Matureauditions -

She set the journal on the kitchen table, next to Harold’s photograph. “Well,” she said to his smiling face. “Looks like I’m back.”

The pause stretched, thick and alive. Then, a soft rustle from the judging table. matureauditions

She reached the end of the monologue, her voice dropping to a whisper: “I’ve had to put up a pretty fierce battle, but I’ve won.” Then silence. She set the journal on the kitchen table,

“You haven’t done this in a while, have you?” he asked. Then, a soft rustle from the judging table

Yet here she was, clutching a worn copy of the play, her knuckles white. The hallway was lined with them: the mature auditioners. A silver-haired man in a cardigan ran lines under his breath, his fingers trembling slightly. A woman with a chic grey bob and a velvet scarf sat perfectly still, her eyes closed, lips moving silently. Another woman, larger and louder, was recounting her triumph as Martha in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? ten years ago, her voice a little too bright.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: “Welcome to the company, Ms. Vance. Amanda is yours. Rehearsals start Tuesday at 7. Don’t be late.”