Actress faces tough Hollywood script

COLUMN ONE

Austin Highsmith's big break was hurt by the writers strike. Now the possibility of an actors strike is creating a difficult scene.

In the summer of 2003, Austin Highsmith, a young actress from North Carolina, packed a suitcase and drove cross-country in pursuit of the Hollywood dream.

Years followed, as they do, of waiting tables and auditions, until February when the 27-year-old finally landed her first big break as a guest star on CBS' "Ghost Whisperer." But as luck had it, her episode aired the same week the writers strike began. Hardly any Hollywood honchos saw it.

"Four years of work came to a screeching halt," said the actress, who has appeared in numerous smaller television and movie roles.

Highsmith is one of thousands of actors still recovering from this winter's strike but nevertheless clinging to their ambitions despite sputtering television and film production schedules that make their normally slim-to-none odds that much smaller. With talks stalled between the studios and the Screen Actors Guild, whose contract expires June 30, the prospect of another crippling labor action has Highsmith and all of Hollywood on edge.

"I'm impatient, driven," said Highsmith. "I've been working for the past five years to get something. I don't want to stop the momentum. It's so hard to get started in the first place."

If there's a strike, she added, "It'll be 'The Ghost Whisperer' all over again."

Like an estimated 80% of SAG's 120,000 members, Highsmith is not currently working as an actor. But she still shapes her days around finding work. Drama. Comedy. Commercials. Almost anything to work. It's a dizzying carousel of networking, auditions, rejection and resilience. Just spend a few days with her and it's easy to see what another strike could mean for those under the Hollywood radar.

At 5 feet 7 inches, Highsmith has sleek, dark hair framing soft brown eyes. On a recent morning, supersized hoop earrings and giant sunglasses crowned her outfit of sandals, leggings and a cotton sundress that helped hide the fact that she's not, as she put it, "drug-addict thin." She moved and spoke quickly, as if seconds counted.

On that Tuesday, she arose at 6:30 a.m. to drive a sick friend to the doctor. By 10 a.m, she was finishing up dishes in her two-bedroom apartment near the Beverly Center -- a prize because of its location and the $1,450 rent -- that she shares with her former yoga teacher. She checked her computer for messages, dropped her cellphone into a purse and hustled out the door to pick up head shots and take them to her agent.


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