“You’re gonna make it!” she exclaimed. “Oh my God! I can’t believe one of
my
employees might be America’s Next Superstar!”
When Corey informed his mom that he was headed for Detroit, she was not quite as optimistic. “Oh, baby, you know I’m proud of you. I just don’t want you to be disappointed. There are so many people who try out every year. You know I believe in you, but I’m a realist.”
“I know, Mom,” he said. “I won’t get my hopes up too high. But can you imagine if….”
“You listen to me! No matter what happens, you will always be
my
superstar.”
In a way Corey was sad that his mom didn’t want to go with him to the audition. He understood, though. She had to work. It also would have completely changed the dynamic of their road trip had his mother accompanied them.
Corey was riding shotgun with his feet propped on the dashboard, and they spent almost the entirety of their five-hour drive singing and listening to the stereo. Of course, Corey already had his audition song picked out, and Megan forced him to sing it to her at least a dozen times, critiquing him with brutal honesty.
They’d always been this way in their relationship with each other. Corey could tell Megan anything without fear of judgment, but he also appreciated the fact that she was always going to offer her honest opinion. He could accept criticism from her in ways he couldn’t from any of his other friends or family. He was quite self-conscious, and a lot of times, when people said mean things to him, it hurt his feelings. He knew when Megan said something critical, she wasn’t being harsh. She was simply speaking her mind.
That type of relationship was extremely valuable to Corey. He could trust Megan and knew she’d never lie to him. When he bought new clothes, got a new haircut, or even started crushing on a new guy, Megan would tell him exactly what she thought. Corey felt as if he’d always been out to Megan. There never was a big coming-out scene. She’d just always known.
There were a lot of other people in Corey’s life that were in the dark about his sexual orientation. He’d told his mom and sister, and he had a few gay friends from high school. At work it wasn’t really an issue. Male coworkers would sometimes talk to him about girls, assuming that he was straight, and Corey didn’t feel the need to correct them. He’d simply listen and nod. With a lot of straight dudes, the idea of a guy being attracted to another guy was so foreign to them that the notion of gay coworkers never entered their mind. Unless it was a girly guy, swishing and sashaying across the room making passes at them, they’d just assume that the dude was heterosexual.
Corey was not exactly what you’d consider a masculine guy himself. He wasn’t flamboyant—didn’t go around snapping his fingers all the time and flopping his limp wrists in front of everyone—but he definitely related emotionally to girls more than to guys. His best friend was female, after all. He liked the sappy romantic-comedy movies that everyone called “chick flicks.” He loved shopping and fashion and romance novels. He never accepted the theory that men and women were just wired differently and that their thought processes and feelings were diametrically opposed. If that were the case, then why was it that he could always understand and relate to the girl’s point of view more than the other guy’s?
The auditions were being held in Detroit at Ford Field, the indoor stadium that the Detroit Lions used for their home games. The most challenging thing was finding parking.
“Holy fuck, look at all the people,” Megan said. Contestants were lined up outside the stadium entrance for what looked like at least a quarter mile.
“Oh my God,” Corey said, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant. “I don’t think this was such a good idea.”
“What do you mean? You have just as good a chance—no,
more
of a chance—than any of these people. I bet half of them couldn’t carry a tune if it had a handle on it.”
“Meg, I probably won’t even make it through the interview process. How can you expect them to get through all these people in just two days?”
She rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “Corey, you gotta have a little faith. Once they hear your voice, they’ll be blown away.” She pulled into a parking lot that had a “$10.00 Parking” sign. She rolled down the window and paid the attendant, who then directed her to park at the end of the line.
“Well, I’m glad we brought our cooler,” Corey said. “I think it’s gonna be a long wait in the hot sun.”
“It’ll be fun,” she said, a little too much cheer in her voice. “You’ll see. We’ll make lots of friends.”
Corey didn’t doubt that. Megan had a very outgoing personality. Her gregariousness allowed her to easily strike up conversations with complete strangers. There were times Corey wished he could be more like his best friend, and he especially envied her eternal optimism. Meg was always upbeat and happy, and she always seemed to see the glass as half full.
As expected, once they were in line, Megan began chatting with those around them. One of the other contestants in line was a punk rocker named Jeremy from Toledo. “This is my third year,” he explained.
“Really?” Meg said. “So what’s it like?”
“This here’s the worst part. You wait in line for hours just to get an interview.”
“But you’ve been through it before,” Corey said. “What happened?”
“First year, I never even made it to the preaudition,” he said. “They cut me before ever even hearing me sing.”
“Really?” Corey couldn’t believe it. “How could they cut you without even knowing if you had talent?”
Jeremy laughed. “Dude, this isn’t about
talent
. It’s about show business. It’s reality TV. They’re looking for a mix of interesting people who’ll mesh together in a good drama. That’s why you see all the shit auditions every year. They deliberately let in some really suck-ass singers—a lot of them are obviously horrid—just to make an entertaining reality show.”
“And they pass up a lot of genuine talent?” Megan asked.
“Exactly. There are only so many spaces.”
“So what do we have to do to make it through the initial interview?” Corey asked.
“Anything unusual. If you have a sad story to tell, that’s a biggie. Talk about your humble background. Tell them you’re living under a bridge or in a tent, that you’re homeless. Tell them your mother died when you were five, and you’re doing this so she sees you from heaven. Tell them you have cancer….”
Corey’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”
“Dude, I’m dead serious. My second year I gave them a hard-luck story about how I was estranged from my father who was a drug addict and going through rehab. They ate it up.”
“But you didn’t make it all the way….”
“I made it to New York, and was voted out during the group performances. I got stuck with the lamest group of the competition. It totally sucked.”
“And what about last year?”
“I didn’t even get through the first interview. That was in Cincinnati, and I got there too late. They’d already filled all the spots.”
“What are the judges like?” Meg asked. “Is Reuben as mean in person as he is on TV?”
“Reuben doesn’t know jack,” Jeremy said, laughing. “He has virtually no musical talent himself. He couldn’t tell you if someone had pitch or not. To him, it’s all just showmanship. He’s the mastermind behind this whole scene. He says humiliating shit to people because it makes an entertaining show. Like I said—drama.”
“So what’s he really like then?” Corey asked.
“I never really talked to him one on one other than in the audition. He made fun of my hair and said I needed a makeover.” Corey could believe it. Jeremy had a fluorescent green Mohawk, and he was totally right about Reuben. He was a complete asshole. He made fun of everyone and offered very little constructive advice.
“My favorite judge is Krystal,” Megan said.
Jeremy laughed. “Yeah, everyone likes her. The girls like her ’cause she’s sweet, and the guys just like her tits. Half the time she’s either drunk or stoned.”
“Really?” Corey asked. “I always thought she was the best judge.”
“You do realize that the celebrity judges are not the
real
judges….”
“What do ya mean?” Corey asked.
“It’s a
show
!” he exclaimed, holding his hands out for emphasis. “The producers of the show ‘consult’ with the judges before they make their final cuts. Even during the auditions, the so-called judges are wearing earpieces. They’re actors, doing what the show tells them to.”
“Is the voting at least real?” Corey asked. “I mean, after they begin broadcasting the live shows.”
“Supposedly,” Jeremy answered. “Who knows. I think it’s probably pretty much legit. But everything prior to that point—all the auditions and various rounds of competition—that’s all rigged. The producers are looking for a mix of contestants who will make a great entertainment show. It has very little to do with musical talent.”
“Damn,” Corey said. “What the hell am I even doing here?” He turned to Megan. “I don’t have a sob story or anything….”
“What are you talking about?” she said, slugging him on the shoulder. “You have an awesome sob story. Tell them about being raised by a single parent who worked all her life in a factory. Tell them how you knew from the time you were six that you wanted to be a singer.”
Jeremy guffawed. “Dude, that’s
everyone’s
story.”
“Maybe,” Megan said. “But not everyone can tell the story the way I can. I’ll have them bawling their eyes out. I’ll tell them how Corey won the talent competition in high school and told everyone how he felt his dad looking down from heaven….”
“I never said that—”
“Yes, you did!”
“Megan, my dad is still alive!”
“They don’t need to know that,” she said. “And you don’t have to lie… let me do it.”
“You might have something there,” Jeremy said. “Don’t worry, everyone lies about shit to get on the show. If they don’t at least fib a little, they don’t even make it in to the auditions.”
“But don’t they eventually find out?” Corey asked. “I mean, the show. Don’t the producers find out these stories are bogus?”
“Eventually. They don’t care either. Like I said, it’s all fiction. They’re just putting together an entertaining show. If you’re lucky enough to make it through the auditions, then you can set everything straight with the media when they start hounding you for interviews. It’s all just part of the game.”
“So let me do the talking,” Megan said. “You just stand there and look pretty.”
“Meg, they probably aren’t gonna even let you into the interview with me….”
“You’ll see when we get in there,” Jeremy said. “There’ll be chairs set up everywhere. After you fill out your application, they’ll give you a number, and then they’ll come around and interview you right where you’re sitting. After that, you just wait and hope they call your number.”
“How long do you wait?” Corey asked.
“Till they say it’s over. You might be waiting until tomorrow night….”
“Oh, man, that sucks!” Corey complained.
“We won’t be waiting that long,” Meg said with confidence. “You watch. You’re gonna get your audition… or I’m gonna die trying.”
T
HREE
hours later, when they at last made it into the auditorium, it was as Jeremy described. On the main floor, there were tables and chairs set up. Corey took an application and began filling it out. Meg snatched it from him and took over.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
“At least let me see what you’re writing… so I know when they question me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Like I said, I’ll do the talking.”
After completing the form, she jumped up and stepped over to the cubicle where the applications were collected. She had to wait in line for about five minutes and then returned to Corey. “Okay, now we go over here to these chairs and wait for them. Here’s your number.” She was holding a big white label with red print. It had the number 748 on it. “You wear this like a necklace,” she explained, sliding the rope over Corey’s head.
“Wow,” he said. “Like a beauty pageant or something.”
“Or a marathon.”
Corey pulled out the small cooler from under his seat and grabbed a bottle of Diet Coke. “Want one?” he offered Megan.
For the next hour, they waited as the chairs around them filled up. Corey glanced around him to see if he could spot any other contestants being interviewed.
“They’re over there,” Meg said, pointing to one of the female contestants. “And she’s number 722, so it won’t be much longer.”
“Do they only have one person interviewing?” Corey asked. “That’s crazy.”
“I think they have one per section. We’re in the seventh section which is why our number is in the 700s. When they get up to 799, they start over with the numbering.”
“God, it’s taking long enough,” Corey complained.
“This is nothing,” another contestant said. Corey turned to see the boy seated beside him. “I hear that the real wait comes after the interview. That’s when we have to go camp out in the audience section and wait to see if they call our number for an actual audition.”
“Yeah, we heard that,” Corey said. “Have you been through this before?”
The kid shook his head. “Nah, it’s my first time.” Corey looked down at the guy’s number, and it was 781.
“I’m Corey,” he offered. “Aka, number 748.”
“Jimmy, number 781,” the dirty-blond kid said, smiling. He looked to be about Corey’s age but a little better built. Corey couldn’t help but notice his muscular chest. He was wearing a navy colored T-shirt and jeans, and he had a bit of a Southern accent. “Where are y’all from?” Jimmy asked.
“Up north… do you know where Petoskey is?”
He shook his head. “Nah, I’m from Kentucky… northern Kentucky.”
“Is this the closest audition for you?” Corey asked.
“They had one in Louisville, but I missed it,” he said. “My brother was having surgery that day.”
“Really? Is he okay?”
Jimmy shrugged. “I hope so. He was born with a rare heart condition. This is, like, the sixth operation, but they say he’s doing pretty good.”
“Aww, wow.” Corey suddenly felt a pang of guilt for the sob story he knew Megan was planning to tell on his behalf. “You should tell them about your brother,” he said. “I mean, when they interview you.”