I met Jackson—call me Jake—Navarro while out on a casting call in the mid-1990s. I sensed the role wasn’t a big one, but I’d been in town over a year and beggars couldn’t be choosers. I’d had some luck but it was just that. Luck. Talent in my experience didn’t enter into it. Right place, right time. It was that simple.
It was one of the warmest days that summer and I’d worn a suit and tie thinking conservative seemed the professional way to go. I felt sweat trickle down my neck and under my arms. Uncomfortable didn’t cover it. I sat crammed into a corner of the tiny casting office with other wannabes and was reading an outdated issue of People when the guy next to me heard his name called and practically flew up to the receptionist’s desk.
A man took his seat and I gave him the once over
