Celestial Casting: Mary Sullivan

This was probably going to be the biggest embarrassment of her life, Mary Sullivan thought to herself and after years of failures, that was saying something. She felt an anxiety attack start bubbling up fast.

In theory, she should be excited in a good way, thrilled even to have so much as a shot at this part. The part of Bobbi Ann Beaumont was her brass ring after years of being cast as "the cute teen extra." The idea of playing a complicated, dangerous and authentically written antiheroine, who was trying to overcome both internal and external forces to take over her family's crime syndicate - not to mention a series co-lead in the debut TV show of one of Hollywood's hottest new writer/directors no less! - was a dream come true . . . but in her heart of hearts, the 4' 10" blonde already knew that it'd be just another failure like so many others after she'd moved from a comfortable life in the Iowan suburbs to try her hand at being a Hollywood actress two years ago.

The biggest problem was that she didn't look anything like what the call sheet was requesting. Only someone nearly blind would look at her and see "Brunette, athletic build, 5' 10" or geater - a dangerously alluring yet ruggedly imposing figure - a real Gina Carano type* (*Note: Celestial Casting does not condone the personal opinions of actress Gina Carano)" and even that was only if she had a literal chair to stand on. The only reason she'd even gotten into this casting call was because the series showrunner, Trent Meyer, wanted to cast "fresh faces" and so everyone who hadn't booked a movie or TV show yet was able to rush this casting call (and had from the size of this crowd). Well, that and she was pretty sure the frenemy at her job who gave her the head's up thought it'd be hilarious to see her fail spectacularly. She tugged nervously on a lock of her straw-colored blonde hair. Why couldn't she have had the cash this week - okay, this month, okay, this whole shitty year - to at least afford a quick dye job?

Panicking, she tried to do one of her anxiety exercises by counting things in the room but all she could see were the already literally dozens of girls in the office who looked a hundred times more the part than she did. Many of them were all reading their lines with more passion, talent, and to her even further dismay, more authentic Southern accents than she could.

"Oh, I'll tell you one thing right now - anyone who EVER fucked UP by fucking with ME? Between you, me and God's FLUFFIEST little angels, I can ASSURE you that every last one of 'em REGRETTED it to their DYING day . . . SWEETHEART!" growled one particularly imposing, olive-skinned Amazon of a woman as she stalked back and forth in front of her and the other seated actresses, her long, silky dark hair swaying back and forth as she got into the part. Her trim, muscular thighs flashed in a tiny denim miniskirt that showed off a full, phenomenal set of glutes, brown leather cowboy heels clicking even on the carpet with the strength of her stomping. She had a face that combined alluring with dangerous - a strong jaw but a foxlike pointed chin with a full lower lip, perfect cheekbones and challenging sapphire eyes surrounded by an expertly applied smokey eye (a little bit of a stretch given the casting call), face twisting in rage perfectly as she read her lines. As she stopped speaking, her script slapped against frankly ridiculous abs that rippled out of a tight camo tee that came to just below where a pair of teardrop perfect C-cups held fast (likely the gift of a talented surgeon given how shredded the rest of her was - she had to be a personal trainer or something). Outside of a pair of bushy and unmanicured eyebrows, this woman was everything Bobbi Ann Beaumont should be - hell, everything Mary wished she could be.

Not for the first time, the short and nearly flat-chested Mary's powerful envy of other women flared but now it twisted up in her guts with her already rocketing anxiety. She hurriedly stood up as her stomach gurgled.

"Excuse me, sorry, gotta go pee!" she squeaked in the high-pitched little mousy voice she'd both been born with and hated with a passion before she awkwardly brushed past the muscular brunette and dozens of other, similar girls. Luckily, she weighed so little the larger woman barely registered her impact and Mary was already down the hall and in the restroom before she would have had time to react.

As she strode in, a brief glance in the mirror at her tiny, blonde freckled self reminded her that even her outfit was garbage compared to all the other girls. All of her make-up had been designed to play up her strengths - her "cuteness" as her agent always liked to say - so she'd just gone with a "naked" look that was only some light blush and concealer. Now, she just looked pale, sweaty and sickly. The closest thing she could scrounge up in her closet for a look had been cute olive leggings, black sneakers, an L. A. Raiders tee and a black leather jacket she'd "borrowed" from one of her terrible roommate's boyfriends that she'd hoped would make her look "edgy" but she just ended up swimming in. Mary, of course, couldn't get a boyfriend to save her life in this town full of models and amazons, much less one cool enough to own a leather jacket, she thought, another fresh dollop of self-loathing getting added to her anxiety cocktail.

She slammed herself into a stall, alone, then closed her eyes and placed her face against the cool metal of the stall door as she tried to will down the nausea with her mind (she couldn't go into yet another audition with puke breath) . . . but it wasn't working. She fished her old phone out of her purse in it's cute pink Hello Kitty case, then swiped past the old lockscreen picture of her and pet hamster Fifi to hurriedly try and open her free meditation app . . . only to find something called "The Really Magic 8-Ball!" taking over her home screen instead.

"What? No, no, no, no! Not now!" she whimpered, trying to close it but only closing a few introductory boxes instead in her haste.

"Ask The Really Magic 8-Ball your question and the answer WILL come true!" the app said in yet another maddening pop-up as she stabbed at it with her index finger.

Mary let out a loud groan of frustration and misery, then slumped against the other wall of the stall. How could she have ever thought she'd get this role? She couldn't even work a stupid phone right!

"Am I going to walk in there and humiliate myself because I was born the exact wrong person for this part, then never try acting again?" she whimpered to what she thought was just herself in a fit of self-loathing as she slid just a few inches down the stall wall to collapse in a miserable heap on her ass.

"Quite the opposite!" the app responded, even if Mary didn't see it, and so, with just one question her life was changed forever in both directions - past and future.

She grunted slightly as her mind, body, outfit and entire history changed. Her formerly tiny frame was now 6' 1" and covered in muscles earned by years of working out and getting into fights for both fun and profit. Her skin was naturally tanned from a lot of time spent training and camping in the great outdoors but still naturally supple from her being fit as an ox. She was still undeniably feminine and sexy, however, thanks to a pretty but feral face with a flattering set of cheekbones and lips that were alluringly full albeit almost always in a resting bitch face. A small knife scar on her left cheek acted more like a beauty mark than disfigurement. She also had wide hips that swayed when she walked with a panther's grace and an ass that was aggressively firm but still big with muscle, not to mention an arresting set of natural D-cups that looked unnaturally perky thanks to her workout routine but were 100% real. All of her body was perfectly displayed in a green camo tank sports bra, a denim miniskirt that hugged her ass like a second skin while hitting her incredibly long legs at the middle of a pair of thighs that could crush a watermelon and black cowboy boots still flecked with some mud that clung to her defined calves.

"What the FUCK am I doing on the FLOOR of the goddamn SHITTER?" she growled angrily in the smoky but natural speaking voice everyone always said sounded "like a hillbilly Scarlett Johansson" as she quickly pulled herself up to her full height and snatched up her belongings.

First, she grabbed the black leather jacket she'd stolen from this week's current boytoy (who himself had been stolen from one of those worthless bitches she called roommates, that'd been fun), since it now had her switchblade and gun in it, then her phone. As she slid it on, she caught a pleasant whiff of him and remembered how fun both he and his motorcycle had been to ride - she might keep this one along a little longer than usual if he knew when to keep his fucking mouth shut and treat a lady right. Maybe.

She tried to recall why she walked in here in the first place - she was feeling like she was gonna puke or some stupid shit a minute ago but why? She never got sick and never got nervous. Vaguely, she also recalled asking the app a question with words and a voice that didn't sound one bit like her - her parents in the holler didn't raise any goddamn quitters, especially their only daughter. She noticed her phone was clutched tightly in her other hand, the American flag case well scuffed and some app taking up the screen - an 8-Ball that guaranteed honest answers and made something very small and distant in her perk up. Technology (and book smarts in general) weren't her thing but she wasn't dumb - far from it. She possessed a terrifying amount of street smarts backed up by by what the geeks at school had called a "photographic memory" when she'd bothered to go. Her emerald eyes narrowed and her feral brilliance immediately labeled the app as both important and a thing that she needed to investigate . . . later. She slid the phone into the jacket as well after turning it off.

Right now, she had important shit to do.

Nobody in the waiting area had so much as registered when Mary Sullivan had walked in or ran off but when Mary Mae Calhoun came storming out of the bathroom, door slamming, it was a much different story. When the other actresses looked up, a lot of them blanched at her arrival. Even in a sea of competitors, the towering 6' 1" brunette with both muscles and curves for days stood out like a lit match in a dark room, as if she were the real deal and the rest all pale imitations. She stormed past the crowd in a near-run, eager to get this show on the road.

"-and God's fluffiest little angels- hey!" cried out the woman who'd been pacing back in front of her before said as Mary Mae brusquely shoved past her to get to the front of the line. "Watch it!"

Mary Mae snorted as she whipped around and slid out her switchblade, Fifi, from her pocket and then closed the distance between them easily, sliding the blade between the two women so only they could see it.

"You *really* don't wanna try me, sweetheart. I ain't the type to fight fair." she purred in a voice that suggested she'd take a deep, sexual satisfaction in gutting the other woman right then and there.

The woman blinked, clearly unused to any other woman besides her being the tallest and most intimidating woman in a room.

"J- Jesus! OK, OK, sorry." she murmured, swallowing in fear.

"Yeah, that's about what I thought. Thanks, sugar." Mary Mae said, giving the other woman a condescending little pat on the cheek before turning around to complete her mission. After seeing the look of her and that last interaction, the long line of other actresses had the good sense to keep their objections to themselves as she stormed past them, cut to the front of the line and kicked the door open.

"to their, like, dying day- ah!" another, much smaller brunette actress in a Confederate flag bikini top and daisy dukes finished with a terrified gasp as Mary Mae stormed in.

"Yeah, you're done, small fry, get the fuck out." Mary Mae grunted as she casually lifted the other woman up by the hair and then literally picked her up and dumped her out of the room with minimal strain on her ass before slamming the door shut again. She turned to address the gaping group of people behind a table who there to take auditions and gave them her sunniest smile which, given her previous aggression, still held a hint of menace.

"Howdy, y'all! I'm Mary Mae Calhoun and if you peckerheads don't cast me as Bobbi Ann Beaumont for this show, y'all are the dumbest SOBs on the planet because I damn well LIVED all this Hollywood BS y'all cooked up way before I moved here!"

She slid out of the black leather jacket and tossed it easily onto a nearby stand where it landed perfectly, then reached around to her back. With a smooth gesture, she slapped down an glossy 8x10 with her info on the back she'd been keeping under the band of her sports bra on the table with a hard smack, making everyone behind the table jump yet again before she took an easy stride back and stretched a bit. She thought about stabbing it into the table with her switchblade but she reckoned she might have already gone a smidge overboard, nimbly twirling her switchblade between two fingers before sliding it away in her skirt's tight waistband instead, where it stayed nestled between her taut abs and wide hip.

"M- Mommy!" came out of the mouth of a stunned and obviously aroused Trent Meyer under his breath involuntarily, jaw agape as he stared at her before collecting himself a bit. "I mean, Miss, uh-"

"Calhoun, sugar. Mary Mae Calhoun." she said with a shake of her midnight waterfall tresses and what her first boyfriend called her "Come get some sin" smile at the man in charge. "Pleased as peach pie to meet y'all! Sorry I was a little rough but I figured I'd save us both a helluva lotta time, hmm? You know, instead of y'all spending all day messing with the rest when you could get the best."

"Miss Calhoun, Monique Brown, co-producer. We, ah, love the . . . "enthusiasm" but there is a *process,* understand?" a frowning young woman with dark skin and a carefully put together faux-casual outfit responded instead, with a nudge at Trent's ribs.

She turned and gave the woman a frank stare.

"I mean, shit, honey, either hire me as the star or at least a- whaddya call it, consultant? - or don't but if you don't, well, it'll be your loss, not mine." she snorted derisively.

"And why is that?" Monique responded, seemingly not one bit intimidated or impressed.

Mary Mae liked her, seemed a kindred spirit, a fellow badass woman. Wasn't bad looking either (Mary Mae wasn't above a little girl on girl if that'd be what it took to get to the top and sex was just another kit in the toolbox as far as she was concerned, plus she was flexible in her tastes for a girl from the Deep South). Luckily, she was also amazing at reading people and realized that just some straight talk would do the trick just fine.

"Look, shug, I grew up in the Appalachians in a small town right on where Alabama, Georgia and Tennessee touch, where'n I was half-raised by six brothers and an honest to god biker gang after my Momma passed, God rest her soul. I'm basically this badass Beaumont bitch come to life and then some! Shit, I could tell YOU some fuckin' stories!" she finished, gesturing up and down at herself with a flourish and a knowing chuckle.

Eyes wide, Trent, Monique and the two other people behind the desk quickly gave each other some glances and shared several heated, intense whispers before speaking again to her.

"We'll let you give us a read-through. No promises. You know your lines?" the woman said, eyes narrowed.

"Steel trap right here." Mary Mae replied without hesitation, tapping her forehead. She wasn't much on reading but never forgot a damn thing. "Good to get 'er done if y'all are."

Minutes later, the group behind the table were enraptured as she brought the scene to a close, gesturing with her switchblade as she played the scene perfectly. Instead of shouting, she let her intimidating stature, expansive gestures and the knife do most of the work, letting her words slide out with poisoned sweetness and just a hint of threat.

"Oh, I'll tell you one thing right now - anyone who ever fucked up by fucking with me? Between you, me and God's fluffiest little angels, I can assure you that every last one of 'em regretted it to their dying day . . . sweetheart."

She said the last word in a way that was both impossibly sexy and dangerous, leaving everyone riveted and most of the men at the table what the internet would call "scaroused," especially the obviously smitten director.

Mary Mae then flipped around and did a bow with a smirk on her sensual lips.

"How'd I do?"

"Amazing!" gushed Trent and even the rest of the table had to give a few nods.

"We actually have a follow up scene for anyone who does well with the first." Monique said, still playing it cool, gesturing at one of the other people who slid over another page. "It's where Bobbi Ann confesses how helpless she felt about her mother's ****."

"No sweat. Give it here." Mary Mae said with a smile. She knew what this was - they thought she was just one trick pony, all sex and **** but hell, she'd lost her Momma the exact same way. This'd be a damn piece of cake. Time to show all these folks she didn't move to Los Angeles for the damn beach.

"And- and I COUDLN'T kill that damn tumor but I WILL kill and worse to keep this house! It's all that my Momma left me and I'll be GODDAMNED if anyone tries to take it from us!" she finished minutes later, genuine tears coursing down her cheeks . . . and she wasn't the only one. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. Even Monique's eyes seemed misty.

"Look, we've got to keep interviewing the rest or else there's going to be a damn riot out there but . . . you're right. We've seen the best." the seated woman finished with an elegant shrug and a smile that was both parts pleased and begrudgingly impressed.

"YES! I mean, yeah! Like, wow, fucking WOW!" Trent added with agitated glee, bouncing in his chair, eyes roaming all over her body before finally settling on her face. "You're SO hired! Just keep it to yourself for 48 hours, OK? We gotta get some paperwork finished and shit but yes! You ARE Bobbi Ann Beaumont!"

"Hell yeah I am!" the former Mary Sullivan turned Mary Mae Calhoun responded with a fist pump in the air, letting out a whoop of delight, making the entire room burst out in delighted laughter.