Confessions of a Hollywood Star (6 page)

I was totally in an
I am lost! How can I hope to go on?
mood after my conversation with Carla.

“I can’t believe it,” I muttered as Sam, Morty, Ella and I climbed into Sam’s car. “Carla always gets her way. She must’ve been an absolute monarch in a previous life.” Either that or God.

As an example of how real life does not imitate greetings cards, Ella said, “Just forget it, will you?”

Sam was even more sympathetic. He looked at me like I was a leaking carburetor. “It serves you right,” said Sam. “That’s what you get for lying.”

Even Morty jumped on the I-told-you-so wagon. “You really should’ve known this would happen,” said Morty. “It’s not as if you don’t know what she’s like.”

“I know she’s a devious, egocentric, manipulative witch, but even I didn’t expect her to dump Europe for this.”

Sam looked over at me as we moved out of the parking lot. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t, that’s why not.”

“You’re like a kid playing with a loaded gun who’s all surprised when he shoots himself with it,” said Sam.

“I begged you not to lie any more, didn’t I?” chimed in Ella. “I don’t know why you can never just let sleeping dogs snore away in the corner. Why do you always have to wake them up?”

Has anyone been more misunderstood than I? “But that’s exactly the point!” I wailed. “I wasn’t lying, was I?”

Sam’s a very conscientious driver, but even he took his eyes from the road for a second to look at me. “What do you mean you weren’t lying?”

“You mean you really got a part?” demanded Ella. Since everything in Sam’s car is no more than a few inches away she was pretty much screaming in my ear.

“Not exactly. I mean, not yet. But I will. That’s why it wasn’t a lie. It was just a premature announcement.”

Sam hooted. “A premature announcement? Is that like a pre-emptive strike?”

“And just how do you intend to get a part?” bellowed Ella. “Are you planning to ask Mr Santini if he can pull some strings?”

[Cue: sigh of infinite patience being shoved over the edge.] “I told you. Those women I met said all I had to do to be an extra was turn up on the first day of shooting.”

“You and half the town,” said Morty. “Unless they’re redoing Spartacus or something and need some really big crowd scenes, you’re going to have to line up now.”

But mine of course is an optimistic nature. “I’m sure I’ll get something,” I assured him. “I do have experience.”

“All this is beside the point,” cut in Sam. “It may have slipped your mind, Ms Cep, but the Carla Santini phase of your life’s supposed to be over, remember?”

“It’s not over till the final curtain.”

“This was the final curtain,” Sam informed me.

I smiled to myself. That’s what he thought.

Predictable As Always, The Gods Turn Against Me Again

G
raduation was on Sunday, and on Saturday my father and his dog came out from the city to join in the celebrations so I had no chance that weekend to do anything about furthering my movie career.

I had a restless, brooding two days. Morty, with his logical, mathematical mind was right. Now that Carla was not only in the movie but practically living with the stars, the word was out, spreading through the leafy streets of Dellwood like fire across the Californian forests. There were going to be enough hopeful extras in Dellwood to film every epic ever made (all at the same time), and a lot of those hopefuls were going to be friends of Carla Santini – which meant that they were more shoe-ins than hopefuls. My only chance was to get there first. Which meant before the shooting started. If I could find Shona and Leslie and remind them that they more or less promised me a part, all my problems would be over. I didn’t figure that would be too hard.

Even though I didn’t have to be at Second Best until one on Monday, I got up practically at the crack of dawn. My mother, who has a very opportunistic nature, wanted me to take the twins to day camp for her since I had “time to kill”, but I said that I couldn’t even injure time, I was meeting Ella. This was more or less true. I would be meeting Ella, she just didn’t know it yet. She’d been busy with her family all weekend, too, so I hadn’t had a chance to tell her.

Karen Kapok gave me one of her is-this-bowl-off-centre looks. “So early? What are you doing, going fishing?”

I never like to tell my mother my plans if I can help it in case she tries to stop me. I said we had a lot to do before I went to work.

As soon as my mother and the twins left for the day camp, I called Ella.

“What time is it?” She sounded semi-conscious.

“You don’t want to sleep your life away,” I told her. “The early actor catches the part.”

Ella wanted to know what I was talking about. I told her my idea.

“You want to do
what
?”

“It’s my only chance. They liked me. They said all I had to do was turn up. I’m sure if I explain to them the urgency of the situation, they can fix it so I don’t have to mill around in the street with the rest of the town.”

Because I don’t want to miss so much as a second of my life, I wake up and leap to my feet, ready to take on another challenging day. But Ella likes to sneak up on it. She isn’t really awake until after breakfast.

“But there are dozens of bed and breakfasts around here,” said Ella. Sleepiness makes her argumentative. “You have no idea which one they’re in.”

“That’s why I need you. You and your car.”

“But—”

I didn’t have time to stand there bickering with her. It was already nearly eight-thirty. “I’ll be over as soon as I get dressed,” I told her – and hung up the phone.

Ella didn’t have her car. It was in Creek’s garage, being serviced.

“I tried to tell you,” said Ella, “but as usual you wouldn’t listen. We’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I’m getting it back tonight”

Tomorrow might be another day, but it could also be a day too late. “Well, we have no choice then,” I decided. “We’ll have to go by bike.”

“In this heat?”

“Pedal fast,” I advised. “It’ll create a breeze.”

Ella was wrong about how many bed and breakfasts there are around Dellwood. There aren’t dozens; there are hundreds. Apparently anyone with a spare room sticks a sign on the front porch and waits for the city dwellers, bored with the theatre and music and elegant dining, to flood in, desperate to see a rabbit. We spent nearly three hours riding up hill and down dale, stopping at every one we found, but no one recognized Shona or Leslie from my descriptions.

The last one we had time for was the Freistucks’ “Bed & Breakfast – home cooking and TV”. By then we were both grimy and aching, and so wet with sweat that we looked as though we’d just tested for our Life Saver badges.

There was a man kneeling on the lawn doing something rural in the flowerbed.

I greeted him brightly. “Hi!” I said. “We were wondering if you could help us.”

The man turned around. I must’ve looked worse than I thought because he just stared at me for a few seconds as though he couldn’t quite place the language. Then he said, “Are you from one of those cults or something?”

See what I mean about Deadwood, New Jersey? It’s like stepping back in time to medieval Europe. What did he think our cult’s mission was, punishing ourselves for our sins by dying of heat exhaustion?

“Of course not.” I smiled reassuringly. “We’re looking for the proprietor.”

“Mrs Freistuck’s not in.” He went back to his digging.

“But you live here, right?” I asked the back of his head. “Or work here?”

He turned around again. “I’m Mr Freistuck. But whatever you’re selling we’ve already got it.”

I laughed. “Oh, no … we’re not selling anything. We’re – we’re looking for my aunt and her friend.”

Ella had been following me slowly up the driveway as though she was dragging a loaded Conastoga wagon behind her, but now I heard her stop before she reached us.

“She staying here?” asked Mr Freistuck.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” I gave a girlish laugh. “Silly me, I forgot to write down the name of the B & B she’s at. But I know it’s around here. Somewhere.”

Mr Freistuck looked yearningly at the spade in his hand and sighed. “What’s your aunt’s name?”

I told him her name.

Mr Freistuck shook his head. “First names don’t mean nothing to me. What’s her last name?”

It was hard not to let my smile lapse. None of the other people we’d asked had been as difficult as to ask for a surname. I put this down to the fact that Mr Freistuck wasn’t a woman like the others – and also to the fact that he obviously enjoyed digging in the dirt. I find that people like Karen Kapok, who get pleasure from soil, have a tendency to be niggly and pedantic.

“Well…” I glanced behind to Ella for moral support and possibly help, but she had her back to me and was staring out at the road. “Well, it sort of depends.”

Mr Freistuck absentmindedly stabbed at the earth a few times. “Depends on what?”

“She’s from the city,” I explained. “You know what city people are like. It depends on her mood. Sometimes she uses her maiden name, sometimes she uses her married name, sometimes she uses—”

“What kind of car does she drive?”

“Car?”

Mr Freistuck had hidden depths of sarcasm you wouldn’t expect from someone wearing a Hal’s Hardware baseball cap. “You need me to explain what a car is?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that – it’s just that she’s just got a new one and I’m not sure—”

“Do you know what she looks like?” asked Mr Freistuck. “Or has she had plastic surgery since the last time you saw her?”

I described Shona. “She’s about five-foot seven, has three studs in her right ear, short black hair, a slightly long nose, wears Chanel No. 5, and looks like she might be Armenian or possibly Welsh and probably likes Miles Davis.”

Not so much a flicker of recognition showed in Mr Freistuck’s eyes, but I didn’t take this as a no. He seemed to me like the kind of man who might not recognize a detailed description of his wife.

“Her friend’s name is Leslie.” I described Leslie.

“She doesn’t have a last name either?”

“Oh of course she does.” I smiled staunchly. “But I don’t remember what it is.”

Mr Freistuck hefted his spade. “Yeah, I know who you mean.”

“Oh, but that’s terrific!” Even though Mr Freistuck was clearly an undemonstrative man, I wanted to hug him. “Where are they? Are they here?”

He turned again and resumed his digging. “Nope.”

“Well do you mind if we wait?” Ella had her cell phone. I figured I could call Mrs Magnolia and tell her I was going to be late.

“You can do what you like, just let me get on with my work in peace.”

Full of jubilation, I started back towards Ella when, from deep in the border, Mr Freistuck said, “Course, they’re not staying here any more.”

I turned sharply. “What?”

“Moved out,” said Mr Freistuck. “Somebody gave them a house.”

My heart was lower than the bottom of a well and just as dark as I finally made my way to the store. There was no doubt in my mind that my only contacts with the production crew were now living in Carla Santini’s back yard. They might as well be in Peru, for all the good that did me.

But coincidence is not just the stuff of fiction; it’s the stuff of life as well. I was just gliding to a stop in front of Second Best when I saw Shona and Leslie coming out of a store across the street. Pushing my bike, I raced across the road.

“Hi!” I called, not quite managing to stop before I hit their rear bumper with my front tyre. “Remember me?”

They both looked up, smiling vaguely, their hands on the doors of their car. As difficult as it is to believe, they didn’t remember me. I put this down to the pressures of work.

“I’m sorry,” Leslie began, “I don’t think…”

“The other day,” I prompted. “In the secondhand clothes store?”

Shona kept looking at me as if she was flicking through her memory files without coming up with a match, but Leslie nodded slowly. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You sold us a bowling shirt.”

Shona got into the driver’s seat. “Nice to see you again.” She slammed the door shut.

Like an echo, Leslie’s door shut right after it.

I stretched over the handlebars and tapped on Shona’s window. “Please!” I shouted. “I just – I wanted to ask you a question.”

There was a whirring sound and the window lowered halfway. It just proves how phony Hollywood people really are. Both of them had been all smiles and pleasantries when they came to the store but now, although they were technically smiling, they looked about as pleasant as the gout.

“What is it?” asked Shona. She started the engine.

I said I remembered they said the movie needed extras and I was just wondering if there was some way I could be one without having to stand in a line with everyone else. “You know,” I said, “I am an actor myself. I—”

She cut me off before I could give her my résumé. “I’m afraid we work in costume, not casting.”

I had to speak quickly because the window was rising again. “Oh, I know … I just thought – because you said—”

She beeped the horn so I could get out of the way before she backed over me.

I threw myself into work that afternoon so I wouldn’t become negative after the horrendous start to my day. I sorted through the new consignment; I changed the price tags on things that had been on the racks so long they seemed as permanent as the door; I bubbled with efficiency and helpfulness and hummed cheerful songs under my breath.

“Well, you certainly seem to be in a good mood today,” commented Mrs Magnolia.

I believe in total honesty whenever possible. “I’m not,” I said. “I’m just trying to keep up my spirits.”

“That’s my girl,” said Mrs Magnolia.

I shouldn’t’ve bothered. Although it’s not true of water, food, money, rainforests or clean air, it is true that there’s no limit to the defeats and humiliations a person can suffer in this world.

I was rereading
Othello
during a shopping lull to take my mind off my own problems (nobody does problems like the Bard – not even me) when I heard the door open, and looked up to see Carla Santini and Alma Vitters. Carla’s often said that diamonds are the only things she would ever wear secondhand, but from the way she strode into the store you’d think the sign outside said Prada.