by Dyan Sheldon
“You have to be nuts,” she says. “That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard.” This, possibly, isn’t strictly true. Before he got the super’s job at El Paraíso, her father wanted them to move to Mexico – even though they had no money, knew no one south of the border, were about to have the truck repossessed, and he wouldn’t even be able to watch TV since the only words he knows in Spanish are thank you, good day, wine and beer. If that wasn’t a crazier idea than Jack Silk’s, it definitely ties it for first place. “It won’t even work, either,” Oona adds.
“It’s not crazy,” insists Jack Silk. “It’s just a little unusual.”
Oona silently stirs her coffee. You have to wonder what this man’s idea of “sane” and “very” is.
“And it will work,” he further insists. “I know it will.”
“Well I think you’re wrong. We’re not in a movie, you know,” says Oona. “That kind of dumb idea only works in movies.”
Jack lifts his cup with both hands, as if he’s about to offer her a magic potion. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But it’ll work. I’m certain of that. It just requires some effort.”
No prize for guessing who’s supposed to make that effort.
“Mmmm … well … maybe…” Oona automatically takes the tone she uses with her father; non-committal, humouring him. “But I don’t even know who this Paula person is.”
“Paloma,” Jack corrects her. “Paloma Rose. She’s very famous.”
“Not to me, she isn’t,” says Oona.
Jack sips his coffee as if counting each drop. “I take it you don’t watch much television.”
“I don’t really watch any.” Oona figures Abbot watches enough for both of them. Besides, even in the summer she’s studying or reading. She really needs that scholarship. “I have better things to do than that.”
Of course she does. In a nation where the average person thinks TV is as important as air, he’s found the one girl who has better things to do. “I’m glad to hear it,” says Jack. “That’s very commendable. But people who don’t have better things to do know who Paloma Rose is.” He takes another measured sip. “And love her.” Which distinguishes them from the people who know Paloma personally.
“But if they love her so much they’re not going to believe that I’m her, are they?” counters Oona. If there were a thousand dogs that looked exactly like Harriet, even down to the black dot on her right paw and the bend in her left ear, Oona would be able to pick her out from the others without a second of hesitation.
“It’s not as if they live with her or actually spend time with her,” explains Jack, patience and reasonableness made flesh and blood. Assuming patience and reasonableness would wear a hand-tailored suit and gold jewellery and a hand-painted tie that cost as much as two month’s rent at El Paraíso. “They know her as the character she plays and from stuff they read about her. And that’s how they’ll see you.” A smile skates across his face. “Once we’ve done a little cosmetic work.”
He can’t mean surgery, can he?
“No, of course not,” Jack assures her. “Nothing drastic. Just a little make-up. Contacts. That kind of thing.”
But Oona isn’t as easy to convince as Leone.
“And what happens when I open my mouth?” she wants to know. “Are you saying we sound the same, too?”
Which makes it fortunate that Jack Silk is a man who has an answer for everything. That, after all, is part of his job as well as his nature.
“It’s not a problem. Mrs Minnick happens to be an excellent voice coach. She trained as an actor and singer herself when she was young.”
If this impresses Oona, she hides it well. “OK, so let’s say she’s this genius voice coach. What about the other people in this show? They—”
“I appreciate that you don’t know how our business works,” says Jack. “Naturally you think that her co-workers will notice the difference.”
It’s pretty interesting how ridiculous he makes that sound.
“Well, yeah,” says Oona. “I bet you Brightman and everybody here would notice if somebody was pretending to be me.”
“You can’t compare this—” he waves his hand as if Ferlinghetti’s is more a coffee spill than a coffee house “—with television.” Jack gives the impression that he might laugh at the absurdity of that idea if he weren’t such a gentleman. “What you have to understand is that it’s very intense and professional on set. It’s not like a school play. There’s very little fraternizing.” Not with Paloma at any rate. He silently returns his cup to its saucer. “Paloma – and everyone else in the cast and crew, of course – comes in, does her job, and goes home. It’s not a social occasion. It’s very difficult and demanding. Which is why we have the problem we have.”
“But what about her friends?” asks Oona. “Her friends will notice.”
“No problem,” beams Jack. “She doesn’t have any friends.”
Like many people – and despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary – Jack Silk thinks that money and status are an indication of intelligence. Which explains why he thought it would be easy, especially with his charm and sophistication and talk as smooth as polished glass, to persuade a girl who works as a waitress and rides on buses into doing what he wants. It won’t be the last time that Jack turns out to be wrong.
“Well, I’m really sorry that your famous star is so tired, Mr Silk—”
“Please. Call me Jack.”
Oona pushes her cup away. “But I can’t do it. Jack.”
He has found the one teenager who doesn’t watch television; and the one teenager who doesn’t want to be a celebrity. What were the odds?
“Don’t be hasty,” says Jack. “I know it’s a lot to take in. You need a little time. But think about it. You’ll be living the dream. Mansion in the hills… Expensive clothes… Anything you want, you get…”
“Yeah it sounds great, but there’s no way. You’ll have to find somebody else.”
As if. As if he can just walk along Hollywood Boulevard and take his pick of Paloma Rose look-alikes.
“If you’re worried that it’s too demanding, I told you, you’ll have support and training. There’s enough time to get you into physical and mental shape before—”
“It’s not that. I can’t leave home, that’s all.”
“Is it that dog?” When they came back into Ferlinghetti’s he discovered that she had the funniest looking dog he’s ever seen in her backpack. It’s not even a crossbreed; it’s a hodgepodge. As if God had a bag of spare dog parts and just stuck His hand in and put them together without looking. It might even have some mutant wolf in it. “You can bring the dog. The Minnicks love animals. Absolutely crazy about them.”
“It’s not just Harriet.” Oona is now pushing back her chair. “If you want to know, it’s mainly my dad. I can’t leave my dad.”
Jack stands up, possibly to tackle her before she can escape. “And why is that?” His smile is neither satanic nor angelic now but the smile of the one person in the world whom you can trust two-hundred percent.
Though not to Oona Ginness, it seems.
“It’s none of your business.” Oona goes to get Harriet while Jack pays the bill.
In the universe run by Jack Silk, everything is his business. Or should be. He can even tell you Paloma’s bra size and when she usually gets her period.
As soon as they’re outside, waiting for the cab, he picks up the conversation where Oona left it. “Obviously, I respect your privacy.” He is still patient; still reasonable; still the one person a young girl can trust in a species that invented dishonesty, betrayal and corruption. “And if you don’t want to answer my next question, then, of course, just tell me to get lost. But your answer would help me to know if there’s something – anything – I can do to change your mind.”
According to the proverb, she who hesitates is lost. Oona hesitates.
“OK.” She sighs. “Ask me your question.”
“Is it that y
our father’s very strait-laced, is that what it is? Are you afraid he won’t approve?”
Oona shakes her head. Maybe she should just go for a bus and not hang around. “No, it’s not that.”
Aristotle thought that nature abhors a vacuum, but Jack Silk knows that it’s people who don’t like empty space. If there is one thing he’s learned in his years of negotiating deals, it is to know when to say nothing and let the other person fill in the silence. He stares out at the street as if he knows she has more to tell him.
It’s Abbot who tells everyone about his problems, not Oona. She doesn’t like to talk about them. She has enough trouble trying to live with them. But it’s been a long day in a long week and she’s tired. And he doesn’t press her. And there’s still no cab in sight. And maybe she wouldn’t mind being somebody else – at least for a while. Suddenly Oona hears herself telling Jack Silk about her mother getting sick, and then getting worse. She tells him about the bills piling up like bodies in a war. How her dad tried to work and look after her mom. How he lost his wife. And then his job. And then the house. How they had to live in the truck because there was nowhere else to go. How Abbot’s old boss got him the super job at El Paraíso. Even how Abbot’s pretty much given up.
Jack Silk says nothing all the while she talks. His expression is neutral. He makes no clucks of sympathy. He just listens.
“So you see I can’t leave him by himself,” Oona finishes. “He needs me.”
“But this could solve a lot of your problems,” counters Jack. “As I said, you’ll be well paid. Enough to get rid of those debts. Get your dad back on track. Get you some money for college.”
“It’s not just him needing me. He worries about me all the time. He hates to let me out of his sight.” If he left the house more he’d be following her everywhere she goes. “He’s called the cops so many times when he thought something happened to me that they call him Abbot.”
“I don’t think that’s a problem. You can talk to him every day. You can Skype him. It’ll be just like you’re in the room with him. And it’s not going to be that long. Two or three weeks. Four tops.”
“I can’t.” Oona’s hand goes up as a cab comes into view. “He’ll fall apart without me.”
Jack thinks, but doesn’t say, that it sounds to him as if her father doesn’t have far to fall. “We can work something out.” He speaks quickly, wanting to get everything said before she slams the taxi door in his face. “You sleep on it.” He hands her his card. “Let me know tomorrow. But trust me. We can make this go. For everybody.”
Oona says she’ll think it over; she doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t even look back as the cab pulls into traffic, and so doesn’t see Jack Silk standing on the sidewalk, watching her disappear – ready to smile and wave, though he is neither smiling nor waving at the moment.
Nonetheless, it is Jack and his offer that she thinks about all the way home. Not about any of the details or possibilities; not about what it would be like to have nothing to do but learn a few lines and have people wait on her all day. Just about the fact that the offer exists. Like a tiny light on a very, very dark and stormy night. Even though it’s crazy. And she can’t do it. No way, José. Like who would believe Oona Ginness was some big TV star with millions of fans? What a joke. And how could she leave her dad?
Who is exactly where he was when she left him this morning. Of course.
“Hey, Dad,” she calls as she shuts the door behind her and Harriet. “How was your day?”
He looks around. “Hi, honey. I was just about to call the station. You’re so late.”
“I got held up at work.”
“You should’ve texted me,” says Abbot. “Just so I’d know.”
The normal day becomes a normal night. She makes Abbot a cup of the tea that soothes his nerves, and feeds Harriet, and takes a shower. She washes the dishes that were left in the sink, and makes supper, and eats in the living room with Abbot, and with Harriet’s chin resting on her foot. At ten, she takes Harriet for her last walk of the day.
When she comes back Abbot is laughing at something on the TV. Oona stands there for a few minutes, just staring at the side of his head. Once upon a time, Abbot Ginness was a normal dad who went to work and helped her with her homework and took her camping. In those days he was always teaching her stuff, like how to fix a leaking tap or put up a shelf. In those days he never watched TV but he laughed a lot. And that’s when it hits her just how ridiculous her plans are. She’s not going anywhere. She’s never going to look back on now and smile, because she’s never going to get out of it. If she can’t leave him for a few weeks to go to the other side of the city, how is she going to leave him to go to college? To go to vet school? How will she ever be able to look after the sick animals of California when she has to look after him? Abbot Ginness. Not so much a couch potato as a human shipwreck.
You’ll be living the dream… Jack Silk told her. Or she could continue to live the nightmare.
She goes into her room and takes Jack Silk’s card from her desk and her phone out of her pocket. “Hello?” she says when he answers. “It’s Oona. Oona Ginness. I guess you have a deal.”
Paloma is about to leave her room. She’s been in her room since last night, sulking and – ironically since she’s spent the last several months escaping from it – refusing to come out. Poor Paloma. What with one thing and another, she’s had a day or two that, really, should have belonged to someone else. Someone terminally ordinary. Someone who only comes near the word “special” when she goes shopping.
Who would ever have imagined that anyone would try to arrest her? And not only did that stupid clerk try to have her arrested, he didn’t even know who she was at first. A clerk in a deli, and he didn’t recognize her. Oh, give her a break. And his name’s Julio, so he’s Mexican. Or something like that. Which is part of her target audience. The producers and writers of Angel in the House make a special point of including Spanish-speaking ethnics in the stories. So instead of grabbing her and screaming for the police, he should have screamed, “Dios mío, it’s Faith Cross,” and begged for her autograph. But, oh no. He wouldn’t even let her explain. She tried again and again, but he refused to listen. He was so obsessed with “getting those boys” he didn’t even really look at her. “You can’t treat me like this,” she kept saying. But he treated her like that anyway. “You’ll be sorry when you find out who I am,” she threatened. But he wasn’t. All he cared about was his stupid beer. You’d think the world was going to end because he was out a few bucks. What a loser.
At least that one cop, Officer What’s-his-name – the one with the gut and the ear hair – at least he was really nice. He recognized her right away and was really excited to meet her. Luckily for Paloma he was one of those people who confuse the actor with the part, and he totally believed she was innocent. Angels don’t steal. And they absolutely don’t steal alcoholic beverages. But the other one – the one with the chipped tooth and the double chin – wasn’t convinced. If it was up to him he would’ve taken her in like she was a runaway shoplifter. Being lead into a police station in handcuffs is not a good look for a popular TV star. Being driven home in the back of a cop car was bad enough. For the first time in a long time, Paloma was actually glad to get home. Better than glad. She couldn’t have been happier if she’d been adrift on the ocean in a rubber raft for two weeks and was suddenly rescued (Angel in the House: Season Three, Episode Four). She and Leone flung themselves into each other’s arms. It was a touching and emotional scene. It is, of course, one that Paloma has played any number of times – though not with her mother – but it has to be said that she has never done it better. It’s a pity no one was filming them.
Unfortunately, happy endings don’t last long if they’re not part of a TV show. When the policemen left, Leone’s tears dried faster than a drop of water on a hot iron and her good mood went with them. Officer What’s-his-name with the fuzzy ears might believe that Paloma was innocent, but her own
mother didn’t. “Beer!” she shrieked. “My daughter was stealing beer! And you reek of it! Like some common street urchin!” Paloma wasn’t completely sure what the word “urchin” meant, but she could tell it wasn’t good. She retaliated by calling her mother a selfish, money-grabbing bitch, words with which they are both familiar. During the fairly hysterical fight that followed, Paloma broke a three-thousand-dollar vase by throwing it at her mother, Leone knocked Paloma to the floor, and Maria had to pull them apart. Leone locked Paloma in her room, screaming, “You’re not coming out till I say you can! This time you’ve really gone too far!” Within the hour, Paloma was in a cab heading back to Venice, where Micah and the others had fled after she was caught.
Going back to her new friends didn’t make Paloma any happier. They all thought it was hilarious that she was almost arrested. Micah said it was her own fault. She was supposed to act sexy and flirt to distract the clerk, not concoct a long-winded, complicated story like something out of a soap opera. Which was when Paloma forgot that these weren’t people she yelled at, and she yelled at him. For not telling her that they’d used the scam before about a hundred times. For being stupid enough to use it again in a store they’d already hit.
“What do you care, Suze?” Micah sneered. “Your parents probably bleed hundred dollar bills when you cut them. They can buy you out of anything.”
Only a few hours before, Paloma was mad because she was being treated like everyone else. Now, in one of those classic examples of how inconsistent human behaviour can be, she was mad because Micah thought she wasn’t like everyone else, that it didn’t matter what she went through. So she came home again, and has been in her room ever since.
But now she’s been summoned. Not by Leone – she wouldn’t come out for her if she offered Paloma her own country – and not by Arthur – who only seeks her out when he wants something – but by Jack Silk. Unlike her closest relatives, Jack Silk has always been sympathetic and kind to Paloma. He is, she believes, the only person in the world who understands her at all. If he wants to talk to her, it won’t be because he has another five hundred rules she’s supposed to follow like she’s still a little girl, or because he can’t find his keys or needs a loan. It’ll be because he has something important to say.
