by Kim Cayer
“Page 12, top of the page. I’ll start. ‘There’s that rabbit in my garden again!’” he commanded.
I saw my line. “‘Oh, no! There’s Farmer Dell. I’m not supposed to be eating his carrots!’” I quickly said.
“Come on, girl! Get into character!” Rauger shouted. “‘I’ll have to get my gun!’”
I looked at him in terror. Was I that bad? I searched Page 12 for my next line and in a squeaky bunny voice, I delivered it. “‘Oh, no! He’s gone to get his gun! I must hop away!’”
“Give it life, girl! The farmer’s gonna blow you away!” Rauger directed me. I began running to the four corners of the room, running for my life. “You’re a bunny, girl!” Rauger reminded me. What a faux pas! Watch me lose the role because of my stupidity. Driven into a frenzy, in a last-ditch bid to claim the role, I began bounding around the room on all fours. I thought I may be resembling a jackrabbit more than a bunny, but I was possessed.
“‘There you are, bunny! I’ve got you now!’” Rauger played his part perfectly.
The script called for me to halt and plead for my life. In my demented hopping, I’d twisted my ankle and was grateful to stop. In severe pain, I gasped out my line. “‘Oh, no! Please, Farmer Dell, don’t shoot me. Why can’t we be friends?’”
I collapsed to the floor. What the hell, I thought, maybe it would look like the bunny gave up hope for life. Please, Rauger, let’s be friends! I’ll work for nothing, I’ll even give up the role, just don’t make me leap for my life anymore.
Eliza spoke up. “That’ll be fine, Alice. Please, have a seat,” she again kindly offered. I bravely concealed my limp as I gratefully walked to a chair. I felt whipped; my spirit broken.
“We’ll let you in on a little secret,” Eliza confided. “You’re definitely right for the role of Betsy. Now, there’s three weeks rehearsal and three months of touring. Unfortunately, we’re unable to pay for rehearsal time.” She said that last bit so regretfully that I took pity on her.
“Aaww…that’s alright,” I told her. There, there.
“We perform all over Ontario but there are some shows in Toronto. Usually there’s about ten shows a week and you’d get fifty dollars a show, plus fifty dollars a day per diem when you’re out of town. How does that sound to you?” Eliza pleasantly asked me.
What a feeling flowed through me. Why, she’s negotiating a contract with me! I’m being given the chance to call some financial shots. “That sounds wonderful,” I replied, smitten.
“Good,” Eliza purred, happy we’d come to a mutual agreement. “We’ll be making a final decision tomorrow and will let you know then. Thank you for coming. I’ll walk you out.”
Eliza walked me to the door. Even though I realized I didn’t have the part yet, I felt contented. I wanted to nestle in her arms. “Thank you, Eliza,” I breathlessly said as I floated out.
Eliza called out a name. “Barney Woodstock?”
The hippie rose from his yoga position. “Hi, Eliza,” he greeted her with what looked like cupid arrows flying from his eyes. He walked forward but stopped in the doorway, his body rigid. “Rauger, sir!” Barney stood at attention a full ten seconds before goose-stepping into the room.
Ass kisser, I thought.
* * *
Three days after the audition and no call. Paul was threatening to get an unlisted number. “I’ll call YOU if you get it. Besides, if we haven’t heard by now, you probably didn’t get it,” Paul optimistically reassured me.
“But I did so well at the audition!” I wailed.
“Sit tight, be patient. There’s five thousand other actors who’d like that job, too. In the meanwhile, do you want to do a modelling job?”
A modelling job! Those words were like magic to a girl who finally had to pay someone to take her on a date. My mother wouldn’t even buy my school pictures until my final year, and that was because they came out blurry, making me appear slightly exotically attractive. Someone wanted to take pictures of me and would pay me? What a novel idea. I liked it.
Then I remembered Paul’s penchant for off-color jobs. “Paul, this isn’t for nudie magazines or anything, is it?” I asked leerily.
“Of course not. I got outta that business years ago. This is for some computer magazine. 20 bucks an hour. Want it?” Paul impatiently asked.
What harm could a computer magazine do? Attractive wages, too. “When and where?” I enquired.
“Tomorrow morning, 8 a.m. Professional Business Machines in Scarborough,” Paul said. I hated Scarborough. It took three buses and two subways to get there.
“Thanks, Paul,” I said. “Phone me if that theatre company calls.”
“No kidding!” Paul hung up.
I got up at 5 a.m. the next morning and gave myself a couple hours to get ready. I decided to go with the ‘secretary look’ and wore the navy blue matching skirt and jacket that had seen about 45 ‘secretary extra’ jobs. My hair was worn in a tight bun, showing that I meant business about my work, and my face, which I’d worked on the longest, sported the current ‘no-make-up-look’ fad. I chose sensible earrings, a sensible watch and sensible shoes.
I gave myself just enough time to reach my destination. The business office was located a 20-minute walk from the bus stop. I wished I’d worn lower heels. As I walked in at 8 a.m. on the dot, I hoped someone put the coffee on. I was already beginning to feel sleepy.
“Hi, I’m Alice Kumplunkem. I’m here to do a (relish, relish) modelling assignment,” I preened before the receptionist.
“They’re ready for you. Just down the hall. Last door on your left,” the receptionist said, noticeably unimpressed.
I made my way down the hall to the last door and opened it. Facing me was a warehouse room filled to overflowing with computers, monitors, keyboards of every shape and size. A young man rushed forward. “Are you the model?”
“Yes,” I replied. Couldn’t he tell?
“Come on,” the young man said, taking my arm. “Let’s get going. This is Shawn, the photographer.” I was introduced to a lanky fellow with six cameras around his neck.
“Hi, I’m Alice. Is my hair and make-up OK?” I professionally enquired.
Shawn gave me a quick once-over. “Your hair should be more…I don’t know…teased,” he said. Of course! Secretaries don’t wear buns anymore; that’s a thing of the past! Nowadays, they’re more modern; you could probably get away with a Mohawk.
“Shall I run and fix it?” I anxiously asked.
“Nah, that’s just my personal taste,” Shawn replied. “It’s OK for the shoot. We’re only going to see your hands.”
“Enough chitchat,” the young man said. “Let’s get this shoot over with. Alice, sit in that chair, place your hands on the keyboard and Shawn will snap a few pics. Then wheel yourself over to the next keyboard and we’ll do the same thing. Let’s get to it.”
I went to work. I sat in front of one computer, my fingers pretending to punch keys. I’d hear the camera click a half-dozen times then I’d move on to the next business machine. Same routine. By Computer #23, I started typing out, ‘Profession Business Machines sucks the big one.” I noticed I hadn’t bothered to glamorize my nails. In a nervous state since auditioning for that theatre job, I had bitten all my nails down to the quick. As a matter of fact, a Band-Aid covered my baby finger where I had started chewing on the skin around the nail.
I had just rolled my chair over my foot en route to the next keyboard when the assistant called out, “No! That’s it! No more photos! Your job’s finished now.” I glanced at my watch. Astonished, I noticed that not even two hours had gone by. The assistant also glanced at a stopwatch that hung around his neck. “An hour and fifty-five minutes. Aahh, let’s make it two hours,” he magnanimously said. “It was a good shoot. Thanks, guys.”
I was dismissed. Two hours! All this time and energy for forty bucks, minus Paul’s commission. Why did Paul give me these jobs? Had he no respect for me: My disillusionment with the modelling li
fe began to build into a resentment of Paul. I couldn’t wait to get home, get on the phone and rail at him.
After 90 minutes of mass transit, I trudged up the steps to my apartment. My phone was ringing! It could be the theatre company! Please, please, I prayed, let me have the part. I fumbled with the keys and finally managed to let myself in. I dove for the phone. “Hello?” I hopefully answered.
“Alice, Paul here.”
The anger came rushing back. “Paul, you’re rich! I made you eight bucks today. Why don’t you tell me…”
Paul interrupted me. “Alice, you got that theatre job. The Bugs Bunny role.”
I stared off, rhapsodic with emotion. “I’m Betsy Bunny?”
Paul continued, in a cold voice. “I was afraid something like this would happen. Remember, Alice, one play and then it’s back to work.”
* * *
Rehearsals for Unity in the World began in two days. In the interim I was filled to overflowing with peace and contentment. I had work! I allowed nothing to faze me. Not the fact that I wasn’t going to be paid for the next three weeks work nor the fact that my mom didn’t give a shit about my golden opportunity. I’d made enough cash from extra work lately to just squeak past the next few weeks and my mother is a scumbucket anyways.
I had placed a long-distance call to her in Oak Paw. “Hi, Mom, it’s Alice.”
“Is this collect?” she greeted me.
“No, I’m paying. I’ve been making some money,” I reassured her.
“So, what do you want?” my mom asked. She has to warm up her maternal love. Takes her a while to get going.
“I just wanted to tell you I landed a big part. It’s in a play and I have one of the main characters,” I proudly boasted. I didn’t bother mentioning that there were only two characters.
“Will I be able to rent it at the video store?” Mom asked.
“No, it’s a play,” I said. “Live theatre.”
“You mean like that crap the kids put on every year at the school? Those talent-night things? They’re boring.” Mom couldn’t contain her enthusiasm.
“Well, it’s almost four months’ work. I’m happy I got it,” I petulantly said.
“You getting paid?” Mother asked suspiciously.
“A little bit,” I replied.
“Well, if you need money…,” my mother began.
Oh, here it comes! She does care somewhat for me. “Yes, Mother?” I tenderly asked.
“Don’t forget, I have none. It’s been nice talking to you, Alice,” Mother continued, “but try not to call after 8 p.m. anymore. You know I’m watching TV then.” She hung up on me.
I slowly put the receiver down. I considered calling her back and disowning her. Instead, I decided to practice my role for a while. I hopped around my living room until the neighbors complained.
* * *
Rehearsals fazed me. I showed up dressed in what I thought to be an appropriate theatre rehearsal costume. I wore black tights, a colorful billowing skirt, black turtleneck and my hair in a ponytail. Standing in the doorway of the community center building, I wondered where I would find the rehearsal space.
I noticed a sign posted on the wall. “Betsy and Farmer – Rehearsal in Basement – Locker Room Area,” it read. How nice to be singled out! That sign could just as well have read “Rehearsals for Alice Kumplunkem, STAR of Unity in the World, will be held in our fully furnished Basement. No Autographs, Please.”
With a spring in my step, I headed down the stairs leading to the basement. As I neared the bottom I smelled a faintly distinguishable odor. Is that the smell of children making their own glue from flour and water? Noooo. Homemade silly putty? Nooo. Gee, that almost smells like…pot.
I reached the bottom step and could distinctly smell ganga coming from under the steps. I wondered if I should just move on but then a righteous feeling overcame me. These kids shouldn’t be doing that! And as a potential role model for the children, Betsy Bunny should try and set them on the road to becoming upstanding young citizens.
I looked under the steps and saw a single man crouched there. He was quickly sucking in last little gasps on his roach. I didn’t expect to find a bum under the steps. I slowly backed away when the bearded face looked up at me.
“Oh, hi. Hey, I remember you,” he said.
“No, I don’t think so…,” I told him. I wasn’t in the mood to be picked up by some street nut.
He came out of his hiding place and straightened up. “Yeah,” he assured me. “You were at the audition. You must be Betsy. I’m Farmer Dell.”
“Oh,” I said, a touch dismayed. “I’m Alice Kumplunkem.”
He looked at me oddly for an instant then started giggling. He worked himself up into a good laugh for a couple minutes then slowly stopped. He must have laughed himself to tears because his eyes were gravely bloodshot. “I’m Barney Woodstock,” he introduced himself. “We should get to rehearsal. Rauger is a fanatic about punctuality.”
With that, he led the way down the hall. I wished I didn’t have to walk in at the same time as Barney, as he reeked of marijuana. I was looking forward to seeing Eliza Spottle though. I had decided to cultivate her as my friend.
We came to a door marked ‘Locker Room’ and entered. I saw Rauger pacing the floor and a quick scan showed that Eliza wasn’t there. Our esteemed director, Rauger, glanced up and saw his new recruits. Barney immediately stood at attention, compelling me to straighten my posture.
Rauger immediately started his diatribe. “We are about to start three weeks of intensive training. You will be pushed to your highest physical limit. You will be allowed mere minutes each day to refuel yourselves. You will report on time every day and be expected to stay twelve hours. I want energy from you every minute of our working day. In three weeks I want a dynamite show and I will not settle for less. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Barney snapped. I nodded my head but that wasn’t enough for Rauger. I quickly voiced the same response as Barney.
“Good,” Rauger said. “There’s a big gymnasium on the other side of these doors. I want you to warm up. Twenty laps around the gym. Now!”
Every day was like the day before. Show up on time, stand at attention while you were orally abused, then do a minor version of a triathlon. After that, we rehearsed the play over and over. That was when Barney got to rest. He played the farmer rather sluggishly, which pleased our director. Rauger wanted CONTRAST; that was his favorite word. Since Betsy was always hopping and leaping about, she was the ‘energy force’. Rauger said that if that was all the kids saw, just pure energy, it would incite them to violence. Thus, the farmer had to slow things down. Barney rarely moved from one position.
Somewhat astonishingly, a show began to form. Barney and I began looking at our scripts less and less. My lines were quite inane. Most of the time I was just saying, “Oh, no!” Before we knew it, Rauger announced that we’d be having a dress rehearsal. From a dusty trunk he pulled out our costumes. Barney’s wasn’t much different from his usual attire – he was given an old pair of coveralls.
“Kids will believe anything,” Rauger said as he rummaged for my costume. “Put overalls on a guy and he’s automatically a farmer. But Alice, the kids aren’t stupid. They’ll never buy you’re a bunny unless you look like a bunny.” He handed me the rabbit ensemble – a tight gray flannel body with a huge pompom sewn onto the butt. It was like one of those pajamas-with-feet.
Then Rauger pulled out a huge bunny head. I wasn’t exactly pleased with the expression on the rabbit’s face. I had been playing Betsy as a political activist for equality amongst all animals and this costume looked like I was a contestant in the ‘Miss Buck-Toothed Bunny Pageant’. Taking the head from Rauger, I noticed it had a zipper running up the back of it. The front was made of a hard plastic but the back was a soft material. I tried it on.
“How does it look?” My words boomed back at me hollowly.
“You’re going to have to speak loudly to be h
eard,” the director informed me.
I tried projecting my voice. “How does it look?” I hollered.
Barney looked at me, cocked his head and said, “Huh?”
“How does it look?” I hollered at him again.
“You did a…?” Barney still didn’t understand me.
“Look! Look! How does it look?” I persisted.
“Lude? You did a lude? Hey, Alice,” Barney whispered, his eyes darting at our director. “It’s no big deal to me but I wouldn’t let Raug know.”
“Alright, break’s over. Let’s try working with these costumes,” Rauger dictated. I savored my steps as I walked to the stage area, as I knew I’d be hopping for the next four hours.
After a strenuous rehearsal session, I discovered the trick to my costume. The rabbit head completely muffled my words. Barney kept slowing up the show’s pace to stare, cock his head and say, “Huh?” He should know my response lines already; I knew all of his. Finally, I tried shortening my sentences. Instead of saying, “Oh, goody, I see more carrots! How I love carrots!” I would instead say, “Mmm! Carrots! Mmm!” Barney seemed able to deal with that level of conversation and Rauger thought it added to my character. I felt Betsy had denigrated to the most insipid, brainless, vapid rabbit in the flock, but Rauger assured me it was perfect for children’s theatre.
The three-week rehearsal period was drawing to a close. On our last afternoon, Rauger informed us we would be doing a preview show the following Monday morning. Following that, we would be going out on the road for three weeks. Eliza wafted in on that announcement.
“Eliza!” I cried out, as if I’d just discovered she was my real mother.
“Hello, Betsy. Hello, Farmer Dell,” she greeted us, and twittered a bit. I guffawed loudly as if she’d made a big funny. In the sweetest voice she proceeded to tell us our upcoming agenda. “On Monday at ten, you’ll go to the Riverdale Library and put on a preview show – sort of a final rehearsal with an audience. After the show, you’ll pack up immediately and drive up to Mount Albert, which is about two hours from Toronto. Then you’ll continue driving north for the next three weeks as we have shows booked for you. Good job, you two.”