A Meeting Of The Minds

This short story was written for "The Writer's Cramp" .
Date:Sunday, November 18th, 2007
Prompt:Write a poem or a story about an actor with a problem.(and a mix of prompts from the past two days)
Word Count:727

         The large dining hall seemed cramped as the thirteen guests began to stand behind their assigned seats. Orson's agent stretched and whispered into his ear with a harsh edge in his voice. "If you want to win this job I suggest you brace yourself. This is your last shot." Orson Lexington Keyes IV gazed upon the setup in disgust. Their short sides connected two rectangular dinner tables in order to make room for the Thanksgiving spread. People he did not know occupied every chair. Sophurky , the executive producer in charge of the movie adaptation for "The Writer's Cramp"  stood at the head of the table preparing to bless the food.

         Orson's sensitive stomach rumbled, but not with hunger. The smells from the butternut squash threatened to overwhelm him. I hate squash. Orson leaned to the left as the small woman began a prayer that sounded rehearsed. He tried to keep his voice to a small murmur as he spoke to his agent. "Alan, whoever heard of a Vegetarian Thanksgiving?"

         A round of “Amen’s” interrupted the response. Alan looked up with an imploring gaze painted on his bone thin face. The mahogany chair engulfed the small man as he took his seat. Orson took his seat with a small sigh. It was going to be a long night.

         A nondescript woman to his right passed a small dish filled with mixed greens, apples, carrots, and pickled beets. A questioning glare from Orson prompted the slim woman to speak. "It's a salad." She had a very high pitch squeal in her voice, making her sound like Mickey Mouse. "We also have jicama coleslaw and cranberry slaw if you want that instead." Orson emptied a tablespoon of the stuff onto his ornate dinner plate before shuffling the thing to Alan. "So, I hear you're to play the role of The StoryMaster . Orson nodded and focused on his plate, wishing the woman would take the hint. "Have you read the script?" Another nod, this time he took a small bite and pretended to savor the odd combination of foods. "It is important that we capture his pain during the beginning of the site."

         What is wrong with these people? Instead of speaking his thoughts, Keyes thought it better to simply answer the question. He needed this money in a bad way. "I've been acting for fifteen years. I think I can handle the job."

         The small woman nodded and seemed to be satisfied as she passed another dish for him to sample. "Sourdough stuffing with pine nuts and raisins." She spoke with a hint of pride. "I made it myself."

         "You're a vegetarian?"

         "Oh, where are my manners. Yes, I am. The name is Tigger thinks of Prancer . The dinner was my idea. What do you think?"

         I would rather be eating turkey and ham. "It's delicious, a nice spread."

         Another woman's voice, from the far end of the table, joined their conversation. "We are concerned, Mister Keyes, about the fact that you want to play a writer, but have never lived the life of one." All other small talk ceased as the rest of the guests waiting for his response.

         Primadonna authors. Now I've seen everything. "Writer's write, actor's act."

         The woman at the head of the head of the bristled with indignation. "Have you faced rejection for wanting to do something you love, over and over again?"

         Who the hell did she think she was? Orson blinked and tightened his grip on his spoon, fighting the rage building within him. "I've been a trained actor for twenty years." He stood up, his tanned face did little to hide his irritation as it began to flush a beet red. "Do you know how many movie part's I've won since then? Three. Do you want to know how many I auditioned for? Three Hundred!" He slammed the ruined spoon in his hand and shouted at the woman, at the all. "So don't sit here and tell me that I don't understand rejection."

         Sophurky dabbed a white handkerchief to her lips before speaking. She directed her gaze toward Alan. "He'll do."