Single And Rich
Page 11
“Sorry, please take your seats,” I said, getting ready to maintain my sanity for several hours as we cut across the great American skies.
“Please, take care of yourself, Beth,” I said, turning back to her.
“I will. You too, Jane,” she said. “Does your grandma know you’re leaving?”
“Of course, yeah,” I said, but I was lying. I hadn’t told her anything. If it hurt to tell Beth, it would hurt me more to tell my grandmother.
***
The plane touched down at LAX and as soon as I stepped off the airplane I could immediately feel the difference in the air between Maine and Los Angeles. Maine is not a big metropolitan area so hey, guess what, the air’s cleaner. LA? Not so much. The sky’s almost perpetually a smoggy brown which roused a spurt of coughs from my lungs.
I was still teary-eyed as I waved goodbye to Beth but I needed to make my way in this new world.
I changed out of my stewardess uniform, which I left back in the airplane for some other poor soul to dress in as they dealt with a whole lot of angry customers, and slipped into something more comfortable. T-shirt and jeans. The California clothing I’d always wanted to wear ever since I first saw movies set in LA.
I pulled out my phone to call an Uber and went to book my first motel in LA. With nothing to my name besides a few hundred dollars, this could be either the stupidest thing I’ve ever done or… I couldn’t even my finish my thought because the idea of me entering a city at the bottom of the entertainment food chain and rising up from the bottom was such an insane idea. I loved the challenge, but let’s be realistic, Jane, the only thing you were good at your entire life was finding the worst boyfriends.
Time to change my story.
Booked my first room from a greasy white guy who couldn’t stop staring at my chest, even though his boobs were bigger than mine.
I entered my room and threw my suitcase, where I’d packed my toothbrush, extra clothes, and a little vibrator that I thought would help keep me company, on the bed.
Look, there was this thing that happened when people were single and desperate. They became stupid. I didn’t want to become stupid. Or stupider. I wanted to be smart and sometimes to be smart, you had to think with your brain and not your lust.
My first boyfriend would always tell me if we ever got in an argument, he would masturbate all his bad feelings out and come out more level headed, ready to come to the table with something to say, versus Jake who only spoke with his damn fists. God, I was so glad I was out of that place even though my head still felt like it was there and it was just my feet walking across the well-trodden concrete of LA.
The place was at least more diverse. There was like a Japanese restaurant next to a Middle Eastern one, which wouldn’t even be contemplated by most of my hometown’s citizens.
I was super jet lagged but I needed to get some food. I wasn’t sure where to go; I needed to save money, but didn’t want to put any poison in my body. I could probably survive on the hotel candy machine and eat barbecue corn nuts all day but I needed to get some fresh air.
***
I decided to go eat some sushi because hey, I’d never done that before and couldn’t do that in Maine.
As I waited for the food to come in, I pulled up my phone to look for a list of agents that might represent little ol’ me. Turned out some agents won’t look at unsolicited emails. How would I get my name in through the door? How did you break in?
There was also the thought of using my mother as a way to create a conversation but I wanted to do this on my own terms, I wanted to build myself up with my own skill.
The plate of sushi arrived courtesy of a cute Japanese girl with a purple lock of hair on the side. She was probably a clothing model and just doing waitressing to hold two jobs in this city. I didn’t even look at how much the rent might be for an apartment, didn’t need a heart attack right now.
I ate with one hand, as I created a list of agents that were open to unsolicited visits in the other hand.
This was my war plan. My attack strategy.
After lunch, I took another taxi and was soon standing outside a Hollywood agency. I was so excited and nervous about what might happen. Maybe I would get “discovered” like others before me, or maybe they would mistake me for the janitor and hand me a mop.
I headed to the front desk where a nice Mexican woman greeted me with a smile. “Hello, welcome to Mr. Walton’s agency, what can I do for you?” she asked.
“Hi, my name is Jane Roadborn, I’m looking to get a meeting with Mr. Walton,” I said.
She looked at me quizzically. “Are you an actress?”
“Yes, I’m seeking representation for Hollywood movies,” I said with a big smile.
“Um, okay, one moment.” She picked up the phone and dialed a number. Her voice was quiet, trying to hide her conversation from me. “Sir, I have a young woman who’s looking to meet with you… Yes, she’s an actress… Um, one sec.” She turned to me. “Do you have a headshot?”
Crap, I didn’t. “No.” I quickly reached for my phone and proceeded to take a selfie. “But I can make one.” Before she could dismiss me or call security, I snapped a nice photo of me smiling and double checked to make sure there wasn’t any green seaweed in my teeth before handing her the phone.
She wasn’t impressed. The receptionist stood up and walked in the tallest high heels I’ve ever seen, heading to Mr. Walton’s office. It was a moment before she came back with my phone in hand. “Mr. Walton will see you. Five minutes, okay?”
“Of course, oh my God, thank you so much,” I said. “Thank you again, honestly.”
I headed into his office and he was a rather large man sitting in his leather chair. A bright red tie ran like blood down his rotund stomach which bulged against his desk like it was about to pop.
“Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Walton,” I said.
“So you wanna be an actress?” he asked me.
“Of course.”
“Everyone does, please sit,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Jane,” I said, trying to cover up my last name.
“What’s the last name, sweetie?”
“Roadborn.”
“Wait, Jane Roadborn? Are you related to Rita Roadborn?” he asked. “Just a shot in the dark because everyone in this town is related to each other.”
“Um, actually, yes, she was my mother,” I said.
“Wow, that’s something else.” He chuckled to himself, rolling himself in his chair to the front of his desk. “Very cool, she was a looker. Seems like she gave you some of that,” he said. “Let’s see you stand up.”
I felt a little uncomfortable, but hey, might as well go all the way, right?
“Very nice, good face, good hair, we can work with that pitching you to studios and directors. But here’s the thing, people like big tits, and you don’t have any,” he said.
I was shocked. Cattle-prodded into silence; how could he say something like that?
“What?”
“You didn’t hear me? You need bigger tits. Go to one of those places that make dreams come true and get your ass plumped up and put some silicone in your tits, you’ll feel a lot better about yourself and so will the producers making these movies,” he said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if he was choosing pizza toppings. Actually, according to his size, he might need some extra time with that.
“I won’t do that, this is me. This is who I am,” I said, standing my ground.
“Okay, well that’s who you are, come back when you’re someone else. Preferably someone with double D’s.”
A vapor trail could’ve followed me on my exit I was so fast getting out of there. I returned to my hotel room and just felt awful about myself. There were also more texts and voicemail messages from Jake, which didn’t help. I was hoping he didn’t know where I was.
I laid on my crappy bed and cried my little heart out. This was Hollywood? Please, God, kill me now,
I never want to return here.
I’d felt like a piece of meat in his office. What kind of person could do that to me?
It was about five o’clock and the sun was setting. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I couldn’t return back to grandma’s house. Couldn’t quit, not now.
Phone beeped again. God, Jake again? I glanced at it and it had a different number. It was a text that said: Looking for work? Walton sent me your headshot selfie. Very cool, first time I’ve seen something like that. Cute! Listen, I’m a director here casting my second film. It’s a big one. I liked what I saw, please let’s grab dinner tonight? We can talk about the film. It’s a good one, you might like it. - Michael Shoemaker
Oh my God! I couldn’t stop screaming! Inside my head of course, because I didn’t want to get kicked out of my crappy motel room! Aaah!
Okay, okay, deep breaths. Many questions, yes, many questions. First one: Was Michael Shoemaker a real director and did he actually make shoes?
***
After checking his IMDB page, I was able to confirm that he was a real director, Mr. Michael Shoemaker. He’d made a low budget movie a few years ago called “The Paper Unicorn” that was fairly critically acclaimed, and he’d spent the last couple of years trying to get his next movie made.
The next movie was a bigger movie but I couldn’t find any details on it. He seemed to be pretty secretive about his work. Also, I found out he had just fired his leading actress from the movie, the beautiful Julie Hamilton.
How could I compete with someone like her? She was beautiful and blond and had legs to die for. Honestly, I would die for her legs. They were amazing.
Also, should I trust him if the pervert Walton agent gave him my info?
I needed to respond, I couldn’t keep him waiting so I picked up my phone and texted: of course! Thanx for contacting me! Dinner sounds great! What time and where?
Too many exclamation marks? Well too late, I sent the text out.
My phone pings—wow, he was a fast texter.
I’ll pick you up. 8?
Yeah, Mr. Shoemaker, Hollywood director, that sounds like a great idea. I’ll just get my non-existent dress and stand outside this roach motel, yeah, great idea.
Then I had a thought. I could fake my house if I just stood outside of it, that might work. Right?
I Googled nice houses in the Hollywood hills and texted him the address.
Nice! Can’t wait, he texted back.
Okay, now my heart was beating had. I had to stand outside that house and I had to get a dress, which I didn’t have.
I rushed to the nearest shopping mall to find a pretty dress. I needed to stun my future director. Maybe this was my shot. Or maybe he knew I was the daughter of Rita Roadborn and felt like he had to give me a shot just out of the kindness of his—no, be positive, Jane. This is your opportunity, not your mother’s.
I entered in breathlessly to a dress store where prom and wedding dresses were on display, but I needed something that said: “Bond girl.” Classy, yet sexy. Actually, that’s what I said to the nice African American lady who was helping me.
I had only a few hours to get to my “house” so I needed to try on a few dresses, which Gabrielle was nice enough to pass me as I slipped into each of them inside the dressing room.
I checked the mirror and could see some nice amount of cleavage, though apparently I needed more, according to Ladies Man Walton over there. And my body looked fairly nice, plus the dress was my favorite color: blue.
I paid for it with my weapon of choice: a credit card, and grabbed a taxi in my blue dress and headed to the Beverly Hills home that I didn’t own.
What a day.
***
Only the hue of autumn orange light was pushing back the darkness of night as I waited under a street light. The whole street was lined with beautiful tall palm trees. It was a great sight, despite cars driving by, probably thinking I was some high class prostitute waiting for my celebrity client. No, people, actually I’m waiting for my date to arrive.
I was just hoping the owner of the house behind me didn’t come out. Maybe it’s Bette Midler or Jennifer Lawrence?! But also, maybe it was just Walton’s house.
A car came down the hill with headlights brighter than anything I’d seen in my life. Was this Michael?
The car was actually a limousine! It was the first time I’d ever seen one. Then it stopped.
Could it actually be for me?
The back door opened and out came a man who looked like he was in his early 40s with a salt and pepper beard.
“Jane?” He smiled.
“Of course!” I shouted, I was so excited. “Michael?”
“Yep! That’s me. come on in,” he said, holding the door open for me as I climbed into the back of the limo.
“We’re ready, Tim,” he said to the limo driver and we headed down the hill.
Michael looked at me with a smile. He had a little bit of a stomach, maybe the stress of the job was getting to him. His eyes looked a little tired but that didn’t stop him from grabbing a champagne bottle and pulling the cork and pouring two classes for us.
“Wow, you look great, more beautiful than the selfie you took,” he said.
“Oh, please, I’m more pretty in your dreams. Where you can change my face,” I joked.
“No, no,” he protested with a smile.
“Do you know Walton? Are you close with him?” I asked.
“Ah, no, but he’s passed me some actors before, why?” he asked.
“Well, I didn’t know if you were friends with him or something but he was, um…” I wasn’t sure if I should mention it or not, but I felt like I had to. “He was very rude to me today.”
“Yeah, that’s a shame,” he said, not surprised. “He has a problem with the female population in this town.”
“It was very traumatic for me, I just didn’t want to work with him. I didn’t know if that was possible,” I said with a meek voice.
“No, no, please, don’t worry about it, we’ll find you a good agent,” he said. “Just don’t say anything about him to other people, he’s a powerful guy, y’know. Everybody talks in this town,” he said, before taking a sip.
I did the same, hoping Michael was as genuine as I was hoping.
***
“It’s beautiful,” I said as he walked me to the restaurant, which turned out to be a rooftop affair. The top of the hotel gave me a spectacular view of the entire Los Angeles city with all of its lights glittering like diamonds and the buildings standing like arms wearing the diamonds.
There were a handful of people that I recognized, including Tom Hanks and his beautiful wife, as we walked to our table. I tried to hold in my excitement but it was so difficult.
The kind waiter walked us to our table and we sat down beside a glass wall on the edge of the roof, with it the only thing between us and the city. I could have easily just leapt to my death and been a footnote in my mom’s biography: And her daughter at age twenty-one, Jane Roadborn committed suicide for no apparent reason. Possibly because the view was so absolutely amazing.
“What would you like to eat?” he asked me.
“Um, steak?” I said, gleefully.
“Two steaks,” he said to the waiter. “Mine a little rare, and a bottle of white wine. Whatever’s good, my friend,” he said to which the waiter jotted everything down.
After the waiter walked away, Michael leaned in towards me. “You know it’s funny, I only came back to this city a few years back and I had no idea what the hell white wine tasted like. I’m from a poor family, but look at me now,” he said, proud of himself.
“Awesome, that’s so cool to hear. I’m from a small town myself. Not poor poor, but I’ve also never drunken white wine.”
“Still?” he asked.
“Yeah, I don’t know what it is. Grape-y?” I inquired, my shoulders crinkling up.
“It’s good, don’t worry, so how long have you been out here?” he asked me.
“Wow, that’s impressive,” he said. “By tomorrow morning, you’ll have an Oscar in your hand.”
“Right,” I said, giving a little laugh, but not too hard. I didn’t want to look too confident.
“So let’s talk about movies,” he started. “I have this movie I’m making. Got a great leading man, but I need my leading woman. It’s a romantic movie.”
“Great, I love romantic movies,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s a big old fashioned romantic movie, the kinds Elizabeth Taylor used to make. And,” he paused for a second, meeting my gaze, “and even your mom used to make.”
I nodded, kind of not wanting to hear her name.
“So it’s this big movie and I can’t let you read the script because it’s so, y’know, top secret and we can’t risk letting this thing get out but would you, y’know, like to be in it?” he asked me.
I wasn’t sure what was happening. Our food hadn’t arrived but was he actually that hungry, that he was delirious now?
“Are you offering me the part? I don’t even know the name of the movie.”
“That’s okay.” He smiled. “The only thing I need for you to do is to dye your hair blond.”
“Um, okay, I can do that. Couldn’t I just wear a wig?” I asked.
“You could just wear a wig, but this is not a movie where you could just do anything. We’re making art. Let’s be artists,” he said, smiling, just as the steak arrived. As if he’d had everything planned out.
***
I was feeling a little drowsy from the two bottles of white wine we’d shared, and the holes in the LA streets were messing with my stomach pretty good as our limo bumped over them.
“Do you mind if I stop by your house?” he asked me, putting his hand on my leg.
I wasn’t disgusted by his presence the same way I had been with Walton but I was definitely curious whether this was what he’d had in mind from the first text. Was this a date first and a job interview second?
Also, my house didn’t exist, so no. Cue nervous laugh.