•✦—✦•
Mum led me over to another hall in the church, set up with tables in a rectangle, and there were finger foods, spreads, biscuits, and nuts. I had already broken the promise of the stiff upper lip; my emotions were still hard to get a hold of. Mum brought me tea just as I was catching my breath and relaxing. Perhaps it wasn't that bad after all; I needed the practice of going to auditions. Also, if I were ever to really pursue acting, this wouldn't be the first time I would be rejected. A revelation burned into my mind, a memory of a disembodied voice saying,
"Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm."
I would have to look up who had said it; when the revelation had no voice, I eventually found out that it originated from a real person.
The lesson was clear in the saying: I wouldn't give up, and I'd keep trying for more auditions. If there was a sort of karma ledger for rejections, maybe I could bank those up to succeed for the Harry Potter films. Wouldn't that be interesting?
"Get a good sip in; be careful, it's pretty hot," Mum warned me.
"Tetley's," I said, annoyed. This tea was haunting me everywhere.
"Ah, cut it out. We'll have to drive back for four hours. I'll need you to stay up and keep Mum company, okay?" Mum asked me.
"Yerp." I kissed my mum before seeing that she hadn't made tea for herself, so I went to make her one.
"329, 329!" Someone was looking around to the crowd, doing a kind quiet-shout.
"I think that girl's calling for you, Wilf," Mum pointed out. My eyes narrowed.
"Over here." Mum hailed over the young woman with a clipboard.
The girl looked me over before referring to her clipboard and called me, "Are you Wilfred Price?"
"That's me," I said with a small bit of hostility, she'd come to rub me in my rejection.
She seemed to ignore my expression completely. "You've got a callback. Come to the audition hall."
"C-Callback?" I asked taken aback.
"Yeah, you'll have to go do a song from the list we gave on the casting call." She marked out my name and gave instructions to my mum before going off to look for someone else.
I sat there staring at her leave as I mulled things over. "What just happened?" I asked Mum.
"It makes sense. They don't want to say it directly to a dozen kids that they aren't being selected."
"I don't think she said I got the part," I said, trying to recall the words.
"It's another audition, silly." Mum smiled and pushed the paper cup of tea to my mouth. "Wet your whistle, Wilf."
•✦—✦•
When I entered back into the same audition room, there was already a boy standing in front of the decision-makers. I stood next to the boy while Anne chatted with her peers. After a few minutes, another boy joined us in our impromptu lineup.
"Great, thanks for joining us. Three of you have passed the first round of auditions, that means you can sing a song for us that you've prepared," Anne looked over to Michael the pianist. "Michael's ready. Who wants to sing first?"
One of the boys had his hand up in an instant.
"Yes, James Bradley. Which song did you pick?"
"Little People," James said.
It was an upbeat song from Les Misérables. Michael played it beautifully, and James sang with a bright and cheery tone that matched the song almost perfectly. Once James finished, the other boy stepped forward before I could.
"What song?" Michael asked, looking at his sheet music.
"My Best Girl, Mame," John replied and sang it. I sighed in relief.
I had practiced all the songs, mostly because these songs were picked by a legitimate musical theatre director to fit a role of my age. I didn't want to sing the same song as the other boys because it would directly draw comparisons between me and the other child.
My turn had come, so I stepped forward and spoke, "I Just Can't Wait to Be King from The Lion King."
Leslie Bricusse smiled kindly; his hair was gray, and he had the oddest wide-frame glasses. The song I chose was upbeat and emotive, which I thought would display my acting skills on top of the singing.
(I'm gonna be a mighty king, so, enemies, beware!)
(I'm gonna be the main event like no king was before)
(I'm brushin' up on lookin' down, I'm workin' on my roar)
(Oh, I just can't wait to be king)
(No one sayin', "Do this")
(No one sayin', "Stop that")
(No one sayin', "See here")
(Free to run around all day)
(Free to do it all my way)
(Kings don't need advice from little hornbills for a start)
(Oh, I just can't wait to be king)
I did my best to ignore Michael, who spoke all the singing parts of Zazu. He was good at playing the piano, but he didn't even try to stay in tune for his spoken parts. I acted out all the parts in wide and expressive gestures. All I knew about theatre from Mr. Moss was that you had to emote bigger whenever possible and project your voice so that people in the back of the theatre could hear you clearly.
(Everybody, look left)
(Everybody, look right)
(Everywhere you look, I'm)
(Standin' in the spotlight)
When I was performing the song, I pushed down all the awkwardness I felt and did the human equivalent of strutting around as Simba had done in the film.
(Let every creature go for broke and sing)
(Let's hear it in the herd and on the wing)
(It's gonna be King Simba's finest fling)
(Oh, I just can't wait to be king!)
(Oh, I just can't wait to be king!)
(Oh, I just can't wait)
(To be king!)
The last part I finished with as much of a head voice as possible. Musically, I knew I had beaten both the kids who had gone before me. I just wasn't sure about my physical acting and dancing. Henry was a better actor than me, after all, and he had never done any plays before. I wasn't sure about my fellow child actors, but almost all the adults who were auditioning went to performing arts schools, dance schools, or had already been part of many shows in community theatre, if not a full-on professional production.
I held a triumphant smile of young Simba as I finished my song and relaxed, catching my breath.
"Top job, everyone. Let's do some more line reading; you'll have to coordinate together with your mates. Here are your scripts." Anne continued with the audition.
My nervousness had disappeared by now. I had brought forth inspiration that I didn't know I had—twice over—and these casting directors had never shown an expression. So this time, I just took it on the chin accepting it as the standard. They had seen something in me, at least when compared to the dozen other children they had rejected. All I had to do now was to keep doing my best.
•✦—✦•
Our dialogue/line reading happened with a lot more direction from Anne and Mike Dixon. Only the odd man in the weird glasses had stayed fully out of it, but in a short ten-minute interval, James, John, and I had delivered five different short scenes. This part, I suspected, had more to do with how easy it would be to coach us and for the director to direct us in the production.
"Thanks again, everyone. Please go to your parents for now; we just need to discuss for a short while," Anne told us and turned to take a seat with the rest of her colleagues.
I made my way over to my mum by the entrance, where she was having a conversation in whisper with two other woman.
"You were amazing!" Mum lifted me up and rained down kisses on my cheek. I laughed because I was ticklish.
"—Ok, please stop. Mum!" I begged, and she left a wet spot on my cheek before letting me go. "Ew!" I cried out, but she only laughed.
In that short time, we were already being called back.
"Wilfred Price and his mother, please come here. Rest of you, please stay; we'll talk to all of you in turn to ask about availability for further auditions."
Parents and kids all had sadness and happiness come and go at the way she had phrased that. I had almost celebrated, thinking I got the part, but two auditions were apparently not enough.
"Thank you, Mrs. Price?" Anne asked.
"Erin Price," Mum confirmed.
"Mrs. Price, we are impressed by your son and would like to conduct more auditions. This is not widely known yet, but we will have Phillip Schofield playing Doctor Dolittle—"
"Phillip Schofield from the BBC?" Mum asked in shock. "I had no idea he was an actor."
Anne cleared her throat awkwardly. "Well, he's not, but he is extraordinarily talented, and of course, Mr. Leslie Bricusse himself is impressed by him." Anne nodded towards the man with the glasses.
Mum shook her head. "Oh, I'm not judging. Just surprised, is all. I thought he was just a presenter."
"No problem," Anne said before a polite hem-hem. "We didn't have you fill out applications because, so far, we have auditioned over two thousand people, and it gets very tedious. I've got a few questions here, if you could answer?"
"Sure," Mum said. "Okay," I said at the same time.
"Has Wilfred ever been trained in dance?"
"No, never. Just music with his teacher in school."
"Oh, does he go to a performing arts school? I thought Sylvia Young only took secondary kids…" Anne stated, confused, checking out my info, which stated I was only eight years old.
"Sorry, no. He just goes to a basic community school," Mum corrected.
"That is surprising. No private music lessons at all?" Anne asked me directly.
"No, ma'am," I replied.
"Huh, you must be very talented. Brilliant, brilliant…" Anne sought out her fellow judges, who simply nodded.
"Okay, please tell me about your availability. We have a closed audition next Friday and Saturday. I mean both of you; your son will need a parent or a guardian at all times."
I sent my mum a pleading look, but she was looking at Anne.
"Saturday is best for us," Mum confirmed.
"Good. Next, if selected, would you be able to attend rehearsals from 13th April for 11 weeks? There will be a triple cast for the play so we can run a full week of performances, and you will be expected to rehearse three times a week. The same follows when we premiere, and Wilfred would be expected to play in three to five performances per week, depending on matinees and the final schedule we'll draw up. Subject to being cast, of course."
That was a lot to take in, and as I mulled over the logistics, I saw that Mum had grown still. Her expression was full of worry for the schedule. I wanted to be in this play, and I didn't want anyone even my mum to bar the way. I needed the training in order to be picked up for Harry Potter. That was a life-changing role, but more than that, I really wanted to be in it just for the simulation of being at Hogwarts. If I couldn't go to Hogwarts, I'd try the next best thing.
I squeezed my mum's hand, and she looked down at me with a pained smile.
"That should work. Erm—I work full time. Would that be a problem?" Mum asked in consternation.
"You, your husband, or an approved adult from your family should be there. Of course, we will have a chaperone at the rehearsal studio or the theatre, but you'll be expected to bring your children to and from those areas."
"I see." Mum nodded absently.
"Great! Please give me the agent details for your child."
"I don't have one," I interjected.
"That's okay; your mum can give me her details."
Mum gave her details, along with my dad's phone number.
"Address?"
The judges started to panic when they heard our address.
"Is there a problem?" Mum asked.
"Well—it's just that you live in Chester. That's got to be, what, five hours away?" Anne asked Mike Dixon.
"Two and a half hours by train," Mike Dixon corrected her.
"Still, it's a problem. There may be a need for you to stay in London for the duration of the rehearsals and show run. We can provide a rental apartment for a principal role and law requires us to provide tutors and schooling. Let us know if this is acceptable."
Mum didn't answer, so I replied, "No problem. We'll make it work."
Anne shook her head in a tiny motion before nodding; even she didn't seem to believe me because my Mum was the adult here responsible for my decisions.
"Final thing—and this is not a requirement or anything—but we, as a whole," Anne gestured over to her peers, "would suggest that Wilfred get some training in dance and theatre. There are private lessons he can take before rehearsals start that will really help him get a good grip on."
"Actually," Leslie Bricusse cut in. His kind smile was overshadowed by his really rectangular and wide glasses and the mop-top haircut. The '60s had come and gone, but Leslie was doing his best to keep it alive.
"Yes, actually, I have a contact. Chester has the Hammond, one of the few prestigious performing arts schools outside of London. Betty Hassall—she's the principal there, from last I've heard. Wow, it's been ages since I've seen her in the West End," Leslie said in possibly the most posh accent I had heard, almost radio-like in quality.
Leslie's eyes glazed over in nostalgia before he blinked them clear, his pupils looking extra big thanks to the wide lenses.
"Hammond should offer private classes; they're fairly cheap too, being royal-sponsored and all," Leslie finished.
"Thank you, Mr. Bricusse." I nodded at the youngest-looking old man I had seen.
"Call me Leslie." He smiled in response.
"Good, we have all the information we need. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. While we like Wilfred, we still have four more kids who have cleared their first round of auditions. Keep doing your best, and you will succeed, okay?" Anne told me in a serious tone.
"I understand."
"Good. Two o'clock next Saturday. Same place." Anne nodded. "James and Mrs. Bradley!" Anne shouted.