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the line in my head, still positive I was going to get the part. My turn came. I went into the room where the director, producer, and a few other guys—probably the writers and ad execs—were sitting behind a long desk. There was also a woman with curly brown hair, holding a golden retriever on a leash.
    “Tommy Russo,” the director said. He was a thin guy with short blond hair and glasses. He was wearing a black turtleneck.
    “That’s me,” I said.
    “Thank you for coming down,” he said.
    “My pleasure,” I said.
    “If you could just stand right over there,” he said, pointing toward a piece of masking tape on the floor, about ten yards in front of the desk.
    I went to the spot and the woman came toward me with the dog. But as soon as she tried to take off the leash, the dog started barking, going nuts. She tried to calm it down, saying “Easy” and “It’s okay,” but nothing helped.
    “I’m sorry,” the woman said to me. “She’s usually not like this.”
    At first, the guys at the table were laughing, like they thought it was a big joke. But after a few minutes went by and the dog was still barking, trying to come after me, they started checking their watches and whispering to each other.
    “Maybe you should take her out of here!” the director finally yelled to the woman so she could hear him over the crazy dog.
    The woman started to walk away, but the dog kept pulling her back, scratching the floor, trying to come after me. Finally, the woman and the dog left the room, but I could still hear the dog barking somewhere.
    “I guess I must’ve put on the dog-biscuit cologne this morning,” I said. Nobody laughed.
    “I’m very sorry about this,” the director said.
    “It’s not your fault,” I said. “I mean blame the dog, right?”
    “We’ll contact your manager or agent if any other roles come along.”
    I stood there for a couple of seconds before it set in, but then I still couldn’t believe it.
    “I don’t get it,” I said. “Don’t you want to hear me read the line?”
    “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” the director said.
    Again I stared at him, then I said, “Why not?”
    “Because you’re not getting along with Molly.”
    “Who’s Molly?”
    “Molly is the dog.”
    “So bring Molly back in here. Maybe she’ll calm down.”
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Russo, but we have to see the next actor now.”
    “I’m sorry, too,” I said, “because I don’t think this is fair. I came all the way down here, I practiced for this part. The least you could let me do—”
    “Please leave, Mr. Russo.”
    “I just want to read my line,” I said. “If you’d just sit back for a second you’d see—”
    “I asked you nicely to leave, Mr. Russo. We’re not hiring you for this role so you’re just wasting all of our time by being here. So I’ll ask you nicely one last time—please leave.”
    I knew the smart thing to do was to walk out of there, keep my mouth shut.
    “Why do you think you can talk to people this way?” I said. “Just because you’re a big shot, sitting over there behind your desk?”
    The director whispered something to the guy next to him and the guy took out a cell phone and started making a call.
    “If you want to avoid a very bad scene,” the director said, “you’ll turn around and leave right now.”
    “I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
    The director and the other guys were standing up now, talking to each other. I heard the director call me an “asshole” and something in me snapped. I went after him, climbing over the desk. He backed away and the other guys tried to hold me back. I broke free, then two security guards came up behind me and pulled me out of the room. They escorted me out of the building and said if I ever showed up there again I’d be arrested.
    Walking along Fifty-seventh Street, I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I knew if I thought about it anymore I’d really start getting down on myself, so I