Sweat trickles down my neck as I pace around my studio. I stop for a second to shift a vase of flowers over to the right. Much better. The sweat slips down the back of my neck like rain droplets.
Last week I made an oath to start taking myself seriously as an actress. No nudity. No B movies. In other words: It’s time to leave my manager.
Which is a big deal.
I hate this.
Oh, do I hate this.
I really don’t want to make this call.
I’m flashed back to middle school when I broke up with my first boyfriend, Seb (his hair cut just ruined him completely). It took me weeks to muster up the courage to do it. I feel like that twelve year old girl again. Can’t my mom do this for me?
I’ve always been left by managers, so leaving one is…weird. I’ve made the decision a month ago, and today I’ve decided to make the call.
Me: “Hi. Can you talk for a second?”
(Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.)
Me: “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my career and our relationship, and I just wanted you to know this isn’t working out for me anymore. I’m sorry. Thank you for everything.”
Manager: “Well expect a call from your agent. He’ll drop you. You fire me, he’ll fire you.”
He slams the phone down.
My agent calls soon after.
Agent: “So, your manager had some interesting things to say about you.”
Me: “What did he say?”
Agent: “He said you don’t go to auditions, are unprepared for them, and only want to be in Woody Allen movies.”
I set the record straight.
Needless to say, my agent didn’t fire me. Feeling saddened the relationship had to end like a bad break up, I did what any girl does when she’s sad/relieved: gulped down cookie dough ice cream.
Alice can be reached at AliceActress@yahoo.com.