Phantom Angel Read Online Free PDF

forgot a face. Whenever I was searching for a girl like Jonquil Beausoleil—someone who was dreaming the impossible showbiz dream—I went looking for Vicki.
    I found her that day at the Hudson Studio, where she was casting day players for an abysmal network sitcom about a male nanny that was going into its fifth season. The Hudson Studio was on West 26th Street over near Ninth Avenue on the edge of the garment district. There were trucks double-parked in the street. Guys in tank tops and shorts were unloading racks of winter coats, the sweat pouring off of them in the poisonous midday heat. The temperature had climbed to 101 degrees. It was so hot out that the blacktop under my feet felt soft as fudge as I scooted my way across the street to the studio, which was housed in a converted brick warehouse. I once shot a Verizon commercial there that went national.
    Inside of the double doors there was a tiny reception area, where a young guy wearing a Hudson Studio T-shirt was parked at the desk. I told him I was there for the audition. He let me on through. That line almost always works at a studio because there’s almost always an audition going on somewhere.
    The phones were ringing nonstop in the sitcom’s third-floor production office. Harried production assistants rushed this way and that. I strode briskly through them, my gaze never wavering. No one in a production office will question who you are if you act like you know where you’re going. I was going to a lounge area where two-dozen nervous actors in assorted shapes and colors were parked on sofas and chairs and the floor. All were between the ages of forty and sixty. All wore workman’s overalls. All chewed gum with their mouths open as they studied their sides.
    An office door opened and an actor in overalls came out followed by a PA with a clipboard.
    Before the PA could usher in the next actor, I slipped my way inside and said, “Let me guess—you’re looking for an apartment super who’s between the ages of forty and sixty and chews gum with his mouth open.”
    Vicki let out a loud guffaw as she sat there at a desk devouring a Big Mac and fries. She was an overweight, disheveled mess of a woman—which never ceased to inspire catty remarks from out-of-work actors. That day she had on a ketchup-spotted black knit ensemble that was too snug in all the wrong places. “Well, if it isn’t Benji Golden, pubescent private eye. I still think Dick Wolf should do a show about you.”
    â€œYou and me both, Vicki. But only if I get to play myself.”
    The PA stuck her head in and said, “Next we have Mr. Frank Ionelli reading for the part of Joe, the building super.”
    â€œGive me one sec, Tina, okay?” The PA left us, closing the door behind her. “Benji, I have a half hour to cast this part before I’ve got a dozen eight-year-old girls and their mothers coming in. What do you need?”
    I placed Jonquil Beausoleil’s headshot on the desk before her.
    Vicki fished her reading glasses out of her overstuffed shoulder bag. They were canary yellow and were missing the right earpiece. Balanced askew on her nose as she peered down at the photo. She took them off and sat back in her chair. “Jonquil Beausoleil. Calls herself Boso. I saw her when I was casting Royal Pains back in May.”
    â€œAnd…?”
    â€œPretty girl. Slight hick accent. Extremely slight talent. I was looking for a pair of sorority bimbos. She auditioned with another girl who we liked.” Vicki took a bite of her Big Mac, dabbing at a dribble of sauce on her chin with a sodden napkin. “Her we ended up using.”
    â€œDid they come to the audition together?”
    â€œNo, we just paired them off at random.”
    â€œDid Boso have agency representation?”
    â€œShe was hoping to get an agent if she got the part.”
    â€œHow about a modeling agency?”
    â€œNot a chance. She’s