Alice in La La Land

by Sophie Lee

  Jonah deposited her into the waiting room, bid her goodbye and collected the Reluctant Kitten who charmingly extended her tiny hand to him.

  'Thank you,' said Alice, but they had already gone. She headed back to the lift, handed in her security pass to the receptionist downstairs and ventured into the parking lot. She had completely forgotten where she had parked her car and spent the better part of the next half-hour looking for it.

  2

  'No room, no room!' they cried out when they saw Alice coming.

  Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

  Alice sat alone in a booth at Mel's Diner eating silver dollar pancakes with maple syrup. It was close to 6 pm. She knew it was an inappropriate time to be eating what was essentially breakfast, but pancakes were what she craved. Fluffy discs of lightly fried batter smothered in butter and syrup were a remedy for just about anything. The intense sweetness of the maple syrup made Alice's forehead sweat.

  She thought back over her big screen test. It was impossible to figure out how it had gone. This was always the way with the crucial auditions. Often you'd come out thinking, 'Yes, that went brilliantly, I'm sure to get that job,' only not to even get a callback. Other times you'd emerge miserable, longing to go back in and erase what you'd done, to find they'd loved it. Earlier in her career, she'd tested for a period drama set in the outback. She was suffering from an allergy that day and had to plaster over a facial rash with concealer. Her eyes were red and watery and she felt that merely showing up was going to be a complete waste of everyone's time. The director had loved her bold choice in giving the character a head-cold and went on to cast her in the second-to-lead role.

  She'd got off to a bad start for Rough Beast Slouching and they'd reined her in for potential hamminess. But once she'd reset herself, she felt confident she'd done some interesting work.

  Alice slid the remaining pancake round her plate to sop up the last remnants of butter and syrup. Her jeans' pocket started to buzz.

  Rebekah flashed on the caller ID. Alice's heart jumped. Could they have decided already? She cautiously answered the call.

  'Hey, Alice,' Rebekah said, her voice casual. 'How are you?'

  'I'm well, thank you. These silver dollar pancakes sure are tasty.'

  'Oh my God, Alice, you are so eccentric. It's dinner time, not breakfast!'

  'Uh-huh, well, I needed to cheer myself up after the audition,' she said, letting the word hang.

  'Oh really? That's funny, I don't know why you'd want to cheer yourself up because they loved it.'

  'What?'

  'You're still in the mix, Alice, and as far as I know it's just you and the other British Name I mentioned! I know someone over at HBO who gave me the low-down but it's all hush-hush, okay?'

  'Oh my goodness, that's so wonderful!' Alice beamed at the waitress as she cleared her plate away. 'Gee, I thought it would probably go to the Kitten, or the other nice girl!'

  'The kitten?'

  'Never mind, it's not important, that's great. So when will we know?'

  'I've told them they need to move fast as you're optioned for something else, so it should be real soon.'

  'Really? Are you sure you should have lied to them like that? I have bugger-all on, as far as I know.'

  'Relax, Alice. Order yourself some other breakfast food and celebrate. Oh, and maybe don't say "bugger" while you're here. It can be a little shocking.'

  Alice smiled, sat back and looked out the window of the diner to the parking lot. Two swarthy parking attendants in dark green jackets dashed between expensive SUVs. It took Alice a couple of minutes to notice that every single driver emerged with either a cell phone clamped to their ear or was tapping messages into their Blackberry with an earpiece attached. Nobody seemed to be merely handing their keys to a valet. Apparently, time was a precious commodity in Los Angeles. It was as if people, in their eagerness to get ahead, felt they were being underproductive if they were not multitasking at every available moment. Mel's Diner's valet and waiting staff were probably all actors too, waiting for that special break. Alice thought it amazing that even a '50s diner on Sunset had a valet service.

  'Anything else?' asked her waitress. She had short black hair and several facial piercings. Her nametag read 'Betty' but Alice figured her name was not as her tag indicated. It was probably Cheyenne or Deniqua.

  'No, all done. That was lovely. I'll get the bill.'

  'The cheque?' said the girl, sounding bored.

  'Sorry, the cheque. There's a couple of cats and a swimsuit model waiting for me at home.'

  'Lucky you,' Betty muttered, and raised a pierced eyebrow.

  Yes, lucky me, Alice agreed, and made her way to the cash register.

  Alice drove the Daewoo down Sunset Boulevard. Lights twinkled and ritzy clothes shops beckoned. She passed the billboard of an ageing Hollywood diva straddling a chair and wondered whether Fenella Farmer looked as airbrushed in real life as she did in the poster. She remembered reading an interview with the actress where she'd said that she needed to hang upside down like a bat to preserve her looks. Even though Fenella was rapidly approaching fifty, she was still showing off her assets in size-nothing clothes that would be better suited to a teenager. The pressure to maintain her looks must occupy her every waking moment, Alice mused. In her blissful state she felt a rush of affection for Madame Fenella and smiled up at her shiny plastic features.

  Alice turned right down San Vicente and headed toward the Miracle Mile. It was becoming chilly and she wound up her window. She fiddled with the heater setting and turned the radio to a hip-hop and R&B station that seemed to play only three tunes on high rotation.

  Alice shivered as she waited for the heat to kick in. The sooner she could get working, the sooner she could repay her debts and start over. Thinking about her debts led to thinking about her ex and had the effect of a noose slowly tightening around her neck.

  Twelve months before Alice's arrival in the USA, she had auditioned successfully for the lead role in an American science fiction pilot being shot Down Under. Americans liked to shoot cheaply in Australia, and had been known to refer to Australian crew members as 'Mexicans with cell phones', an epithet complimentary to neither nationality. The pilot was called Starmap 3000 and it explored the frailties of human warriors navigating their way through the galaxy.

  Alice had decided to turn down the part as the dates clashed with her theatre company's first major production. Bunny, her Australian agent, was horrified. She considered all things American sacrosanct. Co-op theatre in Redfern came exactly last in her assessment of bright career choices.

  Con B. Theatre Company was an outfit of two: Alice and her boyfriend, Conrad. Conrad was a gifted writer-director with a cunning talent for harnessing the Zeitgeist. He was also adept at extracting exciting performances from his cast and was considered something of an enfant terrible in Sydney's theatre community.

  The company was run out of the spare room in Alice and Conrad's rented Paddington terrace. It was a dark room at the front of a north-facing double-fronter. The gloominess was due to a large jacaranda, majestic in the months of October and November when in full purple bloom, but an obstruction to sunlight for the remainder of the year. Within the house, Alice and Conrad had to navigate their way around set-pieces and small backdrops, not only during their production meetings but also in their domestic lives.

  Con B. was a co-operative, which meant that when you signed on, you were paid later. The takings at the box office would be split evenly between the cast, crew, writer and director.

  Alice enjoyed her role as producer, which put her in charge of the allocation of funds. She'd also performed in both of the company's productions to date. Their first production was staged in the side room of a pub in Woolloomooloo, the dialogue competing with the ting of the cash register in the front bar.

  Alice felt it was important that Conrad's talent be nurtured. It seemed everyone knew he was destined for a promising career. The two of
them enjoyed a fiery working relationship; it was as though Conrad wanted to convey to the cast and crew that he wasn't granting his girlfriend any special favours. She had left many a rehearsal session feeling excoriated, only to have to switch hats and walk into a production meeting as the producer.

  Citrus Days of the Marzipan Pig had won a coveted spot in Sydney's Belvoir Street Theatre on the strength of the script. This was a proper gig, and they wouldn't have to compete with the rowdiness of beer-drinkers in an adjoining bar. Conrad had written an ambitious contemporary piece in three acts, which straddled subject matter such as alienation, terrorism and globalisation. The production was going to require careful planning and execution. Conrad was meticulous about detail. Casting, set design, contemporary relevance and musical score all had to meet his high expectations. In the pre-production period, Alice had also been offered the leading role in a talking horse movie and Conrad was less than impressed.

  'Alice, I don't know whether to say congrats or just . . . I dunno, whinny,' he'd said. 'There's only two months to go 'til rehearsals start for Citrus Days and we need that time for planning and casting. Anyway, why would you prostitute your art for a talking horse? You're too good for that, babe. Where's it being shot?'

  'It's local for once,' Alice sighed. Ninety per cent of the time, when you signed on for a film, you also signed on for three or so months in another part of the country. 'Conrad, the money from this film will cover our rent and could contribute to the budget of the show. Anyway, apparently the director's good.'

  'Really?'

  In Conrad's opinion, no director that helmed a talking horse movie could be good.

  'Look, I turned down Starmap 3000 because the dates clashed with our play this February and my agent hasn't let me forget it, okay?'

  Conrad snorted. Alice had to agree the pilot's title sounded dumb, but you never knew what would be picked up for a series. She tried another tack. 'So far we only have part of the budget and that's only because my parents have invested. How much money did you say you could contribute?'

  'My parents haven't got back to me yet. My mother's got a possible meningioma.'

  'Really? I thought it was a cataract,' said Alice with concern.

  'Shall we go and see the Vienna Theatre Company's production of Kafka's Metamorphoses tonight? The artistic director gave me tickets and wants to catch up after the show.' Conrad turned away signalling the subject was closed.

  Dusk fell quickly in Los Angeles and if you were a little way up in the hills, West Hollywood rolled out before you like a moth-eaten document. The polluted air made for spectacularly colourful sunsets; they were visions of toxic radiance. Alice navigated her way easily to the Miracle Mile district and was surprised to notice for the first time that there were some major museums in the area. The Miracle Mile stretched between Wilshire, La Brea and Fairfax Avenue, and was named after miraculous commercial growth during the '20s – according to her city guide which Alice had consulted when initially bewildered by the incongruity of the title; in her mind there was nothing miraculous about the locale at all. She passed a bevy of two-dollar shops and a multitude of tiny condensed malls on the way to her street, and then eased into the narrow passageway to her apartment's carpark. She climbed the back steps quickly, eager to get into her tiny bit of borrowed sanctuary. Dinner had been taken care of at Mel's Diner so thankfully she didn't need to venture into the kitchen. Who knew what foul visions might be awaiting her? She carefully slipped into her room and made sure the door was properly shut, no easy task with all the chains and belts hanging on the doorknob, but it was important to do so because the cats had some heft and could possibly buffet a door open even if it was only slightly ajar. She retrieved her pale blue-and-white-striped pyjamas from under the pillow and was comforted by their clean, cottony smell. She sighed gratefully, got changed and settled into bed to read her favourite American crime writer before drifting off to sleep.

  On Saturday morning Alice awoke early, feeling rested. If there had been feline shenanigans in the night, she'd been blissfully unaware of them. She pulled back the heavy red curtains and looked out the window. The sky hung low, a dirty grey canopy. What Alice called 'pollution' the locals euphemistically referred to as 'marine haze'. Anyway, it looked ugly first thing in the morning over a concrete carpark. Shauna's Mustang wasn't in its spot and Alice briefly wondered where she was.

  She crept down the hall to the front office, careful not to alert the cats to her presence. She switched the light on. There they were, regarding her unblinkingly, and she shrieked, then shooed them out.

  She supposed the front room had a nice aspect but for the most part, it was depressing checking your emails in someone else's office. It felt covert, somehow. Alice logged on. There was an email from Neville, heralding the arrival of bulk cat food. He congratulated himself on the money saved buying in bulk, and requested eardrops be administered to the cats. That was Shauna's department, Alice decided, and wrote her a note.

  Next was an email from Amoeba Management. Rebekah! But why hadn't she called? The email had been sent at 8 pm when Alice was already asleep.

  Dear Alice,

  I tried your cell but it was switched off. We got some news regarding the sitcom and I wanted to let you know as I'm flying to New York first thing and won't be able to talk. Hon, they are going with the Name actress. She is British and they needed at least one star. Apparently the director LOVED your work, but the network decided to go the other way. Really sorry you missed this one, but you did so well getting as far as you did on your first audition! We have so many more things to send you out on. Expect a courier with a load of scripts any minute.

  I'll call you from New York.

  Love Rebekah

  PS: Bob Dwyer and Shannon Green at CAA loved helping out on this one, but regret they can't take you on as a client at the present moment.

  Alice sat motionless at the computer. The back of her throat prickled. Rejection was never easy; even after ten years in the business, it still hit you in the solar plexus. They didn't want you after all. Alice wished she was one of the exoskeleton actresses. At times like these, she really admired their cockroach-like resilience. She gazed out the office window. The trees appeared frozen. Even though it was Saturday morning there was still no one about. Didn't people have papers delivered around here? Didn't they have dogs to walk?

  There was another email. This one was from her mother.

  Dear heart,

  I am new to this emailing business but realise it's a great way to stay in contact. Are you all right? We miss you. Dad and I have been having a lovely time this morning, walking through the big nature reserve behind the soccer oval. The council did some work on the bush track and it's now quite a pleasant walk with no machete required. We saw sea eagles and lorikeets today. We'll be glad when summer's over as Dad really feels the heat, although he's much better than he was. He can walk for half an hour now without getting tired which Dr Kerns says is great progress. Do you want my recipe for Anzac biscuits? You mentioned something about it but I'm not sure you have anywhere to bake them. Send me your address as I have some newspaper clippings to give you. Dr Kerns wants to see us about Dad's new pathology results first thing next week. Fingers crossed everything is okay . . .

  Celestia Bannow is doing so well in America, isn't she?

  I'll write again soon.

  Love Mum

  PS: Remember, if things don't work out over there, our neighbours who run the cake shop said you could have your old job back.

  3

  Alice soon came to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed.

  Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

  Alice headed down Fairfax Avenue in search of breakfast. At half-past ten she parked opposite a small café on Third Street that she knew served a tasty turkey chilli. She had discovered it on her second day in LA as it was situated around the corner from her manager's office. She hoped they were serving chilli at half-past
ten. Although it was more of a lunch item than a breakfast one, at this point it was the comfort food she required. If she had it with a freshly squeezed papaya or something, maybe it could become more appropriate to the time of day.

  Alice wondered fleetingly how the exoskeletons recovered from knockbacks. It sure as hell wasn't with food. Those armour-plated actresses probably flinched once, let out one dainty squeak then immediately started learning lines for the next audition.

  Alice got out of the Daewoo and checked it was properly locked. A billboard caught her eye as she crossed Third Street. It heralded the premiere of a 'stellar' new series coming this April. Alice took one look at the title and went cold all the way to her ankles.

  Starmap 3000's poster depicted a rusty spaceship suspended in a starry sky. The spaceship looked as though it had been fashioned from large sheets of tin, Band-Aids and bits of string. The many portholes on the side of the craft were fogged up. The spaceship had bird-like wings tucked close to its sides, like a metallic chicken about to be popped into a colossal oven. The title was in bold white typeface above the spaceship and the overall effect was imaginative and compelling. It was obvious Starmap 3000 had been picked up for series and it had the look of a winner.

  The whoop of a siren brought Alice back to reality. Two navy-blue-suited cops had stepped out of their vehicle and were glaring at her from across the street, their badges glinting in the sun. She was rooted to the spot in between two lanes of traffic on Third Street.