Husk by Corey Redekop Read Free Book Online Page B

the Asians to be more Asian? Farmers, more hick? Blacks, more street? Of course they did. The woman they ultimately chose to represent the Asian contingent was from fucking Arkansas — “born ’n’ raised in Clinton’s own little slice a’heaven,” she told me in the hallway, accent thick as grits — but she understood the game, and auditioned with inflections jingly with the music of Korea. They had to eventually use subtitles, it was so offensively stereotypical.
    â€œCould you repeat that?” I asked. I had heard the words clearly; I simply needed a moment to shore up my residual levels of self-loathing.
    â€œDid I stutter?” the casting director said. “I said, gay it up. Mince. Sashay a bit. Lisp.”
    I sighed. I had no reserves of delusion left to tap. “Could you give me an example of ‘gaying it up’?” I asked. “Just so I know exactly what you’re expecting from me?”
    â€œWell, aren’t you the fuckin’ prima donna.” She put a hand on her hip, put her weight on the opposite foot, and hung her other hand out in the air, palm up, wrist limp. “Like thith, honey,” she lisped. “Vamp it up a bit. Let’th thee the woman come out of the clothet. Now, thtart again. Tell uth a bit about yourthelf.”
    I threw a wrench into the gears of my eyeball rotation mechanics to thwart their urge to roll up and expose my contempt. The ATM card in my wallet, my lifeline to the near-drained puddle of nickels and quarters that comprised the whole of my savings, applauded the effort.
    I shifted my weight slightly, giving me a more relaxed appearance. “Hi there,” I started, talking directly to the camera, lightening my voice by a good half-octave. “My name’s Gary. I’m an actor by trade, but don’t let that scare you, I’m really a good, good person.”
    â€œFaggier!”
    A prancing wisp of lisp entered the dialogue. “You might notice that I’m a little older than the others, so I want to be upfront.” I took a deep breath, as if this was a huge reveal or personal secrets. “I’m thirty
ouwth!
” A well-placed theatrical cough, just enough to bring a smile to the viewers. “So, yes, a
little
older, but well, that just means I’ve got more experience. I’ve been around the block multiple times, sister, and I know the neighborhood. And I’m good teevee, I put the show in show-mo-sexual.”
    â€œWhat, is this a meeting of the NRA ? Christ fuck,
gayer
!”
    Jesus
. I thrust my hip out and leered past the camera at her, cocking an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, if you knew anything about being gay, you’d know there’s nothing gayer than the NRA . All those big guns, polishing the shafts, stroking triggers, those aren’t gun enthusiasts, that’s a man-on-many-other-men orgy of repressed sexual desires, those are GLAAD conventions. Schlongapalooza.”
    â€œFinally, the inner shrew comes out,” she said, turning off the camera. “Good stuff there. You’re smart, you’re sharp, and you’re completely non-threatening.”
    â€œThe homo you can’t wait to bring home to mom and cornhole your brother.”
    â€œExactly that, smart, with a friendly edge that’ll keep people guessing. Adam Lambert, but not trying so hard. You keep that up, you’re definitely in the running.”
    â€œTerrific,” I said, smiling thanks as my bowels churned with bile. “You’ve got my info, I’ll just get my agent to call you with my information.”
    That’s what I should have said. That would have made sense.
    But no.
    â€œWait, wait,” I said, ignoring the dying screams of my bank account. “I just can’t do this. I thought you wanted reality. This is who I am, the real me. You’re layering an artificial construct over something you claim is the real thing.”
    â€œWell,