Alice in La La Land

by Sophie Lee

  'There he is!' shouted Stephanie. Alice felt her heart racing in anticipation. All the competing horses were now assembled in their starting bays. The silence was pervasive. Alice looked down at her ticket. Lastly Topaz was horse number five and his odds were ten to one.

  At last the horses were off. Their horse had pulled out in about eighth place. 'Early days yet,' mumbled Nick to himself. The horses' hooves thundered on the dry track and a dust cloud billowed around them. The loudspeaker commentary informed them that Lastly Topaz was running in fifth place, and the favourite, Salamander, was at the head of the pack.

  'Come on, Topaz, you little bewdy!' Alice yelled, reverting to her Wollongong roots in a fit of urging. She clutched her ticket tight and kept her eyes focused on the track.

  Stephanie unconsciously reached out and grabbed Alice's hand as they watched their horse draw closer to the lead. He was now in second place with a hundred yards to go and the race-track commentator seemed to be saying Lastly Topaz and Salamander as if they were the only two horses in the race. At the very last, the unthinkable happened. Lastly Topaz won by a nose.

  Alice, Nick and Stephanie caught each other in a violent scrum and Alice's headband flew off. They were yelling and cheering like the oldest friends in the world.

  'He did it, he did it!' shouted Nick. Their waiter appeared to take their drinks order and the three shouted in unison, 'Champagne!'

  'This is unbelievable!' exclaimed Nick, for the third time. 'Unbelievable! Did you see him surge forward like that? What a champ, that horse is a champ,' he declared, and the three caught each other in another congratulatory hug. Alice felt the warmth of Nick's arms around her waist and she couldn't think of another place she'd rather be.

  Alice observed Nick in the darkness of the limo. He sat opposite and the length of his legs caused their knees to touch. Alice had the odd sensation of molten pingpong balls travelling up and down her thighs.

  They had dropped Joe and Stephanie off at the Beverly Hills Hotel where the celebration was continuing. Alice opted out and Nick said he would ride back with her to see her safely home before returning to the others.

  'I'm sorry I can't stay out with you all,' Alice apologised, gripping her handbag on her lap. 'It's been such an amazing day. But I just know I won't be able to relax until I check my emails. See if I've been able to make headway chasing up this money.'

  'Sure, it's okay, Alice, I totally understand,' said Nick lightly.

  Alice sat back in her seat and sighed. 'If only every day was a big limo day.'

  Nick smiled. 'Aren't they your everyday means of transportation?'

  'Sure, the Daewoo Limo. It's super,' she answered, rubbing the armrest. 'This is embarrassing,' she said suddenly. 'I've bored you with the details of my failed attempt at producing a hit play and my subsequent pilgrimage to the US of A and do you know, I haven't even asked what you do. Or is that a politically incorrect question these days?'

  'I work in publishing,' he replied.

  'How amazing! What aspect of publishing?'

  Nick paused. 'Oh, it's not that amazing. I'm afraid I took the plunge into a career change in my late twenties, so for the moment I'm working in the publicity side of the business with an independent children's publisher.'

  Alice was impressed. 'What does your job entail?'

  'Well, I mainly take care of the authors while they're in Dublin to publicise their work. I make sure they're looked after.' He smiled. 'Actually, that part of my job is great; I've met some very interesting people and made real friends. I suppose eventually I'd like to diversify . . . Well, let's be frank, be promoted to a different department, headhunted by a bigger publisher, all that. Get paid enough to cover the mortgage.'

  'That's great, Nick. I admire you for changing careers like that. It must've taken some guts.'

  'It wasn't an easy decision, but I'm bloody glad I made it,' he said casually. 'Anyway, what else . . . I live just outside of Dublin in a place called Celbridge.' He paused and cleared his throat. 'I have a garden in the back that's going to ruin. Bad idea, really. What else?' he sighed. 'I'm afraid I like cars, fast cars. Can't afford the ones I love, of course, and the other people in my office think I'm evil for harbouring such a fetish. Cars are bad, you know, fossil fuels, global warming, all that. People who work in publishing shouldn't like sports cars.'

  'Yes, for shame, you should be driving a Prius to your James Joyce Appreciation Society Meetings,' Alice scolded.

  'My what?'

  Alice smiled in the dark. The limo whizzed smoothly along a wide tree-lined street. Alice had no idea where they were but it looked very different from the Miracle Mile precinct.

  'What car would you have, if you could have any car you wanted?' she asked.

  'Tough one.' He scratched his head. 'You can't beat a Porsche 911 though, can you?' he said finally. He stretched his legs so that they were no longer touching hers, and the pingpong balls came to a rest.

  'I dare say not, but then I wouldn't really know. Anyway, as I said, at present my vehicular choice is a Daewoo.'

  'Well, no one would take a Daewoo by choice, Alice. You were forced into it by circumstance.'

  'I guess.'

  'And by the way, I ride a uni-cycle to the James Joyce Society Meetings. Makes it easier to show off my tweed jodhpurs.'

  Alice laughed. 'Where are you staying, Nick?'

  'With the guys in a serviced apartment in Studio City. All paid for by Joe's boss, which is pretty nice. I really never planned to come with him. It just happened to coincide nicely, and here I am.'

  'And here you are,' sighed Alice. Her palms were damp and she fumbled in her bag for her handkerchief. She finally retrieved it, only to discover it reeked of alcohol from where she had tidied up the champagne spillage on the journey out.

  'This is it, ma'am,' announced the limo driver. He pulled over and got out, opened the door then stood waiting.

  'Nick, it's been great, thanks a lot.' Alice wiped her hands quickly and returned the handkerchief to her handbag.

  'Alice?'

  'Yes?'

  'Well, it was a pleasure, of course, but I was going to ask what you've got planned for tomorrow, if that's not too . . .'

  'It's not!' said Alice quickly. 'You know, I'm going to do some boring line-learning, natch, but then there's a flea-market on Melrose I read about. It's only two bucks to go and there's free parking . . . What?'

  Nick grinned. 'No nothing, I just pictured us surrounded by garden gnomes and other tat but you know what? Why don't we do that tomorrow, that sounds grand.'

  'One condition.'

  'Which is?' Nick looked alarmed. 'Oh God, we don't have to actually buy the garden gnomes, do we?'

  'We'll see. You never know when some interaction with a gnome could be handy,' Alice replied. 'But I was merely going to stipulate that we get pancakes first. I want to try out this place called Duke's on Sunset. It's like a proper old-fashioned café with that old-style American coffee. You know, like a place where detectives would eat breakfast.'

  'Sure, Alice. Let's dine American style with a lot of undercover types. Your wish is my . . . well, you know. I'll get Joe to give me a ride over around ten. I know they've made plans for the morning. Although I bet they'll have some sore heads when it comes to it.'

  'Please tell them they're more than welcome and thanks again, Nick. I had a really nice day,' she said, and stuck her hand out for him to shake. He took it and shook it warmly. He was looking at her intently. She gulped involuntarily and hoped he didn't notice in the darkness.

  'Thanks a lot, driver. See ya,' Alice waved, willing herself not to look back, and headed round the apartment to the garage steps.

  Once inside, Alice went into the office and logged onto her webmail, careful not to disturb the cats who were curiously silent. She was pleased to note that a message from Flick was waiting in her inbox.

  Dear Moon Face,

  Glad to hear you are taking the Land of LA by storm and I'm sure it's
not long til you encounter someone with the brains to see you for the double threat that you are – gorgeous AND funny to boot. Don't you dare tamper with your lovely red locks, (okay, okay, so they're strawberry blonde) . . . after all, Nicole Kidman isn't doing too badly.

  I'm so sorry to hear about your dad and I'm looking into those questions you asked. I heard a whisper that Conrad was moving on to bigger and better things so I'm sure he's in a position to help you out with your Marzipan debt. Could it have been New York? I'm not sure but I'm going to find out. Make sure you get Bunny onto it as well.

  I'm now in production week for the wonderfully turgid Patrick White play at the Sydney Theatre Company, and must confess to loving every minute of it. Tippy says hi, and is amazed you're tackling that hell-hole at all . . .

  Must dash,

  All love,

  Flick

  Alice smiled at the affection pouring out of the email and felt boosted by her friend's words. But seeing Conrad's name made her feel panicky somehow. She was aware she needed to face him, now more than ever, but wished she could go on pretending he no longer existed. It was less painful that way. The thought of him with another woman made her stomach contract.

  Alice checked her watch. It was nearly 11 pm. She decided to phone her dad. Her mother answered and called him to the phone.

  'What's it like over there?' he asked. 'All glitz and glamour and long lunches, I hope. Are they wining and dining my princess?'

  'Something like that, Dad.'

  'Seen any stars? Have you bumped into Elton John?'

  'Elton John? Why Elton John?'

  'He's a big star, isn't he?'

  'I guess but . . . God, remember how much you laughed at that Benny Hill joke? How did it go? Is his real name Elton John?'

  'Is whose real name Elton John?' chimed in her dad and they both chuckled.

  'We miss you, Alice,' he said quietly. 'I got used to having you around again. It was nice.'

  Alice felt her eyes fill with tears. 'Dad, I'm thinking of you. Right? And if you need me to come . . .'

  'It's all under control, blossom. Don't you worry. Just knock 'em dead, okay.'

  'I will, Dad. I will.'

  Alice sat back in the retractable chair in the darkness of the office. She yawned and stretched.

  At age twelve, during a casting session for a new play, Alice was seized by the epiphanic realisation that if the nuns didn't award her the lead role (which happened to be for a male, but the school was all girls, so that was the way it had to be) she'd be sorely disappointed. Perhaps to spite her, Sister Bernadette gave the part to a large auburn-haired galoomph named Glennis Richards who excelled at woodwork and who couldn't project her voice beyond the front row. After a good deal of deliberation, Sister Bernadette decided that Alice should have no part to play at all and would direct the production instead.

  'But, Sister Bernadette, you know that I love to . . .'

  'No, Alice Evans, my decision is final, and I think you'll enjoy directing after all. You wait and see. Not everything can go your way all the time, Alice, and the sooner you learn that the better.'

  Alice did the best she could with the mutinous maroon-uniformed girls, all horribly miscast in their respective roles. But that was Sister Bernadette for you, thought Alice, she was always out to make everyone around her miserable. Alice figured that if you got the calling from God to be a nun, it was more a life sentence than a gift and had the effect of turning you bitter as time marched on.

  Alice wondered if the nun's vocation wasn't turning out to resemble her calling to the performing arts: more of a pox than a delight.

  Soon after, Alice discovered an advertisement in the local paper for an amateur theatre group that met on Saturdays, called Three Til Six.

  'Mum! Dad! Can I join?' shouted Alice at the breakfast table.

  'You're a dick,' snorted her brother Jasper.

  'Three Til Six Theatre, it's for teenagers!' she explained.

  Her parents were silent. It turned out that classes were held all the way on the other side of town, and would be a massive inconvenience, said her mother, who did not drive. Her father quietly volunteered to drive her every Saturday, there and back, and to rehearsals for the end of term play. It didn't matter if he'd had a nightshift on Friday and needed to sleep the next day; if it was what Alice wanted, then she must go.

  Alice remembered emerging from the Saturday class elated to find her dad asleep at the wheel in the carpark.

  'I think you'll go far, Alice,' he whispered, after seeing a performance of the Pied Piper of Hamlin. 'What a magnificent rat you made, love. The way you did that thing with your nose,' he added, twitching his own.

  'Thanks, Dad,' said Alice flushing with pleasure. 'You know we did special classes on physicalising animals. I was especially good at meerkats and rodents.'

  'I'll say,' said her dad, turning the key in the ignition with a smile.

  At ten o' clock on Sunday morning, Alice headed for Duke's café on Sunset Boulevard. She wore her Levis, Converse sneakers and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a green dinosaur on the front. Nick was waiting for her. He seemed slightly nervous and was twisting a copy of the Lonely Planet Guide to LA in his hands. When he saw her, he broke into a wide grin. Alice felt strangely comfortable and safe as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

  'Hello, how did you finish up last night?' she asked, as they walked inside and slid into a booth.

  Nick wore jeans, T-shirt and white Adidas with red-and-blue stripes. He looked clean and scrubbed and smelled like licorice.

  'Coffee?' asked a waiter who looked as though he'd had little sleep the night before.

  'Yes, please,' Alice and Nick said simultaneously.

  The waiter poured coffee from the sort of coffeepot that Alice had seen in countless American movies with scenes in diners, where truck drivers ordered key lime pie. She chose the banana pancake stacks for them both and noted the jug of maple syrup on their table with approval.

  'I'll be right back with your order,' said the waiter, noisily clearing his throat.

  'Thanks,' said Alice. She looked back at Nick.

  'It was pretty late, but a lot of fun. How did you go at your end?' he asked, pouring a large amount of sugar into his coffee.

  'I'm onto it,' Alice sighed, feeling that same weariness descend as she thought about her dad's cancer. Alice shook her head to dispel the heaviness.

  She looked round Duke's with curiosity. The combination of heavy wood panelling and low lighting rendered it unusually dark for a breakfast establishment. The walls were adorned with framed black-and-white photos of Hollywood royalty.

  Within minutes, the café started filling up with people eager for greasy breakfasts, and the place felt more festive. Their pancakes arrived, doughy and thick and topped with melting butter. The servings were enormous.

  'Plenty of bang for your pancake buck,' noted Alice appreciatively. She placed a paper napkin on her lap, rubbed her hands together in anticipation, then forked a fluffy mouthful with a slice of banana. She sighed contentedly. For a moment her worries were forgotten. She swallowed. She opened her eyes and saw that Nick was staring at her.

  'What?' she asked, reaching for her cup of coffee.

  'Nothing,' said Nick casually, and started to eat his breakfast.

  'Cor, bloody hell, it's sweet isn't it?' he remarked.

  'Delicious,' Alice declared, slicing through her stack.

  They savoured their breakfasts in silence.

  'I'm curious, Alice. What's the thing you love most about your work?' asked Nick, having made major inroads on his pancakes.

  'My work? Or lack thereof. Well, let me think,' she said, and took another sip of coffee. It was bitter and she added more sugar. 'Half-and-Half, what is that exactly?' she wondered, looking at a small container of the product on the table.

  'Huh? Oh, I dunno, some crazy American thing to make you feel less guilty about what you're adding to your cuppa, I suppose.'

  'It
's just, I can't figure out if it's half-normal, half-skim, half-soy, half-cow perhaps? But they wouldn't mix bean extracts and lactose, would they? Anyway, where was I?' She cautiously opened the container of Half-and-Half and sniffed it. 'I'd have to say theatre rehearsal. You get lots of long days to talk about the play and the themes it embodies and to explore your character on the floor; it's just the most wonderful . . . you know,' she trailed off feeling embarrassed. 'There's absolutely no money in it, of course.' She took another mouthful of pancake. 'It's a luxury to even be able to do it. In fact, you almost have to be a movie star to be able to afford to return to the theatre. It just isn't fair.'

  'Hmm,' Nick mused, leaning back and sipping his coffee.

  Alice smiled. 'I suppose my fondest memories of work would be cycling through the Botanic Gardens to rehearsal at the Malthouse Theatre in South Melbourne, with my lunch all packed and a thermos of coffee, of course, knowing that I had a whole day of acting and discussion about the text ahead of me. It felt like a privilege, somehow.' Alice paused. 'I assume you didn't always envisage a career in publishing?'

  'Huh?'

  'You said something about a career change last night.'

  Nick sat forward and made another stab at his pancake stack. 'I wanted to be a professional musician, actually, forever and ever, but I just couldn't handle the freelance lifestyle.'

  'What about it?'

  'Just the job insecurity, dealing with other people's egos, knowing that I was good, but just not good enough to . . . Well, not having enough of a passion for it to put up with all the shite.'

  Alice poured some Half-and-Half into her coffee. 'What instrument?' she asked, taking a sip, and finally finding her coffee agreeable.

  'The bass,' he said. 'I must say, I feel a bit tragic admitting there was a band, and yes, we had a modicum of local success.'