Looking for Mr. Goodfrog

by Laurie Graff

  Twenty

  When a warning is uttered that indicates danger, a frog uses his hearing to make love—not war.

  I turned the key in the ignition for the fourth time, but it didn’t catch. Beads of sweat broke out around my temples as I cursed Los Angeles for having put a car curse on me. I had to be at the theater for rehearsal for tonight, and the rental car would not work. The rental car just sat in its spot, while I pressed on the gas and turned the key, trying my best to coax the car to life.

  “I rented the car from you because you were supposed to be number one,” I cried into my cell while pacing up and down and around the car. I tried to relieve my anxiety by scooping up handfuls of purple flowers that had fallen from the bougainvillea tree onto the windshield, compulsively throwing them down to the ground.

  In the ten minutes I went into Longs Drugs to pick up a bottled water and mascara, the rental car’s lights had automatically turned on. Apparently it was something that just happened on this model of car. Something that was impossible to note on a dashboard in daylight. And something you’d only notice once the battery had gone bust. But by that time it was too late, and now so were you because you’re not on your way to where you were supposed to be because your rental car’s not turning over, not turning on and just not doing whatever it was a car was supposed to do.

  “I thought you were supposed to put me in the driver’s seat!” I cried, looking at my watch that did work and reminded me as each second passed that time was slipping away. “I need another car. I need someone to come right here now with another rental car.”

  I need to catch a cab, I thought, looking up and down Ventura Boulevard and over yonder to Universal City, where driving down from the hotel I did not see a single one. I would have to find a cab company and have them pick me up. I would have to go back into Longs to find a Yellow Pages. And I would really have to calm down because tonight was my show.

  “What are you going to do?” I screamed into my phone, anything but calm as my anxiety level climbed as high as the bougainvillea tree whose stupid purple leaves continued to fall. “How are you going to help me?”

  “Weeeeellll, m’aaaaaaam,” the Oklahoman on the other end drawled. I could have completed five sentences in the time it took the representative to get out her first two words. “I’m soooooo soooooorrrrrry for aaaaaany innnnnnnnconveeeeenience—”

  I inhaled on the count of three and exhaled on the same. I breathed in and I breathed out. In out, in and out. I didn’t know anyone could talk so slow! I checked my watch allotting no more than five more minutes to get things squared away. But in the middle of everything the representative alerted me that her supervisor just told her she had to hang up, because her entire office was being evacuated to the basement as they’d just been informed they were having a tornado.

  “Weeeeeee’re haaaaaaviiing a tornaaaaaaa—”

  I hoped she could walk faster than she could talk.

  “How do you find a cab around here?” I shouted, desperate, across the parking lot, pressing End on my cell when I saw a man get out of his car. “I’m from New York!”

  He shocked me when he shouted back. “Where are you going? There’s a metro across the street!”

  Any urban girl worth her salt knew metro was just another word for subway.

  I couldn’t have been happier when fifteen minutes later I found myself sitting on the Red Line that miraculously traveled to downtown L.A. where I was headed. My Frogaphobia script open on my lap, I was able to sit back, avoid traffic, and peacefully read in the air-conditioned car.

  Why anyone would want to drive around all day when you could have privacy, reading time and people contact all rolled into one on the subway was beyond me. I got to experience all three when the elderly man sitting next to me struck up a conversation by telling me he admired my earrings.

  “They look very rich,” he said, as he peered at the Tiffany sterling silver knots that pressed against the bottoms of my lobes. “I used to be in jewelry,” he told me. “Before I retired. And I am going now to the old neighborhood to meet my old partner for a little bit of talk and a little bit of lunch.”

  I could see him enjoy the fun feelings of a chance meet. Always heightened when it happened on public transportation where everyone had a destination, and conversed within the time frame of where they had to go.

  “You look like a princess,” he said, smiling back in response to mine. “Do you have a prince?”

  I shook my head no.

  He looked very sweet, his sparse gray hairs, his Eastern European accent, his brown trousers and his dark green vest.

  “You will. You have to kiss a lot of frogs,” he uncannily told me, and with a seriousness that was downright spooky! I practically choked, laughing and gasping at the very same time. “This now will be my stop,” said the man as the quiet subway car approached Hollywood and Vine. “Three more stops for you.”

  He stood up, unfolding a pair of sunglasses that appeared from the inside pocket of his dark green vest.

  “I have been happily married for over fifty years and have a married daughter and a grandson. So please take this the right way, and let it bring you luck,” he said, reaching over and picking up my left hand. “Let this kiss from me bring you a prince.” The doors flew open and in a flash he was gone. I touched the top of my hand and smiled, feeling I had, indeed, been touched by an angel.

  Steve, the producer, was waiting for me at the subway when I got off the train to drive me to the theater. He was smart and excited, funny and tall, and originally a New Yorker, which made me feel at home.

  “You have to put that in the show,” he said, when I told him about my angelic encounter on the subway. “That’s a great story. I’ve been living out here fourteen years and nothing like that ever happened to me,” he said, showing me around the theater space that was set up exactly as I had requested.

  Steve expected a good turnout and I was getting very excited, but nothing topped the moment I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to see that the person behind me checking props was Fred! Fred, who helped make it all happen and who I hadn’t seen in months. He was already there, having come down early to work with me and do a run-through.

  “Ohmygod! Look at you!” I said, throwing my arms around a confident, happy and healthy-looking Fred. “I love these pants!” I tugged at his cool chinos. “You look very L.A., but I mean that in the very best way! Where’s Trey? The infamous Babalou?”

  “He won’t be here today or tonight, he has to work,” said Fred, causing me to wonder for the first time about the man’s existence. But he had to be real, and even if he wasn’t, something very real had Fred very happy.

  Steve took a seat in the modern little theater, while Fred reviewed the light and sound cues with the tech crew.

  “You guys are great!” I said, going backstage to the small dressing room to under-dress in the skirt and tank top that the yellow bathrobe hid.

  “So let’s see how this frog has grown,” Fred called out from the booth.

  The house lights dimmed, “Some Day My Prince Will Come” went on, and I was off. It was rumored if you had a bad dress rehearsal you had a good show, but that afternoon was a good dress rehearsal, and that night was a great show!

  The sweet, small house had filled with laughter, friends from my L.A. days, industry people and a bunch of actors who took the freebie tickets passed out at Equity. After the show we all went to a nearby bar where the good news was that there was something to celebrate! The bad news was that I could not do it with a drink because I would have to drive.

  Steve was animatedly engaged in a conversation with all the suits at the table, except for the one who was totally engaged by Fred. Fred had somehow captivated the creator of Occasional Husband, a new sitcom that had just debuted and seemed destined to become a hit. About a single gay man pretending to be married to make headway at the office, whenever a work function arose he had to find a male to pose as his permanent partne
r.

  “But if one week ‘Larry’ is his husband for Client X and another week ‘Barry’ is his husband for Client Y, he has to remember who’s who in order to keep up with what’s what...unless there was a small rotating stable playing the husbands who wound up making his real dates jealous!”

  “Oh my!” said the creator, listening to Fred as he chomped on his calamari. “So you’re not just another pretty face who directs, but you also act?”

  Fred and I exchanged a quick glance acknowledging this to be the very first time anyone was ever excited about meeting an unemployed actor. The air of being “already taken,” had made Fred someone that someone else wanted to take.

  “The buzz is great!” Steve whispered when he turned to me, holding out his glass for a toast.

  “So what happens now?” I asked as I clinked.

  Steve felt good enough from the feedback to sign an option deal with me in the hopes of making a film sale so that Frogaphobia would become a major motion picture.

  “Starring me!” I blurted out loud.

  The suits at the table turned to look, laughing out loud at what they’d just heard. One of them gave me a wink, like I had only made the preposterous joke because the clear water in my glass had to be a little vodka, of which the little New York actress had consumed a little too much if she actually thought her show, the show she wrote and starred in, and the show that was a success because of her would ever turn into a movie with her!

  Steve was on me the second he heard me sputter the words, getting me up from the table to lead me away. He quickly suggested we go outside, suggesting we take a look at the brand-new Hyundai Sonata the car rental company had delivered to the theater during the day.

  As Steve ushered me out to the parking lot I heard Fred’s voice behind me, coyly networking in a way I’d never before seen nor heard.

  “As an actor I could stand to be a stand-in lover,” he said. “Let’s just say I have a little real-life experience that had me on both sides of that fence!”

  “I like this guy!” The creator laughed along with Fred. “I really like him!”

  “Why did you say that?” Steve asked me the second we got outside. “Those guys in there might be very interested in the project, or they know people who know people. I’m glad I caught you in time to do a little damage control. You don’t want to joke around, Karrie. Not like that. It can be taken the wrong way.”

  “And what way is that?” I asked, leaning up against the Hyundai Sonata that I had to admit was way nicer than that other car. Its elegant exterior and lush blue interior made this midsize car appealing to the eye, reliable and enjoyable to drive...but who cared about a dumb car because now I would never, ever get to play Karrie Kline in Frogaphobia!

  “Will Fred get to play Fred?” I asked, thinking it was time to change everybody’s names in the show. It was getting to be too much. Life was imitating art that should have been imitating life but was...whatever.

  “No, Karrie, he’s not. Depending on the sale we’d go with names. Movie people...actors with series credits.”

  I looked at Steve, silent and incredulous.

  “I don’t make the rules—that’s just the way it works. Look,” he said, taking my key, opening the car doors, and getting in on the driver’s side. He was showing me how to adjust all the mirrors, while I was only still trying to figure out how to turn on the radio. God, why was everything so complicated?

  “You wrote a terrific piece, and if we sell it you get on the map and make a little money. Those are two good things, right?” said Steve, now taking over on the radio end as well.

  “Yeah. Those are two good things.” I sat back on the passenger side wishing I was in the driver’s seat.

  “And I might be able to get you a couple of lines if it goes,” he said. I thought he was making a joke, but then I saw he was serious. I quickly turned my head away, looking out the window and hiding a few tears. I stayed that way, for a bit, waiting to pull it together before I spoke.

  “Gosh, Steve. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but...I mean Frogaphobia is my baby and what I am supposed to do? Turn it over to Michelle Pfeiffer?”

  “No, Michelle’s too old for the role,” said Steve, clicking on the hazard lights while we sat in the car, staring out the window like we were at a drive-in without a movie. “Look, Karrie. Try looking at it like this.” Steve turned to face me. “Your show has a great chance now at getting an off-Broadway run...with you! And if it gets made into a movie you make money. Money buys you some freedom, and your show gets you a new agent and more theater jobs. I can get an option deal drawn up and all you need is someone to look at it. What do you say?”

  What could I say!

  What could I say? This was amazing! It was more than I ever thought would happen, and while it wasn’t everything I hoped for, in so many ways it was already more than I ever hoped to have.

  “Yes,” I said. “I say yes. And thank you. I say thank you, Steve.”

  We got out of the car and walked to the door in the parking lot that was the back entrance to the bar. I stopped before we went in.

  “Just one more thing. Do you think if I used my pull with the producer I could maybe get an audition? For a small role?”

  “Karrie, after seeing you tonight you won’t have to audition. I have complete confidence in your ability to play Woman Number Two at Bridal Shower!”

  “Woman Number Two?” I shrieked. But this time I didn’t have to look at Steve to see if he was joking. I already knew he wasn’t. I could like it or I could lump it.

  “Woman Number Two at Bridal Shower is the role of my dreams,” I told my producer, who chuckled as he opened the door, escorting me as we found our way back to our group.

  I couldn’t believe if he made a deal I would be Woman Number Two at Bridal Shower. A few lines in a scene for one day... If I was lucky.

  We sat back down to the table that more people had joined; more people who had personalized opinions and points of views and reactions to the show. It was then I began to understand what was really going on. The conversation bounced from one person’s story to another, and it was only then I was beginning to see that it was bigger than Woman Number Two. It was bigger than the number of lines, and it was bigger than an acting job—be it a day, a week, or months on a set.

  It was no longer about creating a role for me. It had become about creating a work, and creating a world. The world of Frogaphobia moved people. However it did, for better and worse, it made people feel. Many actresses could play “Karrie.” Someone would always get the job. But if not for my creation, “Karrie” would never exist and there wouldn’t be a Frogaphobia set. For anyone.

  Twenty-One

  Frogs are part of the ecosystem meaning what happens to them will affect even us, as we are all connected in the web of life.

  The new set was slick. The one-night-only performance in Los Angeles had everything going in a new direction. Forward!

  Steve had been right. The people there knew people who knew people. And someone knew someone who knew a producer that backed the show, moving me to a 99-seat house on Theater Row, just down the block from Times Square. I’d been working on a full-length script since last summer and was ready to roll, especially when a hip female director I loved won the job. She competed against a more established director I was happy wasn’t hired, not just because he and I had once dated, but because that date had also earned him a frog-worthy mention in the show.

  Everything at the Lillian Hellman Theater was impeccable. The production team hired was terrific. The set designer kept the same bare stage but the laminated floor was bright blue, the backdrop was painted as a pond, and Hallie’s bed...yes, for the two-act, full-length, seventy-five-minute, off-Broadway production I had changed the names of all of the characters, including mine. Hallie Hine’s bed had a headboard shaped in the face of a frog, and a footboard like two webbed feet.

  Each night I felt lucky when I went to work. But when I walked into
the lobby and said hello to the stage manager and crew, turned the knob on the door with my name, and went into the dressing room to prepare it still didn’t seem real. Even though the show was listed in the Sunday “Arts & Leisure” section of the Times! However, when I received a paycheck at the end of the week I knew it was. And while the stakes could always be higher, I also knew this was as good as anything got.

  I felt proud, and while it didn’t go to my head it might have gone to Charlie’s, the only character that had not undergone a name change. After a write-up in an Upper West Side weekly, Charlie’s popularity soared to such an extent we could barely get down a block without someone stopping to ask if he was the dog in the show about frogs!

  In the months since Los Angeles things had really accelerated. By the time Thanksgiving passed I already had a lot to be thankful for. I had just signed with a new talent agency. Rich’s Artists would not only represent me for commercials and theater, but their West Coast affiliate office had a department that did the movie rights deal with Steve. The great deal between us led to another great one. A major network would be producing Frogaphobia as a TV movie that would serve as a pilot for a television series. And if that happened, Steve promised I’d get a shot at a guest shot playing Woman #1 at Singles Event!

  Grateful as I was, with new representation I did hope after Frogaphobia closed there might be better acting jobs than that in the offing! But it had only just opened a few weeks ago. The holiday season came and went with no time to deal with being dateless, mistletoe and menorahs submerged in Frogaphobia. When the ball dropped, the curtain went up on this New Year with unabashed optimism.

  On the work front!

  When I came home after the show I was too wired to sleep and there was no one around to go out with. I got into late-night TV, watching reruns and paying closer attention when I watched, trying to understand how the shows were written, wondering if it was something I could do. It was not only a good skill to learn, but it also kept me company.