Read Outtakes Of A Walking Mistake for Free Online

many shelves of thick books and fake green plants. The thing about the dolls, each seems to be strategically positioned based on the color of its dress. For example, the white fluffy-dressed dolls begin at the left side of the room, and then one by one, each doll’s dress becomes a darker shade as you glance clockwise.
    White, off-white, light pink, pink.
    You get the picture.
    The dolls at the far right of the room look like sophisti-slut demons in black gothic death gowns.
    For some reason, I imagine tension between the dolls. Like they try to act like friends by breaking into “It’s A Small World” every so often, but then argue over whether the song should sound sugar-poppy or punk rock. Next, I imagine Mr. Dolby extinguishing the argument by promising to knit each doll a perfect new dress.
    And speaking of perfect, not one shred of paper on Mr. Dolby’s desk is slanted or out of place. Not one. Plus, his pens are lined in order from light ink to dark ink just like the dolls. His picture frames, they’re much the same; each colored coded in a different shade of love.
    A photo of his wife is sealed in a white heart.
    A pink heart for his Dalmatian....
    A red heart for Celine Dion....
    “All right, ready,” Mr. Dolby begins, ensuring the camera is properly balanced on its tripod. Adjusting the purple scarf around his neck, he looks through the lens of the camera. “Please state your full name.”
    “Tyler Morris,” I whisper, in my sexiest voice. “That is, until I become a star. Then I’ll need a new one.”
    “Very well,” Mr. Dolby says, unaffected. “What are your hobbies?”
    “Well,” I begin softly. “I love to bask in the sun for hours. You know, absorb its heat and just melt far, far away.” To accompany my performance, I finger-tickle my left knee and nibble my lower lip like I’m totally turned on. I swear; nothing is going to stop me from landing a part — NOTHING. “Tanning naked is one my favorite pastimes,” I reveal. “Who knows? I guess I’m a sucker for that sweaty hot, candy ‘round the collar feeling.”
    Ceasing all operations, Mr. Dolby groans, turning off the camera and folding his arms. “Pray tell, what are your doing?”
    “Making love to the camera.”
    “Well don’t,” he snaps. “Dear boy, you have to be natural.”
    “I’m trying.”
    “The camera isn’t seeing that.”
    The greatest stars are always misunderstood.
    “I’m sorry. I’ll be real this time, honest.”
    “You must. I won’t allow anything but authenticity for my film.”
    “But I need you to mold me,” I begin, angelically. “I mean, I’m certain someone with your expertise has the tools and knowledge to shape such raw talent as myself.”
    Radiating with importance, Mr. Dolby flicks a speck of dust from the shoulder of his gray button-down shirt and takes a sip of hot herbal tea from the tiniest purple cup. His pinky is up, up and away.
    “Can we try it again?” I ask.
    Like an inflated monarch, Mr. Dolby appears equally stiff in his chair as he is smug in the face. “I suppose.” He politely sets down his tea. “But this time, answer with honesty. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to ask you to leave.”
    “I promise.”
    “All the icons of the past — Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Marlon Brando — they all created extraordinary characters because they weren’t afraid to reveal their inner truth.”
    You want the truth? I’m gay. You’re gay. Guess that makes us related. Now, how about giving your brother a part?
    “Let’s move right along, shall we?” he says, taking a long, exaggerated breath. “Tell me about your family.”
    Feeling a tad uneasy, I fidget my hands and shift in my seat, sensing that something seems wrong. What does this have to do with the audition? Shouldn’t I be reciting lines or disrobing? I mean, why does he have to know about my private life? I have my limits. “My family? Well, there’s not much to say. Dad’s a cop. He’s strict, but