Vivian Kill

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Project Main Details

Vivian Kill 
Vivian Kill is an occult detective story, told in a podcast, and set in the late 50s.

Vivian did bookkeeping and administrative work for her husband's detective agency, which handled the kind of oddball cases cops laughed at. He died under suspicious circumstances. He and Vivian had a 13 year old son.

The husband's ghost contacts her, and calmly tells her he's in hell, but that she shouldn't worry about it, and she really shouldn't try and solve his murder. But then her sister Lillian's husband also dies--and Lillian talks to her husband's spirit every night too, only he's in Heaven.

Her son has been working on the murder case all on his own, and is in trouble with the authorities of this world, and the next.

In terms of character, Vivian Kill is a 38 year-old mom in the 50s who sounds older than she is. She has not had an easy life, and pretty soon she'll be noir down to her very bones. This is a drama with plenty of black comedy in it. It's not a parody or a campy satire, but I do need a mature-sounding, street wise female private eye. Even though the project is an acting role for one character and not an audiobook--and even though that character is a woman--she's becoming "hardboiled" the side is from The Big Sleep. The role really needs an actress who can persuasively perform that character, from that excerpt of that story, posted here in the "short script" section. 
2017-07-12 08:19:41 GMT
2017-07-19 03:00:00 (GMT -05:00) Eastern Time (US & Canada) 
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0 direct invitation(s) have been sent by the voice seeker resulting in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
Voice123 SmartCast is seeking 25 auditions and/or proposals for this project (approx.) Invitations sent by SmartCast have resulted in 9 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.

Project Parameters

The Voice Actor should be located in:
Fixed - USD 250
Via Internet: USA
English - USA and Canada
Not defined
Middle Age Female
• Audio files must be delivered via email
There are no special pre-, post-, or production requirements for this project.
Not defined
This is a non-union project

Script Details

IT WAS ABOUT ELEVEN O’CLOCK in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. ...when a door opened far back under the stairs. It was a girl.

She was twenty or so, small and delicately put together, but she looked durable. She wore pale blue slacks and they looked well on her. She walked as if she were floating. Her hair was a fine tawny wave cut much shorter than the current fashion of pageboy tresses curled in at the bottom. Her eyes were slategray, and had almost no expression when they looked at me. She came over near me and smiled with her mouth and she had little sharp predatory teeth, as white as fresh orange pits and as shiny as porcelain. They glistened between her thin too taut lips. Her face lacked color and didn’t look too healthy.
“Tall, aren’t you?” she said.
“I didn’t mean to be.”
Her eyes rounded. She was puzzled. She was thinking. I could see, even on that short acquaintance, that thinking was always going to be a bother to her.
“Handsome too,” she said. “And I bet you know it.” I grunted.
“What’s your name?”
“Reilly,” I said. “Doghouse Reilly.”
“That’s a funny name.” She bit her lip and turned her head a little and looked at me along her eyes. Then she lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theater curtain. I was to get to know that trick. That was supposed to make me roll over on my back with all four paws in the air.
“Are you a prizefighter?” she asked, when I didn’t.
“Not exactly. I’m a sleuth.”
“A-a-“ She tossed her head angrily, and the rich color of it glistened in the rather dim light of the big hall. “You’re awfully tall,” she said. Then she giggled with secret merriment. Then she turned her body slowly and lithely, without lifting her feet. Her hands dropped limp at her sides. She tilted herself towards me on her toes. She fell straight back into my arms. I had to catch her or let her crack her head on the tessellated floor. I caught her under her arms and she went rubber-legged on me instantly. I had to hold her close to hold her up. When her head was against my chest she screwed it around and giggled at me.
“You’re cute,” she giggled. “I’m cute too.”
I didn’t say anything. 
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