by Sophie Lee
'Really, what were you called?' asked Alice sitting forward eagerly.
'Banana Crucifix,' Nick replied, wincing slightly.
'Oh . . . no, it doesn't ring a bell, sorry,' said Alice politely.
'Nor should it,' Nick answered, with some vehemence. 'In the end, I didn't like touring, worrying when or if there was a future for the band; it just didn't feel like real life to me. So, I quit. I guess I wanted a greater degree of autonomy, but you can't exactly be a solo bass player all your life, can you?'
'You could be a session musician, couldn't you?'
'I'm not a proficient enough bass player,' he said dismissively. 'So, anyway, I went back to uni, looked around for a real job and now I work for Carousel Books. It doesn't sound as glam, I know, but I honestly don't envy you your lot. What you do is hard. You've got to have the resolve and the belief to get you through.'
'Musicians, actors . . . not good careers, but there are worse vocations,' Alice responded, brandishing her fork at him and thinking of Sister Bernadette.
'Steady on there, with your implement and all. So tell me, what's a worse vocation than ours?'
'Imagine wanting to be a full-time poet!' Alice offered triumphantly.
'Well, you have a point. I don't think there are many poets living in houses with swimming pools out back and . . .'
'911s in the garage,' she continued. 'Let me think . . . Hold on, what about Leonard Cohen?'
'Love Leonard Cohen!' enthused Nick.
'Me too!' Alice beamed.
'But if you want to be specific, he really is a writer slash performer, isn't he?'
'Hmmm.' She felt sorry for Nick having given up the occupation he loved. Whenever she heard of colleagues packing it in for sensible careers, she felt slightly superior that she was still hanging in there, still in the race.
Nick ate a final mouthful. He groaned. 'That's all I can manage, I think.' His pancakes were only two-thirds eaten.
'Pussy!' laughed Alice, bravely taking another forkful. She felt as though she might faint or burst from the sugar overload.
'God!' Nick exclaimed suddenly. 'You'll never believe who I saw at the Beverly Hills Hotel last night with an enormous entourage.'
'This is Hollywood, after all,' said Alice. 'Let me see . . . Puff Daddy?'
'P Diddy he calls himself now, thanks very much, and no. Not him. But close . . . Jennifer Lopez.'
'How was I close?' Alice wanted to know.
'Well, weren't they a couple or something back in the day?'
'Oh, yeah, you're right,' nodded Alice. 'So, how was old J Lo looking?'
'Oh, you know, very bling bling and all that. I think she may have been wearing a turban. What is it about these stars, though? You see them and you really do recognise that special something that makes them a star. They have an aura.' He paused. 'Or is it maybe because you're so accustomed to seeing their image in the media that they appear that way, like living iconography, and they don't have a special something after all?'
The waiter returned to refill their coffee cups and broke into a noisy, hacking cough. A couple of older men at the table next to them talked in low tones and Alice wondered whether they were detectives.
'Thank you,' said Alice. She paused until the waiter had moved away. 'He should cut back on the Marlboros, don't you think?' She continued, 'I have a theory about that look that superstars have, about the special glow,'
'I'm all ears.'
'Personally, I think it's the glow of self-absorption. The more self-absorbed they are – well, that, combined with ruthless ambition and bottomless inner confidence. I swear, it does something to the facial features. It gives them a . . . superior radiance or something. If you thought about how fabulous you were 24/7, you'd probably have the glow of a celebrity about you too.'
'I think I'm happy being without the glow,' Nick responded, lazily stretching his legs. 'Too much thinking does my head in. I'd rather just get on with it.'
Alice smiled. 'Well, if we're all done here, shall we investigate these garden gnomes at the flea-market?'
'Just so you know, Alice, markets are definitely not my thing. Anyone but you and the answer would have been no.'
'Sure, sure, I'm very lucky. Hey, here's the bill. Shall we split it?'
'Absolutely not. It's my treat,' insisted Nick, reaching for his wallet. He puzzled over the American notes. 'Jeez, they all look the same,' he remarked, and laid down three ten-dollar bills, which included a generous tip. 'Let's go see these gnomes.' He reached forward and helped her slide out of the booth. 'I like your T-shirt,' he said, smiling at the green dinosaur.
'Well, thanks, Nick. I think you'll find I'm wearing flea-market couture. Let's go,' she said, smiling at the bronchially impaired waiter on the way out.
Alice leaned over and shoved the scripts aside so Nick could sit in the passenger seat of the Daewoo.
'Wind Man?' he laughed, reading from a script at his feet. 'Please tell me that's a working title. Or is it comedy about flatulence?'
'It's deadly serious, I'm afraid. Another superhero movie, but with a message about the environment.' Alice heard the scepticism in her tone. 'You know what? I can't start bagging this stuff and I've got to stay positive. Maybe Wind Man will be my break.'
'Sure, you could end up being Wind Girl and there'd be no harm in that,' he remarked. Alice could see the playfulness in his eyes.
'Fucking ridiculous, the things that get the green light. You know it only takes someone like Nicholas Cage to say yes and that's it.'
'And regular people like me just wonder why there's been nothing good at the cinema of late,' Nick observed.
'I like to catalogue the things I go for. Makes it easier to navigate my way through the auditions. Let's see,' she began, ticking things off on her fingers, 'there's the comedies that aren't funny, sci-fi that wants to be Blade Runner but never will be in a million years, action comedies always heavy on the bikini-clad female, horror movie classics that are re-made for no foreseeable reason, and rom-coms that are full of clichéd observations and nonsensical characters.' She paused momentarily and drew a breath. 'Any good female roles go straight to A-list actresses. Even for the second-best roles, you spend all night cramming twelve pages of dialogue, race across town and do your audition, only to be told a couple of weeks later that a big star decided they wanted to do it, or one of the supermodels decided she wanted to be an actress instead of designing her own fragrance. Hold on, that's Fairfax High School, isn't it? Look there's the free parking sign.' Alice turned sharply into the parking lot.
'So . . . basically you're here to audition for the dreg roles that nobody famous wants, or the really demeaning ones that actresses with a modicum of self-respect wouldn't deign to do?' Nick summarised.
'Even then, a lot of the crappy roles get swallowed up by big names,' Alice sighed. 'I honestly don't know how unknown actors break through doing it this way.' She parked the Daewoo, turned to Nick and forced a smile. 'But you know what? The director of Wind Man might see my tape and say, "That's her! We wanted a moon-faced, freckly strawberry blonde with a desperate air about her for this role . . . Get me that actress, and a dozen Krispy Kremes while you're at it, dammit!' Alice slammed the car door shut for emphasis.
'I don't envy you, Alice,' Nick remarked, heading with her toward the entry to the markets.
'Yeah, you said that already. But you will when I become Wind Girl,' she grinned. 'You know what? It's best not to think about it too much. I'm sure the exoskeletons don't. They just keep rocking up to audition after audition and eventually something happens for them . . . if their agents or managers don't give up on them in the meantime. That would be the worst. How much is it to get in? Two bucks?'
'I've got it,' said Nick, handing over the money. 'Exoskeletons,' he muttered under his breath, 'does anyone have any idea what she's going on about?'
'Hey, look, I see tapestries featuring puppies and kittens. Let's go!' she exclaimed, taking him lightly by the hand and leadin
g him to the first of many stalls brimming with junk.
They headed through a small crowd to a secondhand clothes stall. Alice began perusing the handbag collection. She picked up a large beige bag with a horse design on the front and a big gold buckle.
'How much is this?' she asked a girl reclining on a deck chair who looked to be in charge of the merchandise.
'Two dollars fifty,' she smiled. She had a short '80s-style fringe in a shocking shade of purple.
'Sold,' Alice announced, digging for the money in her jeans pocket. Once the transaction was complete, she smiled up at Nick, proudly displaying her horse handbag to him. 'Bargain!'
'It's cute,' he admitted. They strolled on.
'It's hard to put into words . . . the exoskeleton phenomenon. But I feel as though I can identify the girls who will succeed. It just bothers me that the innate qualities that will guide them through this, well, let's call it a wasteland shall we, I know I do not possess.' Alice looked down, noting that once again her shoe was untied. She stooped to re-tie it.
'The crab claws, the hard outer shell?' asked Nick, pausing to lift a large wooden duck from the centre of the next stall table. He shook his head as the stall-owner approached him, and looked back at the duck in bewilderment.
'It's the sort of ethereal, calm personality in an armour plating,' Alice explained, standing up and tucking in her shirt. 'All I know is if I was that, I wouldn't be me, I suppose.'
Nick turned to look at her. 'Well, for what it's worth, I like you the way you are. I don't much like the sound of these ethereal crab-women. What drugs do you suppose the person was on who spent hours carving this giant duck?'
'Maybe glue fumes?' offered Alice, flustered by his compliment. 'But I swear, all I need to do now is walk into a casting call and I can read the look on their faces. You know? It's like we both know I'm not the one for them.' She shook her head. 'I can't let it get to me. I know I've got something, you know, unique to offer them. It's just a matter of one person believing in me.'
'That one person should be you, though, Alice. Don't you feel weird waiting for someone you don't even know to legitimise your entire existence?'
'Hell, yes, but you've got to play this damn game if you want to get anywhere. Where would I be if I just quit?'
Alice worried she might have offended Nick and changed the subject. 'Oh my goodness! Is that a magenta garden gnome?' Alice cleared her throat and approached the woman in an orange jumpsuit guarding the stall. She appeared to have a bird on her shoulder. 'How much is that gnome, just out of curiosity?'
'Alice,' hissed Nick. 'Please tell me you're not going to . . .'
'Twelve dollars, that one. It's a rare colour for a gnome.'
Alice appeared to give it serious thought. 'We'll think about it,' she said finally, steering Nick away from the offending object.
'You're nuts,' he said affectionately, and once again she felt warm and safe.
'Would you rather go to a bookshop?' she offered suddenly.
'I thought you'd never ask,' he said with relief.
'Isn't there one on Sunset called Book Soup?'
'I'll just consult my guidebook.'
'Nerd,' said Alice laughing.
'Don't pretend you don't have one,' he protested, smiling.
They turned and walked back to the carpark.
8
'Stand up and repeat "tis the voice of the sluggard",' said the Gryphon.
Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Alice had forced herself to read the Looly Down Under script in much the same way you'd force-feed yourself a vile-tasting meal without nutritional value. Looly Down Under's culinary equivalent was banana and anchovy pizza with double cheese. Too bad. She needed a job now. She had to focus, to harness her inner-winner and make shit happen. She had three auditions scheduled for the day, but decided it was this film that would be her ticket out of trouble.
Looly Down Under was a story of intrigue and adventure in the Australian outback. Two American guys venturing through the red dust in the hope of finding gold discover a love of wildlife thanks to the charms of a beautiful twenty-one-year-old zoologist named Looly, campaigning tirelessly to save the red kangaroo from extinction. This was an adventure-comedy hybrid possibly written by an orangutan.
Alice resolved to go into the test positive and upbeat. She would be fresh, fun-loving and carefree the way all twenty-one-year-old zoologists were in outback Australia while campaigning for the rights of an animal which, if anything, needed to be culled from time to time, rather than saved. But far be it for her to set them straight on their facts. She wanted them to show her the money. Plus she was a bona-fide Aussie. That had to count for something.
Rebekah had given her the impression that the director, Greg Stanley, hadn't asked to see many girls for the role. Alice decided to wear her dark navy jeans and her lucky long-sleeved blue-and-white-striped T-shirt with navy blue wedges. She began to revise all her lines for the day when suddenly there was a knock on the wall.
'Uh, Alice? Have you got a sec?' Shauna's voice sounded thin and whispery through the gyprock.
'What's up? Do you want to come in? I'm just reading a script that parallels Tolstoy in brilliance and historical prowess.'
'Huh?'
'Get in here.'
Shauna opened the door to Alice's room and stood in the doorway. Her eyes were puffy and she was much paler than usual. Alice put down her script and patted the bed beside her. 'Come and sit down. What's wrong?'
Shauna perched on the end of Alice's bed in her pyjamas. They were flannelette and decorated with red trucks. Alice realised it was the first time she'd seen Shauna without makeup. She looked much younger than her nineteen years.
'I had dinner last night with this guy named Lenny. I met him at the agency. He called and asked about me personally,' she began, in a small voice.
'What do you mean? People call your agent and ask for a date? That's bizarre, isn't it?'
'Nuh-uh. You know, really big stars do that all the time. In fact, you think about the biggest actor in Hollywood. I'm not going to name names, but he calls the agents of whoever the latest it-girl is and sets up a date. It happens a lot.'
'It's so old-fashioned, yet creepy at the same time,' Alice observed. 'Anyway, sorry, go on.'
'I'm frickin' broke, Alice. I had to send money to my mom for my little brother. I need this Dorothy job.'
'Oh, right. Dorothy Navigator? How did your audition go?'
'I think it was okay. There was, like, a waiting room full of girls and they were in and out real quick. But I think I did okay. Anyway, this guy, Lenny, calls my agency; says he's a co-producer on the film.'
Alice shot her a look.
'Really,' insisted Shauna. 'It's all legit. Says my test was great and he wants to talk to me over dinner.'
'Right,' said Alice. Warning bells were ringing. 'But that's incredible. Imagine if you got that job,' she offered, cautiously.
'So, he's fifty-odd this guy, Lenny. An old dude and more of a suit than anything. I think he, like, invests in a lot of films; he invested in that big movie about fighter pilots that came out last month.'
'It bombed, right?'
'Huh? Well, he didn't say that. He was more talking about the stars and how they all hung out on his yacht and had parties and stuff. The guy's totally cashed up, obviously. So, you know, we're at Spago, and I was dressed all wrong in my leopard-print dress and boots. I felt like a cheap ol' . . .'
'Stop it, Shauna. You are lovely and don't you even try to suggest otherwise.'
A big tear slid down Shauna's nose. Her face looked raw. 'Anyway, we're on our way out and I can't believe it but I bump into Chad. I've been waiting for him to call for three weeks. He's, like, the best guy you could ever meet and we've been out on a couple of dates, bowling and to the movies, but we're not exclusive or anything.' Her face shone through her tears. 'And I'm standing there at the valet with Lenny, and Chad's all like, "What's up with the old
guy?"'
'Even though he hasn't called you?' Alice interjected.
'Right. So I'm standing there in a mini-dress with a fifty-year-old guy who's maybe a producer but who the hell knows. Anyway, he sees Chad, who's, like, forty years younger and hot-looking to boot, and Lenny puts his hand on my butt and hands Chad the car ticket like he's the valet when he knows he's not.'
'Oh, God.'
'So Chad gets real mad and tells him to step off, right?'
'I see,' Alice nodded, plucking at the bedspread.
'Anyway, they have this sort of pushing match. Lenny's puffing and shit and Chad's all hyped up and pushes him back and Lenny stumbles on the sidewalk and his toupee falls clean off. He's all red in the face, super-angry. Then he says, "Have the whore, there's no way she's ever getting Dorothy!" and he gives his ticket to the real valet and gets in his Jag and drives off without me.'
'Charming. Just left you standing there. So what happened with Chad?'
'He walked away too! I had to get a cab home, can you believe it? Have you ever been in a cab here?'
'Yes, they're vile and disgusting and the drivers don't know where they're going. Correct?'
'Right.'
'Didn't Martin Amis once suggest that all LA cabdrivers are from Saturn?'
'Huh? Anyway, the cab comes and it's only when I get back here that I realise I don't have enough money to cover the fare and the driver goes beserk and then he demands a blowjob! Like I'm a hooker and I can pay for the cab that way!' Shauna stared straight ahead at the wall.
'Oh my God, Shauna, why didn't you come and get me?'
'I tried to call but your phone was off. Anyway, I just ran down the street and hid in the bushes outside a house a few doors down.'
'Shauna. I'm so sorry.' Alice thought for a moment. 'Do you know what? I won money at the races on Saturday. Can you believe it? A hundred bucks! Just have it and pay me back when you get your next job.'
'I couldn't, you need your money too . . .' she answered, looking at Alice with red eyes.
'Not another word. It's fine. It's money I didn't have, so just use it.' Alice scrambled out of bed and felt around in her red handbag for her purse. 'What a bunch of arseholes!' she snorted, handing Shauna the money.
