Psychic Junkie (8 page)

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. Hollywood is where dreams go to shrivel up and die—the town itself being the ultimate unrequited love. Though I focused on my career, my career refused to focus on me. Audition after audition yielded nothing but more and more miles on my car (a death trap Del Sol I’d bought with the insurance money) and an increasing confusion on my part as to why people were stubbornly refusing to see me as the starlet I should be. And, to add to my delight, I was fired from my agency. It was devastating, but I still don’t think they ever really knew who I was. All I had left was my manager, Holly, who continued to stick by me through thick and thin…or thin and thinner and thinnest. God bless her.

Upon discovering the small, insubstantial role of a French girl in a movie called
Until the Night
, Holly immediately called the director and tried to sell me for the role.

“Actually,” I was told he said, “we were thinking of Sarah for one of the leads.”

I can only imagine Holly fell out of her very expensive ergonomically correct chair. At the very least her jaw dropped. This shift in conversation would be much like if Holly had asked someone to do her a favor by hiring a friend as an errand boy, only to hear the words “Actually, we were thinking of making him vice president.” It turned out the director was a fan of Abel Ferrara’s
The Blackout
, a film I’d done that hadn’t been a financial or critical success but that had garnered a fan base of young edgy directors, who, with any luck, will all hire me.

When I heard the description of Karina, the character I was meeting for, I was shocked: a high-priced call girl/L.A. party girl/model. Not that I have any qualms about playing a hooker, but in my mind I pictured her as absolutely soaring in height and with cleavage that cost more than my car. To cast this they could seriously go to any Starbucks in Los Angeles and find ten of those girls. Why me? Not that I considered myself unattractive, but I liked to think of myself as more sophisticated, more chic. Apparently, though, I was wrong. And thus commenced my Play a Whore phase.

Now, nudity is not something I shy away from—as long as there’s a reason for it, and that reason isn’t to jack up ticket sales or give the crew a reward for working long hours. Of course, it also has to be my choice, and not just because they “accidentally” got a shot of my right breast—something that happened early on in my career. How one
accidentally
includes a breast in a shot, and then goes on to edit that scene over and over and simply never notices the renegade breast, is beyond me. But after reading the script for
Until the Night
, I decided this was one of those cases in which a touch of nudity was fine. Actually, the way I saw it, Karina being topless in one scene was important, as it established her as a free spirit. See? I’m seriously a director’s dream.

And, apparently, I was this director’s dream. “Great,” he said when I told him I was okay being topless. “You’re the only actress we’re considering for the role.”

I was momentarily stunned, and then completely exhilarated. Right as I was about to say something like “Finally!” he continued with, “No one else will do the nudity.”

He realized his mistake when I gasped sharply. After listening to him stumble about, trying to get out of what he’d just said, I laughed it off. Really, who cares? I needed a job.

I left feeling pretty good. For the first time in years I felt certain I would land the role, or at least be seriously considered. This sentiment was quickly trampled to death when Holly informed me of the director’s concerns. It appeared that now that he’d met me in person, he had concerns about my stature. I’m petite. Short. Whatever. I’m no midget, but I’m five-two, which doesn’t exactly put me in the Amazon category. In the script there’s one line that refers to Karina as being tall.
One line.
This, to my horror, was cause for some serious consideration on the director’s part, and my response was to immediately call Aurelia.

“Will I be offered the role of Karina in the film
Until the Night
?” Over the years I’d learned to be very specific about such questions. Saying you want to know if you’ll get a job soon could easily be misconstrued by the very busy and often very ironic universe as meaning any job, and “soon” could be viewed as relative to your entire life…so, best to include as many details as possible.

Aurelia sighed, never a good sign from a psychic. “I don’t think so. No. You’ll be disappointed. There’s something blocking him from giving you that role, but I feel like he’ll offer you something else. Is there a smaller role he could give you?”

Of course, I should’ve known I’d be playing the insubstantial French girl after all. To be sure Aurelia wasn’t just in a bad mood when pulling my cards, I busted out my own deck, but no matter how many different ways I asked the same question, there was no swaying the message: I was not getting this job.

A few days later I was about to get in my afternoon bath when Holly called.
“You got it,”
she said, her voice as excited as it could possibly get. Holly, by nature, never gets very excited. Next to her my calmest state sounds absolutely hysterical.
“They’re offering you the role of Karina.”

“Yeah?” Obviously she was mistaken; this could get embarrassing. I shook my newest gardenia bath salt into the tub, breathing in to see how badly I’d overpaid. This salt was seriously expensive and supposedly from the Dead Sea. Why had I bought it? Something, I realized, was undeniably wrong with me. I’d drive past a grocery store with longing, wishing I could afford to stop and eat, but then spot a beauty supply store across the street and practically leap from my car as it was still screeching to a halt. Why didn’t this smell like gardenia?

“Hello?” Holly said. “They’re offering you the part of Karina?”

“I thought I was too short.”

“I guess he changed his mind.”

I waved my hand in the water, trying to bring the damn bath salts to life. Somewhere, hidden deep within the air, was a small trace of gardenia. I furiously shook the bottle, practically emptying the entire thing into the now very pricey bath. “Are you sure?” I said. I was trying to give her an out, one more chance to realize her mistake.

“I just got off the phone with him. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Holly was going to feel awful later, when it dawned on her that the part he’d wanted to give me was that of the flippin’ French girl. “I’m about to take a bath, that’s all.”

“Well, you got the part,” she said, sounding slightly puzzled as to why I wasn’t more excited.

“Okay.” I tried to muster a little enthusiasm for her benefit. “Well, that’s great, I guess.”

We hung up the phone and I got into my bath, reclining so far, sinking so deep, that my nose skimmed the water.
There,
I thought. There was the gardenia.

Two hours later it hit me. There was a chance, though slim, a miniscule flimsy little chance, that perhaps the cards weren’t right. Did I have the job? The cards weren’t always right, were they? A call to my manager (who was growing increasingly concerned) seemed to confirm it: I’d gotten the job! And though it seemed pretty obvious to everyone else that I’d definitely been cast as one of the leads, it wasn’t till I was finally on-set and about to take off my shirt that I truly believed the job was mine.

As is the case with independent films, the work was rewarding but the paychecks were like drops of water on a sizzling day. What little money I’d been paid, disappeared. I began to panic. What was I doing wrong? I examined my life, and then—to me this made perfect sense—I focused my anger on Aurelia. For years she’d been giving me false hope, setting me up for disappointment, essentially lying to me. Where was the success she’d been promising? Where was my wonderful life? Just the other day I’d agreed to take home leftovers from a dinner party simply so I could eat later. That was not supposed to happen. I was supposed to be
hosting
lavish dinner parties, all scraps going to my rhinestone-adorned sweater-wearing Chihuahua!

I called Aurelia in a fury and let loose a string of complaints, a barrage of failed predictions. Aurelia, as if she’d known this was coming, took it in stride.

“The problem is that the negative energy you’re projecting is blocking you from getting the roles you would otherwise get. It’s your negative attitude that’s preventing you from being successful.”

I attempted to breathe, and then calmly explained that I wouldn’t
have
a negative attitude if I
were
successful, which she’d always said I would be. Was this really going to morph into a chicken and egg debate? I was supposed to be a star! It was that simple! But no, Aurelia continued to insist I had something to do with my own failure.

“The casting people don’t know why they’re not casting you; they just feel this underlying negative energy. What you need to do is find your sparkle.”

“Sparkle?”

“Yes, sparkle. Imagine all the blackness moving up from your toes, up your body and through the top of your head. Let it out. Imagine it turning into white light. As it turns whiter and brighter, imagine it exploding and turning into golden glitter that falls back down onto you.”

I wanted to chuck the phone out the window. Of course I was being bitter and resistant, but
please
. No one who’s trapped in an abyss of despair wants to talk about glitter exploding over her head. To make myself feel better, I asked about my future man. Maybe if I had a wonderful love life I wouldn’t care that I was in danger of turning into one of those tragic older actresses with perilously sculpted hair and heaps of fake jewelry—that aching, overly painted woman who still tells stories of a job she had fifty years ago. And honestly, my heading in that direction was a distinct possibility, since I had a ton of worthless jewelry.

“No, Sarah.”

I blinked. “No what?”

“I’m not doing any more readings for you. You’re getting too dependent on them, and it’s not healthy.”

Not
healthy
? Not healthy was feeling as though you had nothing to live for, that nothing good was ever going to happen to you, that you’d be alone forever! I needed these readings to feel better, that was all. How could she say that was unhealthy? Unhealthy was
not
getting the readings!

I informed her that I’d do my own damn readings, and that’s exactly what I did. Nonstop. For weeks on end I shuffled the cards, actually relieved to no longer have to rely on someone else, relieved to not be accused of asking the same question over and over. If I so desired, I could ask about my future man until my fingers ached and the room went light with the rising sun, and not once would I hear “Please, Sarah, no more. I need to go; I have to sleep.” Instant gratification was another plus. Before, I’d been at the mercy of Aurelia’s schedule. Now I could have readings whenever I wanted. Ten seconds after walking in the door from an audition I could get answers to my questions:
How did the director feel about me? What did the producer think? Will I get the part? Will it lead to more work?
The immediacy was a nice change from all the times I’d returned home and been forced to wait and stare at the phone until Aurelia returned my call.

The only downside was that after countless readings, my mind would grow wild with confusion.
This reading said I wouldn’t get it, but that one an hour ago, didn’t that one say I’d get it? Better try once more….

One thing there was no doubt about was that the Knight of Wands was determined to be noticed. No matter how many times I shuffled, that one card persistently showed up in my readings, its resolve like that of an annoying neighbor who constantly pops up when you least expect it, determined to be noticed and not caring that you’ve got ice cream melting in your grocery bag. The universe, I realized, was telling me something, so I found my tarot card book and looked up the meaning.

“The Knight of Wands is physically attractive and focuses on style and look. Blond or light hair and light blue or green eyes. Someone who sparkles and glows with the fiery element of the wands.”

Sparkles? Why was this word haunting me? Wait, could it be a
man
who was my sparkle? Did finding my sparkle mean finding my man? My Knight of Wands? Had I cracked the code? Intuition kicked in and I knew this was a man. This was my man they were alluding to. Soon he’d be in my life. I could feel him approaching.

Locked in my room, I began chatting with the cards. “What do you think of him?” I’d ask. “You like him? Oh, good. And he’s polite? Okay, well on a scale of one to ten, how is he in bed?
Really?
Well, that’s certainly something to look forward to, now, isn’t it?”

Meanwhile, the messages Gina left on my answering machine were becoming increasingly fevered. “Where are you? Are you pulling cards? Put them down and pick up the phone! What’s going on?!” I was all right, I thought, still functioning in the world, still going about my daily activities and fulfilling all my obligations. The only differences were that now I had a few more readings a day—fine,
many
more readings a day—and that I didn’t feel like talking to Gina about my love affair with the cards or the future they predicted. What business was it of hers? What business was it of anyone’s? I was fine, and I certainly didn’t need a lecture. In a stroke of what I considered brilliance, I found the knob on the side of the answering machine and turned the volume down, thus solving the problem of her disruptive wailings.
There,
I thought,
now let’s find out if my knight speaks a foreign language.

One day there was a loud, insistent knock on the door. Figuring it was a script, perhaps even the one that would lead to the job the cards had just predicted, I ran downstairs, and found Gina standing at the door. Without saying hello or why she was there, she pushed past me.

I followed her up the stairs and watched as she turned in the direction of my bedroom. “Where are they?” she asked.