaced sometime soon, push play, and dance. Just dance. When Larry dances, there is no thinking involved, and he knows that that's the way it should be. He simply allows his body to wholly immersed in the music, regardless of whoever might be there watching. And this – this is what he loves most about what he does. He loves this job. And Larry is really good at that job.