by C. J. Duggan
Just as I was about to text back another series of woohoos and kisses, my phone beeped again.
P.S. Bring that gorgeous man of yours! No excuses!! Xx
Oh God.
I chucked my phone to the ground, recoiling at the words I read on the screen.
‘My man’ – hah! Jay wasn’t ‘my’ anything. As soon as Billie came home I was going to kill her. I was all about acting, make-believe was kind of my jam, but as far as Jay being my ‘special friend’? Well, that was a bridge too far.
I thought back to his smile in the car, the boyish grin that lined his lush mouth. I found myself smiling again, and quickly shook the image from my mind.
‘Okay, time to shut that shit down,’ I said adamantly, slapping my hands on my knees and moving to stand. No more midday lounging, no more Netflix binges – and risking seeing another Sienna Bailey banner – no more dirty takeaways or pool lounging. Initialisation phase for Abby Taylor: Version 2.0 was about to commence, and I was pretty bloody excited about it.
The look on Billie’s face said it all. The moment she walked through the condo, placing her bag next to mine on the counter, she looked at me with a mix of trepidation and wonderment, like a tourist spotting a lion on safari. ‘W-what are you doing?’
I knew very little about yoga, but I believe I was attempting the awkward, and utterly unattractive, ‘downward dog’ pose. Had the blood not been rushing to my head I would have told Billie exactly that; instead, I snapped.
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’
Billie edged her way closer, leaning against the open door to the balcony, where I had my yoga mat rolled out; well, if you could call the boho floor rug I dragged out from the lounge a yoga mat.
‘Wow, one lunch date with Sienna and you’re donning activewear and putting a twist of lemon in your drink bottle.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ I said, collapsing to the mat and reeling at how unfit I truly was. ‘I’m having happy hour with her on Thursday.’
‘What? Are you serious?’
‘Yep!’ I pulled myself to sit cross-legged and reached for my water, popping the bottle with my teeth. I sipped and looked at Billie’s horrified expression. ‘Some place called the Skybar?’
‘Wow, fancy.’
‘Really?’ I tried not to sound too excited.
Billie didn’t elaborate, she simply straightened from the doorway. ‘Well, I have to work that night, so you’ll have to come up with your own escape plan this time.’
‘Ah, yes, about that – Sienna also wants me to bring my gorgeous man with me.’
Billie grinned. ‘Oh my God, that’s hilarious.’
‘No, it’s not,’ I said indignantly.
Billie’s eyes brightened in that wild way they did whenever she had a great idea. ‘You should totally ask Jay to go with you.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, come on, it would be hilarious. Sienna will rock up with Leon and God knows who else; believe me, you do not want to go into the LA Family snake pit alone, and Jay would be the perfect plus one.’
‘And how did you possibly come to that conclusion?’
‘Because Jay doesn’t buy into the Hollywood bullshit, and there is no chance of him ever being starstruck.’
‘I am perfectly capable of navigating these waters on my own, thanks.’
Billie turned, making her way back into the condo. ‘Okay, but remember those waters are shark-infested.’
I rolled back onto my elbows, shakily posing in some form of made-up, butt-in-the-air, semi-planking position, mumbling, ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
Chapter Sixteen
I swear, the moment my mind was made up, the universe provided; no sooner had I washed away the yoga sweat and towel-dried my hair than I received a message from Ziggy.
You’re going to want to check your email! Z x
My heart raced, because I knew what that meant: she had something exciting to report. Sure, a call would be great, but Ziggy was a busy woman, often locked down in conference calls and lunch meetings, and I had learned not to be oversensitive to the lack of one-on-one time early on. An email was grand.
Especially when the title of the email read: ‘You’re going to want to jump on this.’
I clicked so quickly I missed the email window altogether, then I quickly realigned the mouse and drilled into the email.
‘Oh my God!’ My eyes ticked over the screen.
Casting call.
Sci-fi pilot
Jerry Fucking Bassman
It only took those first three lines to know that I was sold, that I wanted whatever part of it there was, even if it meant fetching lattes for the staff on set. But, reading through Ziggy’s email, it was so much more than that. They were searching for a female actor for a strong supporting role in an intense end-of-days drama, exploring the battle of good versus evil and the fight for survival, skim, skim, skim … I had all I needed. I was perfect for the role, this was mine, and Ziggy had obviously thought so too.
Start prepping, MS attached, you go up Monday! Z
My mouth went dry. This was it. My first real, honest-to-God, serious audition for something truly amazing. I thought back to Jay’s scepticism, of the picture he painted of lining up for non-speaking beer commercials, and I was even more determined to prep for this role of …
‘Annika.’ Description: small but fierce.
‘I’m small but fierce.’
Can cut down full-grown men with a simple look.
‘I can do that.’
Athletic.
I tried not to think about how red my face was – even now – after puffing my way through yoga. I mean, I did dance and gymnastics in my teens; I could get by.
Attached was a full backstory and the scene for the character, which was to be prepared for the audition.
‘Way to go, Ziggy!’
I would hug the life out of her when she got here; this was what I was talking about, the very thing I had hoped for. If this came to fruition, who knew? Maybe I would have a real secret deal to allude to after all.
I printed off the manuscript, using the eco-friendly, recycled yellowish paper that Billie stocked the office with. It seemed like a bit of a crime to have such great writing displayed in such a way.
I found Billie painting her toenails in the lounge room. I helped her dry them by fanning them with my script, smiling from ear to ear.
Billie looked up at me, instantly recognising my giddiness. ‘What is that?’
‘A pilot of dreams.’
‘That’s not the name of it, is it?’ Her face twisted.
‘No, silly.’ I bopped her on the head with it before sitting down and handing it to her.
‘It’s a pilot episode of a new sci-fi series produced by – ’
‘Jerry Bassman?’ Billie blurted out. Her eyes widened as she flipped over the pages. ‘Holy shit, Abby!’
‘I knooow, right?’
‘Christ, they don’t need a make-up artist, do they? Someone to attach elf ears or something?’
I laughed, taking the manuscript from her. ‘I don’t think there are elf ears involved, it’s more of a dystopian, sand-dune, end-of-the-world kind of thing. But for that the actors would need to look weathered and dirty – I’m sure you could manage that.’
‘Hey, weathered and dirty is my middle name.’ The minute the words left Billie’s mouth, we looked at each other, frowning before bursting into hysterics.
‘Okay, maybe not,’ she said, grabbing the papers back from me and looking over them in awe. ‘So, what now?’
‘I have a meeting on Monday, so I’ll be prepping for then. Get into the headspace, do some research – oh God, meet with my voice coach. Jesus, I have to call Faye!’ I said, clutching my head.
‘Isn’t it “Ray”?’ Billie corrected.
‘Shit, yes, Ray! RAY! Christ, Ziggy is going to kill me.’
‘Okay, just calm down, you’ve got this, and Ziggy wouldn’t have put you u
p for it unless she knew it was a perfect fit for you, and it so is.’
‘Could you imagine, name-dropping Jerry Bassman to the LA Family over happy hour?’ I laughed, but Billie didn’t find it funny. Her face pinched a little, as if slightly annoyed.
‘Don’t worry about them, or what they think – just worry about you and this,’ she said, lifting up the script.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I said, feeling a bubble of defensiveness float to the surface. ‘Well, I better get cracking with this.’
Lockdown began now.
‘Hey, I’m making some carbonara, but don’t worry, I have some cheap wine that will cut through the cream.’
My heart soared at the thought, but my mind quickly shut it down. ‘I’m kind of on a health kick right now.’
Billie’s brow curved. ‘Oh … well, I’m fresh out of kale.’
I winced. ‘I know, worst housemate ever. Don’t worry about me, I’ll grab something later. Just try not to fill the place with too many delicious aromas,’ I said with a wink, before heading to my room and shutting the door, gripping the script tightly in my hands.
‘You got this, Abby. You. Got. This.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Oh honey, no, honey, stop.’
These were the words I had become accustomed to the moment I sat down with the flamboyantly effervescent Ray Minogue, chief stage presence and part-time elocutionist to the clueless. He had a smart side part and a preference for stripes. He also had a real gift for telling you that you were awful and making it sound kind.
His gold pinkie ring glimmered under the stage lighting as he tapped his pen on his notebook for me to start again, only to stop me immediately. It certainly wasn’t doing wonders for my confidence.
Ray sighed, throwing down the notepad and moving from his chair to circle me. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, head held high, as if in deep, contemplative thought.
‘For today’s actor, the ability to speak in a flawless standard American accent is essential. After all, it is becoming commonplace for film and television production companies to cast American roles using non-American actors.’ He stopped, turning to look at me pointedly. ‘But make no mistake: in order to land the role, your standard American accent must sound truly authentic.’
‘And I’m guessing mine needs work.’
‘You guess correct; now, from the top!’
After an hour of going over vocal focus and sound placement, general American cadence, emphasis and stresses, the dominant American ‘R’ sound, vowel sounds and consonants, nuances and observations, I was spent. I had truly underestimated the complexities of faking an American accent, so I booked a session with Ray every day until Monday to help me nail it. He told me several times that he was ‘squeezing me in’ because he was terribly busy; if it weren’t for my connection with Ziggy, he wouldn’t have given me the time of day.
Again that word: ‘connection’. If you didn’t have connections in this town you were in serious trouble. It made my decision to ask Sienna to happy hour drinks feel like a smart move. I needed to infiltrate the #LAfamily, which kind of sounded like I wanted to join the mafia, which wasn’t too far from the truth. The circles Sienna ran in were well documented on social media; the who’s who of the Aussie acting scene who had set off to forge their careers were indeed a tightknit bunch. They were beautiful, buff and tanned, with artistic, exotic Instagram accounts that were extremely staged in order to appear effortless. A bit like the pic I just snapped of the beautiful exterior of the old picture theatre where I met with Ray. I put a moody filter on the slightly angled photo. It made it look rich and mysterious, especially with the cryptic caption, ‘And so it begins.’ Was I on set? Filming, a fashion shoot? Nope, just sitting in a dusty old theatre being rapped over the knuckles for how terrible my accent was. Yeah, I thought it better to leave that part out.
As per usual, I gained enough likes and comments to make me feel validated, after I blocked the trolling comments of course.
And why shouldn’t I feel validated? I was on my way to improving my craft. I was eating a low-fat, no-sugar yogurt as a snack. I had drunk nearly three bottles of water; I was going to be fabulous! So why did I feel like utter death? It was probably due to this being my second sugarless day – way to pick a time to quit sugar, Abby. Yeah, let’s detox when you’re trying to remember lines in an accent that isn’t your own. Brilliant.
It was a deadly combination: hungry and angry – ‘hangry’ – and now, rather than soothing my soul by eating a donut, I had to wash it down with vitamin water.
‘Mmm, delish.’
Hopefully by Monday I would be past the darkest days of the detox. I wanted to fill the void in my life with something other than sugar, and instead glow with radiant, shiny hair that would make Sienna Bailey’s look dull in comparison. I walked aimlessly with my thoughts until one urgent thought broke through.
Where the hell was I?
I had arrived here without incident, thanks to an Uber, but how would I get out of here? Where was here? The sooner Billie’s car got out of the shop the better. I could have a go at driving and exploring LA myself; I just had to make sure I piled on the extra insurance cover, the kind that would probably be equivalent to a mortgage repayment. An extortionate yet necessary cost when dealing with LA traffic chaos.
One thing I had learned in my short time in LA was that it was unlike most world metropolises, where you could step off a plane and onto a train that would whisk you into the heart of the city. LA was far too spread out, its treasures strewn across the whole town and there wasn’t one bus or walking trail that could take you to each and every one. Right now I was somewhere in Downtown LA, a once dead zone that was now a walkable hub of restaurants, bars, performance theatres and museums. These eclectic, if slightly smelly streets were a far cry from the hilly hikes through Griffith Park, the orgasm-worthy Dim Sum in Gabriel Valley and the Westside’s glorious beaches. I had so much to discover, so many opportunities to get lost, as I was right now, knowing I could get myself back on the right track. After all, if I was going to become a local (accent and all), I was going to have to be self-sufficient. I couldn’t always be chauffeured around in a black Mustang, even though I probably wouldn’t have said no to a lift right now.
Standing in the middle of a busy street, I figured it was probably time to search for a bus stop, because the sooner I got out of here the less likely I would be to give in to the siren call of Subway and smash a twelve-inch sandwich, its sign a neon arrow of temptation.
I had to be strong, I had to remain focused; oh God, they had cookies, too. No! I really had to get out of here and, as if the universe was interjecting again, I saw the sign, quite literally.
Bus stop, dead ahead!
I was panicking; two days in and I still couldn’t remember my lines. I was in the blackest mood, no thanks to the pending catch-up with the LA Family tomorrow night and Ziggy’s imminent arrival, upon which she’d no doubt be expecting to hear my fluent American accent. What was I thinking? I had to focus – I had to clear my foggy mind. Despite the weakness of my poor sugar-starved body, I had to snap out of this rut and learn these lines!
Even if it killed me.
Now, in the late hours of the night, with Billie at work, I actually stood a chance. The condo was in complete silence. I sat on my bed with a cool breeze filtering through my opened balcony door, with only the sound of a distant chopper overhead and the usual street traffic that I had become accustomed to. What I had not become accustomed to was the yapping of a little dog in the courtyard below. No doubt the culprit was Veronica’s precious little Sorscha, and she didn’t sound happy. In fact, she sounded like she was alerting the neighbourhood to trouble. I had visions of a masked man climbing up to my second-storey window, the very window that, right now, was wide open and welcoming. He probably had a gun – because everyone had guns here, right?
I slowly leant across to my side lamp and turned it off, now in complete da
rkness. In the safety of the shadows I edged off the bed and crept to the balcony, squatting down to peer through the wrought-iron railings to see what all the fuss was below. There was Sorscha, giving someone exactly what for and shaking with the effort. Someone had clearly disturbed her late-night toilet run. Good little guard dog.
Veronica suddenly appeared, her long white nightgown flowing behind her; it was only then that I saw who Sorscha was accosting.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Jay. I hope she didn’t startle you.’
There, standing by the end of the pool in nothing more than shorts, abs lit by the soft pool light, stood Jay. A towel was draped over his shoulder and his bright white smile shone at Veronica as he unfastened his watch.
‘I think I startled her,’ he said, his voice carrying up and hitting me in the chest. How had I not seen him earlier?
Veronica scooped her up. ‘Say sorry to Jay, Sorscha. You can be very rude sometimes.’
Jay let Sorscha smell his hand before patting her on the head. ‘Oh, it’s alright, she’s just telling me who’s boss.’
‘You and the entire neighbourhood,’ Veronica laughed.
Jay smiled. ‘Well, better get to it,’ he said, turning away from her.
‘Yes, of course, your nightly laps. I’m sorry to interrupt you. But before I let you go, can I ask if you’ve given my proposition another thought? About doing a reading for you sometime?’
Jay might have had his back turned to Veronica but, even from two storeys above, I saw him wince, before plastering on a false smile and turning back towards her.
‘Sorry, Veronica, I’ve just been so busy at the Saloon I don’t know when I could commit to anything.’
‘Well, I’m not going anywhere – just let me know when you’re free. I’m available nights as well,’ she said, clutching her nightgown to herself and giving him a rather alluring look from beneath her blue eyeshadow. I had to clasp my hand over my mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. This was a classic Mrs Robinson moment, and I had the best seat in the house to watch Jay squirm.
