The Voiceover Artist Read Online Free PDF Page B

meant it sounded terrible. Though Brittany’s agreeing to join me in Chicago was the signature success of my life to date, for Connor, sharing a small apartment with one woman, day after day, would have been unbearable. Onstage, he could make an audience believe he was a caring husband or an attentive boyfriend. Offstage, Connor wanted no part of intimacy. Even the questions he asked me were electrified prods he waved to keep me from getting too close.
    â€œWhat’ll you do for work?” Connor asked.
    I settled into the fabric straps of my folding chair and waggled. “Voiceover.”
    Connor laughed.
    â€œWhat.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘what?’ It’s at least a little funny, Simon. If I played a character who spent eighteen years in a hospital bed and decided to try out for the Olympic team after a jog in the park, I’d get laughs. Even on an off night. Fuck, that’s a good idea. I’d write it down except that improvisers don’t write anything down.”
    I let a barking dog in the neighbor’s yard fill the space where Connor was expecting a laugh. You don’t go two speechless decades without learning to use silence the way Connor used humor: as a weapon.
    â€œLook,” Connor said, “you should definitely try it. You’ve got a great voice—you’ve got my voice, actually.”
    Connor wasn’t wrong. He and I had both been surprised to find, after my eighteen-year silence, that my voice sounded just like his.
    â€œBut, so you know, it’s tough to break into voiceover,” he said. “My agent said it’s easier to get on-camera work in a national TV spot than to get a local radio commercial in Chicago. Most of that work goes to the old guys who’ve been doing it for years.”
    Part of me was warmed by the thought of the radio voices of my youth—especially my hero, Larry Sellers—holding their ground.
    â€œEverything is harder than you think it’ll be,” Connor said.
    â€œBreaking into voiceover can’t be much harder than rebuilding my voice,” I said.
    Connor chuckled, holding his glass in front of his lips. “It might take about as long.” He took a sip of bourbon and shook his head as he swallowed. “But if anybody can do it—”
    Connor drained the rest of the whiskey from his glass, leaving his halfhearted encouragement half-finished.
    â€œAnd if I ever do voiceover,” Connor continued, “I won’t use my normal voice. You can have it.”
    So there it was. Connor was not impressed with my life or prospects. As my determination rose on a tide of anger, I wondered if this was the reaction I had really wanted from Connor, if I’d known that his disdain would motivate me more than his encouragement ever could.
    I took two more swallows of beer. “So how are things for you?”
    â€œGood,” Connor said, playing with his empty glass.
    â€œYou’re doing shows?”
    â€œEvery night,” Connor said. “Tonight is my first night off in—” He squinted, calculating. “Three months?”
    â€œWow.”
    â€œTrying to get as many reps as I can. That’s how you get better.”
    I nodded coolly at what I took to be more unsolicited, condescending advice. Then I asked, “Who are you on with tomorrow?”
    â€œJust some guys I know.”
    â€œA group?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhat’s the name?”
    My brother stared at me for a moment through slightly narrowed eyes. “You did this last time I saw you.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou asked me the name of the group.”
    â€œI like hearing the names.”
    â€œThey’re never funny.”
    I waggled and said, “That’s why I like hearing them.”
    Connor shook his head. “I’m not saying.”
    â€œThat’s fine,” I said. “You don’t have to.”
    I watched Connor try to decide if