None of Your Business

Evan watched Matt Damon through the audition camera's monitor. The actor still had a youthful awkwardness about him, though his face had the approachable quality Evan remembered.

When Damon signaled that he was ready, Evan let the scene begin without further instructions. He wanted to see what the actor would make of it on his own.

Schwartz stepped into position and pulled Damon's arm behind his back for the scene.

"What's this supposed to be? You're arresting a cop? Go ahead. Shoot me!" Damon twisted to look over his shoulder, his voice tight. "Only one of us is a cop, Bill. You understand? Bill! Nobody knows you're a..."

"Shut the fuck up!"

Schwartz was hardly a professional actor. He pushed Damon forward and bellowed the line, but it gave the younger man something to work against.

"I'm a Massachusetts state trooper! What the fuck are you? Fuck you!" Damon kept shouting, trying to force the panic into anger. "I deleted your police file. All of it!"

"You deleted my fucking file?"

Schwartz followed the exchange on the page.

"Yeah! Kill a cop. See what happens!"

The effort was obvious. So was the uncertainty. Damon had been given only a few minutes with the excerpt, and he had not quite found the character. His delivery lacked the ease Evan remembered from his later work.

Before they could continue, Evan tapped the table twice. That was enough.

Schwartz gave the actor a sympathetic glance. Damon was trying to find his way into the scene, but he had too little time and too little experience in substantial roles. A couple of good parts might make an enormous difference. There was talent there. Brief appearances and background work could only teach him so much.

An assistant took the prop pistol from Schwartz and led Damon through a few positions for the camera.

"Anything else you want to see?" Schwartz asked quietly as he sat down.

Evan shook his head and drew a large X on the resume.

"Let's finish. I don't have time to develop him on this picture."

"All right, that's everything, Mr. Damon." Schwartz put on the courteous smile he used at the end of every audition. "We'll contact your agent within three days. Thank you for coming in."

Damon looked at Evan, who was already turning to the next set of papers.

'That's it. I didn't get it.'

He knew the reading had not gone well. He had done what he could, but with no context for either the character or the screenplay, he had been guessing at what the director wanted.

Only after he stepped into the corridor did he realize he had left without saying goodbye. Disappointment had driven every other thought out of his head.

"How did it go?"

Affleck hooked an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the dressing room.

"Do you think you've got a shot? Come on, say something."

"Probably not." Damon shook his head. "They gave me this little scene without any context. That was it. I didn't get another chance to show them anything."

Then he stopped. There was still something he could do with the experience.

He leaned toward his friend and described the excerpt in a low voice. If he had lost his own chance, he might at least help Ben make better use of his.

"There are two main characters in the scene. I think they're casting one of..."

"Hey."

Affleck tapped his back and nodded down the corridor.

Pitt was approaching with Chambers. The four men exchanged guarded looks as they passed. Everyone knew what the others were there for, and there was only one part available.

For the second audition, Evan set aside the private amusement that had colored his interest in Damon. He watched closely from the start.

Pitt looked younger than the star in his memories. His hair was short, and there was an unruly edge to his good looks that suited a man who might be dangerous without appearing entirely in control of himself.

Evan also remembered the enormous attention Pitt's public image would attract in years to come. That was useful to a studio, but it was not what he needed to judge today. The performance had to work before the publicity mattered.

After a brief introduction, Pitt followed Schwartz's instructions, turning and holding different positions for the camera. When that was done, the casting director looked back at Evan. The assistants did the same. Nobody else knew precisely what he was hoping to see.

"Give him a prop handgun."

The prop assistant passed Pitt the pistol they had used for the earlier reading. He accepted it and looked toward the back of the room. He knew who would make the decision.

Evan had an assistant hand him the same page.

"Take a few minutes with this. Start whenever you're ready. I want the anger, and whatever else you find underneath it. You're Bill, the undercover cop. Bob will read opposite you."

"Sure. Give me a moment."

Pitt had received no inside information about the part. Based on the work he had just done in Se7en, he had suspected that Evan wanted something in a similar vein. The page gave him a little more to go on.

When he nodded, Schwartz began.

"What are you doing? Arresting a cop? Go ahead. Shoot..."

"Shut the fuck up!"

The words came out in a strained, furious growl. Pitt held his head slightly to one side, concentrating on the person his character was threatening as though the room around him had disappeared.

Schwartz continued reading. His flat delivery gave Pitt very little support, but the actor stayed inside the scene. Even when he had to play toward empty space, he maintained a clear focus.

The eyes were what caught Evan's attention. Pitt was letting them carry feelings that the dialogue could only partly express. Combined with his appearance, the performance created exactly the unsettled quality Evan wanted.

Makeup and costume could do a great deal to establish a character on film. Sometimes, though, an actor brought much of it into the room without either. It helped when the role suited him, but that alone was not enough. He still had to make deliberate choices and sustain them.

Pitt's early dramatic work had given him a useful foundation. He was not the finished actor Evan remembered, but this was comfortably good enough for the part.

The brief, profanity-laced exchange ended. Evan turned a page in the resume.

"You've had firearms and fight training?"

Pitt handed the prop back to the assistant.

"Yes. Before Se7en. I kept up some of the training afterward. It became part of how I stay in shape."

"Could you show us a few movements?"

He stepped clear of the others and threw two punches, then demonstrated a pair of kicks. Evan was not trying to judge whether he could win a fight. The movements were coordinated and controlled, which was what a camera needed.

"Good."

It was a bonus, but a useful one. A basic foundation would reduce training time and make some of the work on set easier.

Evan set the resume aside and looked at Schwartz. "That's enough."

Outside the room, Pitt finally let himself smile. He had given the director something he wanted. Nothing was guaranteed, but his chances looked strong.

On the way back to the dressing room, he passed Affleck. They exchanged silent nods.

Pitt doubted the younger actor would displace him. Then again, unknowns sometimes did something unexpected in an audition and changed a director's mind. He would not celebrate until the call came.

Affleck entered, greeted everyone politely, and followed Schwartz's instructions. Evan had largely made his choice, but he still gave the actor a few uninterrupted minutes and watched the entire reading.

Then Schwartz delivered the same closing speech for the third time. "Thank you, Mr. Affleck. We'll let your agent know within three days."

"All right. Thanks."

Affleck opened the door, shook his head at Damon, and started toward the stage exit.

"Guess we're finishing Good Will Hunting," Damon said with a rueful smile.

They left the Warner lot discussing the script, disappointed once again but with something of their own to return to.

Back in the audition room, Schwartz checked the time. Evan was smoking and looking through another file. "Keep going?"

"This afternoon. Everyone can take a break."

Evan rubbed his temples, stood, and stretched. "Want to get something to eat?"

"I want a nap. These calls are killing me."

Evan understood. Schwartz was not merely sorting resumes and organizing auditions. Every connection in the business seemed to have an actor to recommend, and all those people expected him to answer the phone.

He went back to his office, collected Nina and Sergey, and headed outside.

"Find us a cart, big guy," Nina said. "I'm starving."

She had spent the morning checking Evan's finances. Colin handled the accounts, but she went through the completed work herself, transaction by transaction. Even the monthly loan payments to the bank had to be accounted for.

Evan trusted her to notice what he did not have time to examine. That trust made the checking more important, not less. Large payments, irregular income, and people too busy to read their statements made an uncomfortable combination. There were enough stories about missing money in this business to justify a second pair of eyes.

While Sergey went to fetch a cart, Nina noticed a familiar figure outside another soundstage. "Boss. Over there. Isn't that Halle Berry?"

At first she had been inclined to leave it alone. Naomi was pregnant, and Nina had no desire to encourage any more gossip. But Halle was arguing with a man at the side entrance. When she tried to leave, he caught the strap of her bag.

"Should we go over?"

"Yeah. Shit."

Evan had not seen Halle in a long time. He had helped her get back to work, and afterward she had gone her own way. He had neither expected constant contact nor made much effort to keep track of her career.

This was not how he had expected to meet her again.

"What's in that stage?" he asked as they crossed the lot.

"I don't know."

Productions came and went all the time. He rarely paid attention to what was happening next door unless it affected his own work.

As they approached, Halle's voice became clear.

"Mr. Rourke, let me leave, or I'm calling security."

"Don't be ridiculous. We're having a conversation."

The man spoke as though her objection were an inconvenience he could simply dismiss.

"You came here because you wanted the part. I'm telling you there's a way to make it happen. All I need is for you to agree to the terms."

"I said I need time to think. Let go of my bag."

Evan had no interest in mediating a contract dispute. But she had plainly ended the conversation, and the man was still holding her there.

"Halle. Do you need some help?"

Before the man had even turned far enough to see who was speaking, he snapped back. "Fuck off. This is none of your business."