Chapter 78 – Our Days
Bruce had barely hung up with Gwen and hadn't even finished processing the incredible news—his smile hadn't fully formed—when Joey's pager went off with an insistent beeping. He grabbed it, his eyebrows shooting up.
"Holy crap!" He leaped off the couch. "Guys! I got a callback! They want me to audition!"
"For what?" Ross asked, intrigued.
"Days of Our Lives!" Joey waved the pager excitedly. "Can you believe it? Days wants me! They said my performance in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels showed 'depth and range,' so they're letting me read for Dr. Drake Ramoray—an actual doctor with real lines, an office, even X-rays to show patients!"
Joey mimed holding up an X-ray film, his face suddenly serious and professional. "I gotta memorize these lines."
Then he started pacing around the living room like a caged animal, muttering fragments of medical terminology—"anterior cruciate ligament," "synovial membrane," "non-steroidal anti-inflammatory"—stumbling over the pronunciation like he had marbles in his mouth.
"Easy there, Joey," Bruce laughed, standing up. "Auditions aren't about perfectly nailing every complicated medical term—unless you're playing a total science nerd."
Bruce caught his eye. "Find the character's core. Who's Drake Ramoray? Confident? Arrogant? Compassionate underneath but professional on the surface? Nail that essence, and the casting director will remember you even if you only get one line."
Joey blinked, trying to process the advice.
"Also," Bruce gestured toward him, "the more pressure you feel, the more relaxed you need to be. Imagine the camera isn't some intimidating piece of equipment—it's..." He glanced toward the kitchen where Monica was organizing her clippings, and inspiration struck. "It's Monica's Thanksgiving turkey—golden, delicious, waiting for you to enjoy it. Would you be all tense and nervous around Monica's turkey?"
Joey froze, then broke into a huge grin. "Ha! Monica's turkey? I'd just wanna dive right in! Okay, I get it."
"One more thing," Bruce clapped his shoulder. "Remember to find your light. Stand up straight, shoulders back, let your face and body stay natural. Speak just slightly slower than when you're spinning stories at the coffee shop. You're a doctor, not Joey trying to pick up women."
Joey nodded enthusiastically. "Man, Bruce, directing that film really taught you a lot!"
That afternoon—audition time. Location: NBC's imposing studios at 30 Rockefeller Plaza.
In the hallway-turned-waiting-area, actors sat scattered around—some running lines with their eyes closed, others checking their appearance in the reflective surface of a wall-mounted fire extinguisher case.
"Deep breath, Joey," Bruce said encouragingly. "Remember playing Dumb Billy and getting your ass kicked on set? Remember me yelling, 'Look naturally stupid! Yes, that gloriously vacant expression—hold it!' Compared to that, saying 'Open wide and say ah' to the camera is a walk in the park, right?"
"Joey Tribbiani?" A woman with glasses and a clipboard appeared in the doorway.
"That's me!" Joey jumped to his feet.
"Knock 'em dead, and you'll have a steady gig for years!" Bruce gave him an encouraging push toward the door.
After Joey disappeared inside, Bruce wandered the hallway, studying the framed photographs of soap opera scenes lining the walls.
About twenty minutes later, the door swung open and Joey emerged.
His expression was complicated—not exactly thrilled, not exactly disappointed, more like the exhausted blankness of someone who'd just run a marathon, mixed with confusion.
Bruce hurried over.
"How did it go?"
Joey rubbed his face, letting out a long breath as if releasing all the tension from his body.
"Totally blanked on a word—said 'chicken pox' instead of 'tendonitis'—so I improvised: 'Looks like this patient's got both foot problems and a childhood disease making a comeback!' The casting director might've smiled... or maybe he was grimacing... I honestly can't tell."
Joey scratched his head. "I... have no idea. Who knows what they're really looking for?"
Seeing his anxiety, Bruce didn't push. He patted Joey's back firmly. "You did great! Whatever happens, you showed up and gave it your all—that's what matters. They already saw something in your Lock, Stock performance or they never would've called you in."
Back in Greenwich Village, they walked into Central Perk. Ross and Julie were sitting together at a table, a thick book and notebook spread between them—clearly deep in some academic discussion.
Ross was explaining something, his finger tracing along the page. Julie had her chin propped in her hand, listening attentively and nodding along.
Noticing them enter, Julie looked up with a warm smile. "Hey, Joey! Ross mentioned you had an audition today—how'd it go?"
Ross chimed in, "Yeah, man, how was it?"
"Could've gone better, could've gone worse—we'll see if they call!" Joey shrugged, dropping into a chair and launching into an animated retelling of how he'd 'brilliantly' turned his mistake into comedic gold.
Bruce's attention drifted to the counter. Rachel stood there mechanically wiping down a coffee cup, distracted, her gaze fixed on Ross and Julie's cozy tableau.
Bruce waved his hand in front of her face. She startled, tearing her eyes away, and gave him an overly bright, overly enthusiastic, "Oh, hi Bruce—what can I get you?"
Coffee in hand, Bruce settled back into the familiar chaos and realized: these were his days—Joey's audition anxiety, Chandler's sarcastic commentary, Monica's nurturing instincts, Rachel's complicated feelings, Ross's academic intensity, Phoebe's quirky wisdom, and now Julie adding a new dynamic to the mix.
The box office numbers and potential million-dollar returns felt muffled here, softened by the aroma of coffee and the warmth of conversation, fading into pleasant background noise. The real story of his life remained these small, genuine, everyday moments.
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