“Well,” the young man said, clearing his throat. “Don’t wait that long again.” The cast list went up the next day. Eleanor didn’t check it. She was in her garden, pruning the roses Harold had planted, telling herself that the audition itself had been enough. The doing of it, the being of Amanda for those three minutes, had been a gift.
The pause stretched, thick and alive. Then, a soft rustle from the judging table. matureauditions
For the first time in a long time, the house didn’t feel so quiet. It felt like a beginning. “Well,” the young man said, clearing his throat
“Eleanor Vance. Amanda Wingfield, Scene 3.” ” the young man said