Phil’s assistant walks me to a ladder that’s set up in the trash area behind the school. I’ve never been back here and I know why . . . It stinks, bad! You wouldn’t think it would smell this bad in the summer. And you might think that for a movie they’d bring in a special Dumpster for the actors, a new Dumpster, perhaps a clean Dumpster, or a Dumpster without maggots! You’d be wrong. The lights are all set up and everyone is watching me. I had such a good response to my last couple of scenes that I don’t want to ruin it by puking all over myself, so I hold it down, get into character, and try not to breathe through my nose as I climb into the disgusting metal box. Trash is all over the place, but they’ve got one of the bags marked for me to pull food out of. It’s got plastic pizza and something that looks like meat loaf inside. It may be a prop, but it smells like poop.
C. B. holds the camera over the edge and films me stuffing an old backpack with this weird cuisine. I try not to look too disgusted as I do it. C. B. rotates the camera back to shoot me climbing out and my reaction to being discovered by the group of kids. Hilary is supposed to be in the middle of the gang, and she’s supposed to look embarrassed for me and then run away. But when I pop my head over the side of the Dumpster, I see Abby and Jeremy standing there with a group of extras. A smile flashes across my mouth before I can get a hold of it. I shake my head in disgust for ruining the shot, and climb the rest of the way out. Abby screwed me up again!
C. B. says “Cut,” then looks up from his camera and asks, “What was with the smile?”
“Sorry, I was expecting Hilary, and when I saw somebody else it jacked me up.”
C. B. explains, “Yeah, she needed to take another break, so we had to use your girlfriend as a stand-in—”
“Ex-girlfriend,” I clarify.
“Uh-huh.”
I whisper, “Abby’s not my girlfriend—”
He continues, “Whatever, Carter, what you just did was brilliant. . . . For your character to look up, into the most embarrassing situation of his life and see the girl that he’s hopelessly in love with, and smile just before the humiliation sets in. That’s genius—”
“I am not hopelessly in love with her.”
C. B. grabs me by the shoulders and quietly says, “I’m talking about the movie. But you should know, for your own sake, that you are hopelessly in love with that girl.”
I exhale pointedly as if to say, “Whatever.”
C. B. tells the crew that we’re moving on to the next shot, where the boys in the group heckle me and give me the beat-down. They will add Hilary into the scene when she’s ready. The scene is quick, and I know the lines, but what C. B. hasn’t gone over is how the other actors are going to pretend to kick my ass.
They have two cameras set up to capture the fight, but no one has gone over the choreography. The lights and sound equipment are all ready, but they’ve done a horrible job of casting this group of ass kickers. C. B. has been complaining about this problem for a while, but Phil always tells him, “When you produce your own films, you can fly in actors for the small parts and cast the locals in the leads. Until then, we’re using the cheap local talent for these nothing characters.”
So Jeremy, College Carter Dumbass, and a bunch of other drama-department types are playing tough guys. I don’t know how this is going to work, but I climb into the Dumpster anyway.
He has them huddled up like a powder-puff football team. Dang it. He’s trying to psych them up to beat me down, and I realize why no one has talked about the pretend stage fighting . . . because C. B. wants it “real.” Yet another great thing about casting a “nobody” in your movie is that, not only does he not get to call his agent, union, or stage mother to stop you from putting him in a Dumpster with maggots or throw him from a moving train . . . but he also won’t blow the whistle on your pill-popping starlet, and you can actually kick his ass when the script calls for it! How awesome am I?!
C. B. calls “Action,” and College Carter Dumbass says his line with a slight British accent. “‘What do you think you are doing, dirtbag?’”
I’m just trying to climb out of the can, and I don’t look at them when I say my line. “‘This isn’t what it looks like, guys. I’m on the recycling committee—’”
Eventually I look up at this posse of pussies assembled to kick my ass, quite possibly the only crew less intimidating than the Get Up Gang. Jeremy is standing off to the side with his hands on his hips. His jaw is flexed and his head is tilted, like he’s trying to be tough, but it’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen, so I start laughing.
C. B. angrily yells “Cut!” because a bunch of the crew guys are cracking up too, and now this band of merry men are really mad at me. Skinny arms are crossed, faces turn red, and I can’t stop cackling.
“Sorry, everybody. My bad,” I say.
C. B. approaches the West Side Story hooligans (Abby made me watch it) and tries to hype them up again. He tells everyone to “Be professional!” before he calls “Action,” and I start to climb out of the Dumpster. College Carter Dumbass says his line, louder this time, and I take a deep disgusting breath. I focus on the nasty smell, and it keeps me from laughing as I tell my shoes, “‘I’m on the recycling committee.’” I shoulder my backpack and try to walk past. I hope it looks like I’m trying to focus on catching up to Maggie and not that I can’t look at these emos without cracking up. But then Jeremy slaps my face, hard, and screeches, “‘Look at us when we’re talking to you, dirtbag!’”
I grab my face and ask, “Dude!?”
Before anyone can say anything else, College Carter Dumbass shoves me in this very theatrical way. It doesn’t hurt, or move me, so I knock his arms away and push him back. He stumbles and then falls to the ground.
C. B. shakes his head. “Cut!” I throw up my hands like, “What am I supposed to do?”
Phil yells at everyone to break for lunch. He and C. B. seem extra stressed. Phil is telling C. B. to make it work, and C. B. is yelling at Phil for ruining his film. I think they both really want to save the scene, so I walk up and regretfully say, “Hey, I know a few dudes who wouldn’t mind kickin’ my ass.”
Phil asks how soon my boys could get here, and I tell him, “Depends on how much you’re paying.”
C. B. interjects, “Two hundred a piece, cash, for about an hour’s work.”
“They’ll be here in ten minutes.”
Phil looks pissed, but he knows how unbelievable the fight would be if Jeremy and the Jets were allowed to continue.
Everyone goes into the school cafeteria to eat, but I’m not hungry after hanging out in that Dumpster. Phil gives me his cell phone, and I start to round up my boys.
20. POTENTIAL
Bag answers the phone, “Merrian Aquatic Center, this is Matthew, how can I help you?” He’s on “phone detail” after he got removed from lifeguarding for flirting with a girl from Hooker High. It’s not against the rules to flirt with Hookers, but he was supposed to be watching the baby pool at the time, and a kid almost drowned as he was asking the Hooker, “Is that bikini top felt?—do you want it to be?” EJ said that the toddler’s mom grabbed the kid a few seconds after he went under and that there wasn’t that much danger, but Bag got demoted anyway.
In my best deep adult voice I say, “Yeah, uh, this is Doctor Bill MeHoff . . . I’m tryin’ to get in touch with my son, Jack.”
Bag responds like the cocky prick he is. “Uh, huh . . . gimme the last name again, doc?”
I repeat the name and then I hear the phone hit the desk and the unmistakable crackle of an old loudspeaker. Bag announces to the pool and surrounding community, “Jack MeHoff, Jack MeHoff, you gotta phone call . . . Jack Me—Ahhh, son of a BITCH!”
“Bitch,” echoes around the aquatic center a few times before he picks up the phone again and yells, “Who the hell is this?”
“I told ya, it’s Doctor MeHoff . . . callin’ to let you know that your sex change operation has been rescheduled—”
“Carter! You butt plug, I’m gonna
get fired for yellin’ jack me off over the loudspeaker!”
“Good ’cause I got you a better job. I need you to round up EJ and the boys to come up to school and kick my ass for twenty minutes. You’ll get paid two hundred bucks each.”
I hear the pool manager’s voice boom in the background, “Get off that phone and get outta my aquatic center, now!”
Bag doesn’t say anything to his former boss; he just tells me, “See you in a few,” and the line clicks dead.
I’m just ending a call with Nick Brock when EJ, Nutt, Bag, Doc, J-Low, and Hormone screech into the parking lot in the CRX. I point to them like a pimp, and shoot Sport Coat Phil a nod. There’s more than enough weight to hold the car down, but the tires are completely bald and it’s going way too fast. It looks pretty cool, like a drift car skidding around the corner, until they hit a curb that sends the dudes in the hatchback into the air, shuffling them around. The CRX flies into the grass and busts a donut before the engine sputters and dies. Hormone pulls up the emergency brake, and they climb out as if they found the perfect parking spot.
“S’up?!” Nutt asks, slapping my hand.
Doc says, “Heard they’re givin’ out cash money to kick your ass, Carter.”
EJ punches me in the shoulder before he says, “I’d kick your dirty ass for free, Starvados!” He gives me a nod that seems to say, “You are forgiven for yelling at us.”
J-Low asks, “Daaang, are you wearin’ Dumpster cologne?”
Bag slaps me in the neck really hard and says, “Jack MeHoff, huh?! You son of a—”
The guys are all laughing as C. B. walks up clapping and yelling, “Hell yeah, that’s what we’re looking for! You guys are perfect!”
He only thinks my boys are tough because of the last guys he was working with. When Nick Brock’s truck rumbles into the parking lot, C. B.’s reminded of how intimidating high school guys can be. Bart hops out of the passenger side, followed by the Skeleton, who flicks his lit cigarette into the back of Bart’s neck. A spark flies into the air as the butt falls into his T-shirt. Bart jumps around and squeals, “OWWWWEEE!” until it drops out, and he turns to slap the Skeleton’s face. The Skeleton puts Bart in a headlock before slamming his skull into the truck door. They roll around the parking lot until Nick yells, “Knock it off!” and they stroll over.
Phil looks relieved by how quickly my friends arrived, but slightly worried about the can of worms he may have opened. C. B. stops grinning and asks us, “Are you guys ready to give Carter a beat-down?”
He throws his tattooed arm around my neck before they can answer. He leads me toward the set, and the guys follow. As we approach the trash area, EJ shakes his head in disbelief at the trucks, RVs, crew guys, lights, and cameras. “Man, you’re really starring in a movie?!”
I give him a nod and reply, “Not really, I just have a lot of lines.”
C. B. turns around and says, “Yeah he is, and he’s doing a great job. We need you guys to help us make this fight scene believable, and after you do that, you’re going to shoot a quick scene with Hilary Idaho.” The guys high-five each other, and Nutt starts humping the air. Matilda stands beside Hilary’s trailer and glares at him.
C. B. continues, “You gotta ridicule and beat the hell out of Carter first!”
They nod their heads in unison as if that was the most normal request they’ve ever heard. I try to tell them that there’s no reason to actually beat me up, but C. B. cuts me off and clarifies, “No, guys, this is real! This happened to me. . . . These assholes punched and kicked me until my nose broke and my ribs cracked, just because they could, and I want the audience to feel the pain that I felt. I want them to be furious with you for assaulting such a vulnerable character—”
Hormone raises his hand and asks, “What does ‘vulnerable’ mean?” Bart translates. “Pussy.” They all nod.
C. B. continues. “Yes, if you’re not savage enough, it doesn’t work. You have to impact this character’s life.”
The Skeleton punches his palm and laughs. “We’re gonna impact your face, Carter!”
C. B. cheers, “Yeah! Call him Chris or dirtbag, though, when we film. This is the turning point of this character’s journey, when he decides that this town is poison and he has to leave.”
My boys are getting pretty fired up about kicking my ass, and it’s worrying me a little. I climb into the Dumpster, and they take their positions on the other side of the loading dock with College Carter Dumbass. C. B. has them huddled up, and it seems a lot more natural for these dudes than the last group. He’s really up in their faces, and he keeps pointing toward me. My best friends are scowling at me and growing more aggressive with every glance. As if I’m their sworn enemy and they’re finally getting the chance to take me out.
I ask C. B. if he wants to walk through one, but he just puts the camera over his shoulder and says, “No, let’s shoot it and see what happens! Don’t be afraid to be COMPLETE assholes!” He calls out, “Camera ready!” then points at the guys like an army sergeant and yells, “ACTION!”
I bend down and stuff a few more bits of meat loaf into my bag. I’m zipping it up when College Carter Dumbass yells his line (without the British accent). “‘Hey, dirtbag! Whadaya think you’re doin’?’”
It actually sounds like he means it this time. I peer over the edge and see J-Low and Doc give a couple of menacing cackles as they saunter over. Nutt pushes J-Low to the ground and jumps into the air with excitement before yelling, “S’up, you FAGGOT?!”
My boys all look at him. This is their first scene in a movie, but they’re pretty sure Nutt just went too far. C. B. moves his eye away from the camera, shakes his head, and says, “Uhhh, cut. Okay, guys, go back to your first position, and let’s try that again. Maybe dial down the asshole a little.” He points at Nutt and says, “You . . . don’t talk anymore.”
Bart pushes his brother and says, “Yeah, dumbass,” as if he hadn’t taught his little brother to be grossly inappropriate since birth.
Phil yells, “Quiet on the set!”
And C. B. calls, “ACTION!”
I duck back down and make sure I have enough of this plastic pizza in my bag. Uh, it reeks!
The other Carter yells the line again, and I look over the side; they are ready to rumble. Nutt has his hands stuffed into his pockets to help restrain his enthusiasm.
C. B. moves the camera with me as I climb down the side and say, “‘Hey guys, this isn’t what it looks like. I-I-I’m on the recycling committee.’”
Hormone jumps in on the action and gives himself a line. “What recycling committee, you stutterin’ little bitch?! I’ve never seen your dirty ass at the student council meetings!”
Everybody looks at Hormone to see where he’s going with this, when Doc adds, “I think your diggin’ in that trash for your dinner, aren’t you, dirtbag?”
They all chuckle, and Hormone adds, “You’re gettin’ a little down-and-out takeout, aren’tcha’?!”
I look at them in shock. They’re better at this then I thought they’d be. I try to say, “Yeah . . . look I gotta go,” and walk past.
The Skeleton stops me and asks, “So what’s for dinner?” as he grabs my backpack and rips it open. Pizza and meat loaf spill out onto the ground, and they all start laughing.
“Ahhh, nasty. You spilled his groceries!” EJ adds.
Nutt picks up a handful of meat loaf and disobeys C. B. by yelling, “Five-second rule, bitch!” and chucks it right in my face. It was fired at close range, and I wasn’t expecting it at all, so it shocks the hell out of me when it smacks into my cheek and eye. Nutt’s a pitcher on the baseball team, so the meat loaf had some heat on it. Tears fill my eyes.
All of my boys are cutting up when J-Low cackles, “Are you cryin’?”
I tell him to shut up and push him backward, before wiping my eyes. EJ shoves me into the Dumpster and my head smacks into the hard metal wall—BANG—“Don’t touch him, dirtbag!”
I grab my head and feel
a knot growing. A runaway tear flows down my cheek.
Doc looks disgusted when he says, “You’re such a little bitch!”
J-Low adds, “Your pussy ass is always cryin’, you know that?!”
That was uncalled for, so I yell, “No I’m not!” and try to run past. Somebody grabs my shirt, and it rips from the force.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?” Bart asks, pushing me to the blacktop. “We’re here to kick your ass, and we haven’t even started yet.”
They’re crowding in on me, and C. B. moves his camera over Bag’s shoulder. I jump up and grab the backpack before saying, “No, dude, I think we’re good . . . You guys need to back up!”
Hormone pushes me and asks, “Or what?”
EJ demands, “What are you gonna do about it, dirt-bag?”
I can’t think of anything to say, and I think we’ve talked enough, so I swing my backpack and it hits College Carter Dumbass in the shoulder before splattering meat loaf all over the rest of them.
“AHHH!!!” They lunge at the same time and tackle me to the ground. “You MOTHER—!!!” They’re hitting and kicking me all over my body . . . but they’re pulling their punches. I tag College Carter Dumbass in the balls, because he left them wide open. I was so worked up that I may have done it harder than I needed to.
EJ yells, “Help the homeless, help the homeless!” as he pretends to kick me in the ribs. I’m flailing and grunting with the blows, but no one is actually connecting very hard (except me).
C. B. moves the camera closer to my face. College Carter Dumbass is rolling around in real pain, and Nutt grabs a handful of meat loaf and shoves it into my face as he yells, “Don’t waste food, dirtbag!”
They laugh hysterically while I scream and try to get away. The meat loaf is rancid. “STOP IT! Get off me!” I demand, but they keep punching at me until I stop fighting and pretend to give up. I’m so out of gas!
EJ’s gasping for air, too, when he says, “Dude—that was—pretty fun!”
My eyes are closed, and I think they’re walking away until Brock exclaims, “Let’s put this garbage back in the Dumpster,” and they hoist me up and toss me back into the maggot pile. Dang it!
Carter's Big Break Page 16
