Alice in La La Land

by Sophie Lee

  18

  'O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!'

  Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

  Alice waited in the taxi-rank out the front of the Tom Bradley terminal, staring up at the Theme Building. She was about twentieth in the queue. The sky was white and the roar of aircraft made her teeth ache. Her toes were cold. She raked around her satchel until she found her wallet, then recalled the twenty Nick had given her, fishing it out of her pocket. She winced, remembering their painful exchange.

  A couple squabbled behind her in loud Australian accents, and Alice thought how strange their particular twang sounded in her new environment. It seemed so parochial and unfinished. Alice wished to distance herself from her fellow countrymen and instantly felt ashamed. She looked up at a billboard which ironically advertised Antonio Banderas's latest film; he looked swarthy in his leather breeches.

  Alice checked her watch and was surprised to note it was nearly 5 pm. She wanted to call her dad, but could not make international calls from her cell. She wondered whether they were still suffering the indignity of Auntie Bev's cooking and political opinions. Bev had always voted for one or the other of the conservative parties, a political shortcoming that endlessly riled her dad, who was a rusted-on Labor supporter.

  The thought of returning to her apartment made Alice feel nauseous. It had been a long day. The sort of day that made an actor wish she'd joined the public service instead of the entertainment industry. A steady job processing workers' compensation claims for the electricity commission would not have involved the highs and lows she'd experienced in the last twenty-four hours.

  Alice advanced slowly in the queue. She could feel the onset of tears and fished out her sunglasses case from the bottom of her satchel. She managed to push her glasses onto her face as her tears spilled over the rims of her eyes. Alice felt tired, so tired. And embarrassed. She tried to remember the last time she'd felt things were going her way. The Rough Beast Slouching audition? It seemed a lifetime ago. Had they really decided to go with the British name, or had she just blown the final screen test? Alice felt she did not know what was real or imagined anymore. Her barometer to measure such things was clearly on the blink.

  'Excuse me, lady, the next cab is yours,' someone said behind her.

  'Oh, thanks,' Alice sniffed, snapping out of her thoughts and sliding awkwardly into the waiting cab. It smelled of turnips and cigarette butts. Alice tried not to inhale, pitched forward and gave her address. The driver neither knew where she wanted to go, nor did he speak the same language. The smell of turnips was overwhelming and Alice fought the urge to gag. 'You know, the Miracle Mile . . . between Wilshire and La Brea?' she pleaded.

  The driver shook his head and held up a map – much good it had done him up until this point. Why didn't he study the damn thing on his day off?

  Alice sighed, took the map and sat back in her seat. The springs were broken and one jabbed her in the spine close to where she'd injured herself on the day of her first audition. She prepared to direct the driver, via grunts and gesticulations, turn by turn all the way back to West Hollywood.

  Alice was aware her phone was ringing again, but could not face answering it. She plucked it from her satchel when the driver finally had her in her own neighbourhood, and saw that it was Rebekah trying to get in touch. Alice placed the phone back in her bag.

  'Oh, bollocks,' she sighed, suddenly realising that her car was still on North Beverly Boulevard, and that she would have to go through a further painful miming session with the driver in order to get there. She leaned forward to communicate with him once more.

  He swung the taxi around and Alice stared out of the window at the two-dollar shops and the Korean manicure joints until they were finally in the more salubrious streets surrounding Zippy Goldman's office. She handed over close to forty-five dollars and rapidly clambered out of the cab. She felt she'd just survived something quite dreadful, but was it any worse than being ejected twice from an audition, being heartbroken at LAX and now receiving a parking ticket for a sum so large Alice felt her bladder contract? Alice swiped it off her windscreen and stuffed the ticket into her satchel. As she opened her own car door she swallowed down something that tasted very much like vomit, and drove home.

  Shauna's car was missing when Alice pulled into her parking spot at the apartment. She wondered where her roomie was, and whether she'd misjudged the encounter with Lenny as well. Perhaps she should have left well alone.

  What had happened to her lately? It was as though her sense of judgement had been replaced by a jar of old buttons. Why was it that for all the best intentions in the world, each and every choice she'd made had turned out to be the worst one?

  Alice struggled out of the Daewoo, swung her satchel over her shoulder and climbed the stairs. For once the thought of food made her nauseous. She missed Nick ferociously, suddenly realising how dear to her his support had been in their brief time together. She had taken it for granted. Anyway, it was too late now. It was all too late.

  Alice dragged her feet down the hall and noticed that the door to her room had been left ajar. Cautiously stepping forward, she saw her suitcase sitting in the centre of the rug where she'd left it. Everything she owned was packed inside. But instead of being zipped up (surely she'd closed it?) the suitcase seemed to be open. Alice took a tentative step toward it, hoping to be wrong.

  The black material of her luggage bore strands of cat fur and there was a cat-shaped indentation on the top flap. Alice flinched as a sharp odour hit her in the face like a fist. It was a smell fit to rip inner walls from nostrils and peel wallpaper. She knew without doubt that a cat had peed on or inside her suitcase. 'For fuck's sake!' she yelled, reaching inside for her toiletries bag. She withdrew a large bottle of floral perfume and splashed it liberally all over her suitcase, hopping from foot to foot in despair. Finally, content she'd done her best to mask the rank smell, she stepped back, smoothed her hair into a ponytail and headed to the office. She made sure she closed the door to her room firmly, leaving no possibility that it could be clawed at or buffeted through by man or beast.

  Alice glanced at Shauna's room on her way past. Her door was also open. Alice peered inside. Everything seemed to be in its usual disorder. There were no cats within and Alice pulled her door shut for good measure.

  Once inside the office, Alice dug inside her satchel for a tissue and withdrew Nick's blue handkerchief. She drank in his smell then rapidly stuffed it into the bottom of her bag with her parking tickets. She logged on to the computer to check her emails, sagging in the retractable chair. Who knew, perhaps the Goldenbergs had called Rebekah and offered her the lead in Beyond Sunset ? You never knew your luck in this town. The apartment was utterly silent, and Alice wondered where the cats were. She stared at the computer screen waiting for her emails to appear.

  There was one message waiting. It was from Rebekah Bloomfield at Amoeba Management.

  Dear Alice,

  It is with great regret that we feel Amoeba Management can no longer offer you representation.

  We've loved having you on our books and wish you the very best in the future.

  Unfortunately we have had to scale back on our number of clients at this time.

  Please expect a courier with your publicity files and show reel tomorrow morning.

  Rebekah Bloomfield

  Alice rubbed her eyes and stared at the screen. She read the email again. Did this mean The Cleavers audition was off?

  19

  'I can't go no lower,' said the Hatter, 'I'm on the floor as it is.'

  Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

  After a restless night of dreams infiltrated by the stench of cat urine, Alice threw back the heavy covers and stuck her feet over the edge of the bed. She rubbed her eyes and a sick feeling engulfed her even before her thoughts were in gear. She opened her eyes. Her suitcase sat squat and heavy in the centre
of the rug. Her stomach churned and she inexplicably craved nicotine. Alice took a deep breath through her stuffy nose and stretched her neck from side to side.

  She was determined to plough through the aftermath of yesterday's events with ox-like resolve. She would begin immediately by calling Rebekah and smoothing things over. Alice reached over to the bedside table for her satchel and withdrew her phone. There was no answer from Rebekah's mobile.

  Alice had some time to kill and butterflies to keep at bay. She decided to make a list, a guide she could adhere to in order to make things right. Alice reached for pen and paper. She began to write neatly on the back of her Lithium audition pages.

  HOW TO FIX IT!

  1) Speak to Rebekah. Explain situation and apologise for any unprofessional conduct. Once apology accepted, prepare The Cleavers audition. Remember, this could be your break.

  2) Work with accent and dialect cassette to ensure accent perfect.

  3) No carbs today. Only carrots and diet coke (need energy and carotene).

  4) Check what other auditions are scheduled over next week and prepare thoroughly.

  5) Definitely no pancakes, burgers or burritos until you have achieved success in audition.

  6) You have something unique and valuable to offer. Don't forget it!

  At 9 am, when the offices of Amoeba Management were open for business, Alice dialled through to Rebekah's office and was greeted by a less-perky-than-usual Charlize, who had obviously been briefed on Alice's transgressions.

  'Oh, uh, hi Alice, how are you? Uh, listen, she's in a meeting right now, can I take a message?'

  Sure she's in a meeting – with her barista at Starbucks. Or else she was right there making desperate motions for Charlize to shake Alice off, prompto.

  Alice thought fast. She needed something, anything, to motivate Rebekah to call her. Eventually she blurted, 'Please, Charlize, I got her message and only wanted to say goodbye out of courtesy. Have her call me and tell her that I won't keep her long at all.' Alice could hear how pathetic she sounded and felt vaguely ashamed, but gave herself full marks for a heartfelt performance.

  Charlize's tone softened. 'I'll try, Alice. Take care.'

  Alice sat back on the bed, sucking at her front teeth. She looked down at her list. So far nothing had been achieved. Her tummy was making all sorts of growling noises and the sounds reminded her of the cats on one of their nightly rampages. She really should eat something, she thought, she needed her strength.

  Venturing into the kitchen, she immediately wrinkled her nose at the suspicious odours wafting up from the bin. She opened the cupboard above the stove and peered in. Taco sauce and Wow chips were all that were on offer. Alice closed the cupboard and crossed to the fridge. It was completely empty apart from a small white tube of feline ear medication sitting unopened on the second shelf. Alice turned and walked back down the hallway to the bathroom.

  The large grey cat was drinking from the toilet bowl. 'Gross!' she shrieked. Alice fought the urge to puke and clapped her hands to scare the creature off. It slunk off to the gloom of the laundry. She peered through the bathroom window to the carpark. Shauna's car was still missing and Alice worried about her whereabouts.

  Alice disinfected the toilet bowl, peed, washed her hands and splashed water on her face. She stared at herself in the mirror. Were they new lines around her eyes? She crinkled her face into a mirthless smile and towelled her face dry. She could hear her phone ringing in the bedroom.

  Alice's heart thumped and she scrambled out of the bathroom, slipping to her knees just outside the bathroom doorway. 'Ow!' she cried, as pain shot through her left calf. She got up and hobbled on at top speed. Was it Nick? No, surely it was too soon, he would not be back yet, would he? Maybe he would. She limped down the hallway to her bedroom, aware she was bleeding through her pyjamas, crashed through the door and grabbed the phone on its final ring. Alice hit the answer button and tried to steady her breathing.

  'Hello? Alice? Are you there?'

  'Rebekah?'

  'Hey, Alice, how are you?' Rebekah sounded tense.

  'Fine, listen, thank you for calling me back,' Alice replied, still breathless and looking around for a tissue to help soak up the blood now trickling from her shin.

  'Uh-huh,' said Rebekah.

  'I got your email,' continued Alice in what she hoped was a smooth and reasonable tone. 'I'm assuming that Zippy called you, but I wanted a chance to explain to you why . . .'

  Rebekah cut her off. 'Alice? Let's just forget it, okay?'

  'But why do you not want to hear my side of the . . .'

  'Listen,' said Rebekah patiently, 'I believe there was some personal agenda between you and the director, but Alice, you've got to learn that in this town, everything is business. You can't afford to be . . . messy like that. People remember when you've been unprofessional.'

  'Until you get your break, of course, when it's all conveniently forgotten, right?'

  Rebekah sighed. 'Look, Alice, it's not just about you, okay, we as a company needed to cull some of the . . .'

  'In the nicest possible way, please spare me the American euphemisms, Rebekah. I don't know why you won't let me explain and show you how keen I am to get out there and work. You know that my auditions up until now have been going well, right?'

  Rebekah was silent.

  'Bek?'

  Alice heard Rebekah sigh again. She caught the rising panic in the back of her throat and swallowed it down, willing herself to be strong.

  'Alice, listen . . .'

  'What?' urged Alice. 'Go on.'

  'Okay,' said Rebekah slowly. 'The feedback we've been getting so far has been . . . less than promising.' She blurted out the last words in a rush.

  Alice felt her stomach churn. She was glad it was empty.

  'I see,' Alice replied, steeling herself. 'But surely just that I learned the wrong scene that one time, the rest of them were, well, solid . . . right?'

  'Sweetie, there's no point in . . .'

  'There is a point, Rebekah!' cried Alice. 'What I need right now is exactly what you have! Feedback! More than anything I've ever needed in my life. Tell me honestly, what have the casting directors been saying that you haven't told me?'

  Alice heard Rebekah's deep intake of breath and she prepared herself for what she expected to be some minor criticisms that may nevertheless still hurt to hear. After all, hadn't she been working solidly for the last eight years and with a modicum of acclaim? Wasn't she singled out as one of the brightest lights in the talking horse movie, according to The Sydney Morning Herald? Hadn't Australian Vogue named her and fourteen others as 'faces to watch' last June?

  'Go ahead, Rebekah,' Alice insisted, holding her head very still. She could feel herself gripping the phone very tightly. She had forgotten about her leg, and her pyjama bottoms now stuck to the wound.

  'Well, let's see,' said Rebekah reluctantly. 'I've had too old . . . a few times, that you were playing too old, and too desperate as well. I've heard preoccupied, too broad, the wrong accent, too heavy and also, a displaced sense of comedy.'

  'Sense of what?' said Alice in small voice.

  'One director thought that your sense of comic timing was pitched for a different territory . . . he basically didn't get your sense of humour,' Rebekah explained.

  'My sense of humour?' Alice sighed, deflating. 'Oh.'

  Rebekah softened. 'I don't get it, Alice. We think you are adorable, but you keep . . . huh?' Alice could hear a muffled voice interrupting Rebekah. 'When did he call?' Alice could hear the excitement in her tone. 'Well, get him on the line, we need to get the contract sorted this morning . . . sorry, Alice,' she said, returning to their conversation, 'I have to take this call.' She paused. 'Just remember that here in LA you don't need to do so much in the audition. You just need to be yourself, and be adorable. So, I'm sorry, Alice, good luck. The courier will be around with your file. Let me get back to you after lunch.'

  Alice put down the phone. Long mome
nts passed. She stared fixedly at a dust mote on the floor without blinking and felt her perspective of the room change. The room seemed to shimmer and retract, becoming tunnel-like. Her hand clutched and released her to-do list. Alice felt herself slowly double over. She slithered to the floor and began to cry; her sobs springing out of her like greyhounds chasing rabbits. She could hear herself, as if from above, repeating the same words over and over again. They seemed to be wrenched from her unconsciously, simple words like 'why', 'please' and 'no'. Alice did not know to whom they were addressed. God? The sardine can? Herself? She kept repeating them until the pain in her chest became unbearable and she was choking on them. She reached forward and gripped her suitcase for dear life. The room seemed to spin and she struggled to hold on.

  Alice forced herself to breathe steadily in and out through her nose. Eventually the room grew still. When she felt calmer, she reached onto the bed for her scrunched-up to-do list, sat up and read it over a final time. She began to shred it to pieces in slow, decisive strokes. Alice dropped the shards of paper on the floor like confetti and wiped her eyes with her numb fists.

  So it was true. They were right. Maybe it was time she stared them in the teeth, and listened for once. All the evidence suggested she was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Something, anything, had to change.

  Alice had the strangest feeling that she'd been waiting in an industrial dock for the longest time, surrounded by rusty shipping containers and barrels of toxic waste. She'd been waiting for her ship to arrive to provide her safe passage to her rightful destination. Her tanker was in sight, it had been drawing closer for some time, occasionally seeming within reach but never making the final distance into port. Other passengers were boarding the vessel by enterprising means – some by lifeboat, others by hopping from rock to rock and swimming the final lengths until they were welcomed aboard by triumphant fellow travellers. Alice recognised that their intuition and stamina bore them up above the waves while she remained mute and frozen on the shore. Her vessel turned back out to sea. Shouting into the wind would not help; no one would ever hear her. She knew now the ship would never come back. It drew away for the final time, growing smaller and smaller until it completely disappeared, leaving the horizon empty.