It’s Wednesday. It’s taken me Monday and Tuesday to convince myself again that this will be a good week, that things will happen, that I am important, and that it’s worth developing my own self because at the end it’s the only thing I can be the best at. It’s 2pm. An email from my agent. I only get an email from her if I have a casting. She says that there are not many jobs for my casting bracket at the moment. The last time she wrote to me was in September.

The header says: Meeting-Antonio Quintana (ARGENTINIAN DEALER). I read through the scene they’ve sent and I can spot the repetition of words like Delivery, Secret, Diamonds, Special, Poison, Parcel, and Antidote. It’s a shame Es-pe-shal appears only twice because it is a good one to sound like a proper Latino.

I have less that 24 hours. I drop everything I was working on and spend the rest of my day learning the lines and preparing to become Antonio Quintana: the smooth, chic, serious faced and good haired, charismatic Latin American/Spanish dealer wearing an expensive suit.

Right away I sense that the job won’t be mine because the Antonio Quintana that I am good at becoming wears diamond rings and hats, is funny, cheeky and has a chipped tooth, drinks mate compulsively and listens to a bandoneón player in the veranda of his house every sunset surrounded by lovers and gardens inhabited by exotic creatures living in freedom. My version of Antonio cries alone behind the doors of his room at night.

And most likely, in this production there is no budget for such things, they can only afford an expensive suit.