Lights! Camera! Dissatisfaction...

by Kim Cayer

  “This is the last time I’ll have to set my eyes on you two,” Rauger jumped in. “I’ve done my job. Now do yours. Don’t disappoint me.”

  “I’ll meet you here Monday morning,” Eliza informed us. “You can load the props into the truck and then we’ll proceed to the library. After the show, I’ll give you your maps, your schedule and your per diem money.” I quivered at the thought of my $50 a day. Already I was devising plans on how to bank most of it. “See you around eight Monday morning?” Eliza asked. I loved how she begged us to differ. Barney and I both nodded. “Fine, then. Have a lovely weekend. And,” she added solemnly, “get plenty of rest.”

  * * *

  Our preview show at the library went swell! I was terribly nervous. When I slipped my bunny head on, I could hear my breath coming in pants. Glancing through the curtains, I could see about fifty children and maybe twenty parents. At least it was a fairly small house.

  We were greeted warmly by the library staff when we’d entered with Eliza. After the stage was set up, a librarian came over with juice and coffee. I was ever-so-grateful but Barney was annoying me with his rude behavior. He barely acknowledged the lady as he dug at something tangled in his matted beard. As soon as she left, Barney triumphantly pulled out what looked to be a dead beetle.

  “Wow! Look what I found!” he excitedly crowed. “A bud!”

  “Yuck, for gross,” I grimaced. “Don’t you shampoo your beard?” I hated bugs and was worried about hygiene in our tour truck.

  “It’s a bud, a marijuana bud,” Barney explained.

  Children were starting to walk into the theatre area. “Hide it!” I screeched. Barney was not contributing to my state of calmness.

  Yet the show went so well, I would have gone out and did it again. The children laughed in all the right places and Barney and I didn’t fluff too many lines. Afterwards many children, parents by their side, lined up to laud us.

  “Tell Betsy Bunny how much you liked the show, Trevor,” said Trevor’s father. He gave the young son a tap on the shoulder.

  “I liked the show,” the young boy said.

  Another parent and child stepped forward. “This is Betsy Bunny! You liked Betsy, didn’t you, Katie?” the mother said.

  Katie stuck out a big lip and shook her head negatively. Her mother gave her a mild shove.

  “Katie….,” she warned. Katie, looking frightened now, nodded her head up and down.

  When the last child had left, I pulled off my mask and looked at Barney. Sweat was pouring off me and my hair was lank. I felt a camaraderie with my acting partner. “Well, chum, shall we pull down the set?”

  “You go ahead,” Barney told me. “I’m going to roll one.”

  Eliza greeted us in the main room of the library. “That was a terrific show,” she commented.

  “Great audience!” I exclaimed. “So well-behaved! I can’t wait to do more shows in Toronto.” I also wanted to get back to Toronto as soon as possible to make sure Lunchpail was still alive. I had to leave him in my agent’s care on the condition that I allow Paul to book Lunchpail should any cat-acting jobs come along. I agreed, but if that cat started making more than me, I was getting out of the business.

  Eliza gave us an envelope full of 50-dollar bills. “Here’s your per diem money. Don’t spend it all in one place,” she said. I laughed, thinking she was such a wit. “Drive carefully. We don’t want any more wrecked trucks.” With that, she bid us a fond adieu.

  We pulled into Mount Albert a couple hours later. It looked to be a town with a population of six. The only place of business was a shack with a weather-beaten sign claiming it was the Mount Albert Center.

  “That’s where we have to go,” I said, looking at our schedule. “Doesn’t look like much.”

  Barney and I entered what appeared to be a curling rink. The caretaker raced forward. “You the guys puttin’ on a show for the kids?”

  “Yes,” I said with dignity. “We’re the theatre company who will be performing a play for the children.”

  The caretaker led us into the curling area, a dingy two-lane sod-covered space. “Aren’t you lucky we don’t have the ice in?” the caretaker noted. “I guess youse guys will set up at one end and the kids at the other?”

  “Sure,” Barney agreed.

  “I’m gonna git goin’ then,” the caretaker said, glancing at his pocket watch. “There’s daytime bingo goin’ on in Honeydew. That’s where all the older folk are. I’ll be back to lock up.” With that, he made his exit.

  Sitting behind our curtain, we could hear the kids coming in. I risked a peek. “There’s a few kids but no parents or teachers,” I observed.

  Barney actually showed signs of being perturbed. “Oh, oh,” he said. “Not a good sign.”

  Fragments of conversation drifted our way from the audience. “This is going to be a sissy play, I just know it,” someone said.

  “Let’s skip it and play handball against the wall outside,” the friend replied.

  Someone else had a different suggestion. “I heard Billy wants to fight Johnny today. I bet they scrap here since there’ll be no supervisors around to stop it. Everyone’s in Honeydew for that Big Money Bingo.”

  The good feeling I was left with from our Toronto morning show was being acidly dissolved. “Ready to go on?” Barney asked. I had been studying the scene before me through a part in the curtains and now I clutched them for dear life.

  “B…B…Barney, I don’t see more than five kids under l2 out there. There’s at least three couples making out. Oh, God…one kid just got sick…” I was rooted to the spot in petrification.

  Barney meandered onto the stage without me. The kids quieted down as they looked at him. They’re KIDS, Alice, and they want to be entertained. Go out and make them happy! I bounded onto the stage.

  “You call that a rabbit?” one youngster called out. “That’s a girl in a rabbit suit. You can see the tits!” The class clown was greeted by laughter.

  The next 40 minutes were the toughest I’ve ever had to endure. I had to keep reminding myself to watch out for the wooden plank that served to separate the two curling rinks and our stage in the process. The court jester was ‘on’ that day; he didn’t let a bon mot slide by. At one point, a Grade Two boy vomited across the front of our stage. He queasily looked up and said, “I’ve got the flu.” Shortly after that, I started hearing a slurping noise. I couldn’t place where the sound was coming from until I noticed most of the audience staring towards the bank of the rink. I strained my bunny neck and saw one couple going at in with a vengeance. The 14-year-old boy was implanting quite an impressive hickey on his date’s neck. Every few seconds I’d look that way to check on the hickey’s progression. After a couple minutes, a loud pop was heard. The entire audience turned to see the result – a dark purple outline of Africa. Mild applause was heard. Then the girl went to work on his neck.

  At least there were four kindergarten kids paying us some attention. I played my heart out to them and wished the rink raconteur would stop corrupting them with his lewd remarks. Suddenly the back door burst open.

  “Johnny and Billy are going at it outside!” some kid yelled. That cleared the place. Everyone got up and ran outside at full speed just as Betsy Bunny was telling the farmer about peace and unity. Barney and I were left alone in the room with a single kindergarten child.

  She looked at us. With a tooth missing and her hair in pigtails, she said in a good Dirty Harry impression, “I’m still here. Finish the show.”

  Barney and I performed the last five minutes. When we ended, the Farmer and Betsy Bunny in a friendly hug, the punk simply got up and walked out. I think she knew it was over.

  The kids trooped back in just as Barney and I were packing up the last of our set. Immediately they started complaining. “Hey! We didn’t get to see how it ended! Finish the show! We’ll tell!”

  I was concerned for our safety but after a few seconds the kids got bored with us. “Bus is here!” someone
yelled and before you could say, “Lickety split, you bad kids,” they were on their way back to their kennels.

  “Come on,” I said to Barney, “let’s get out of this town.” We picked up a load to haul out to our truck.

  “Oh, fuck!” Barney swore. “Those bastards!”

  “What?” I asked. I had a load of boxes in front of my eyes. I put them down and followed Barney’s gaze. “Oh, those bunch of Nazi brats!” I sputtered. The Mount Albert Mafia had deflated all four of our tires.

  After a lengthy delay, Barney and I drove to the town where our next show would be performed – Squint, Ontario. I was looking forward to a nice bath and a good book. We hadn’t been able to leave Mount Albert until early evening. “Squint should be the next town,” I said, judging by my map of Ontario.

  We pulled into a town illuminated by a couple streetlights. “There’s no hotel here,” I noticed uneasily.

  “We’ll have to drive to the next town,” Barney said.

  In the seventh town after Squint, we arrived in North Bay which offered four or five hotels in a strip. Barney stopped at the first one.

  “Give me your 50 bucks,” I suggested, tired and now just longing for the bath. “I’ll get the accommodations.”

  Barney gave me his money. “Try and get a deal,” he advised. I went into the hotel’s office.

  Five minutes later I was back at the truck. “Barney!” I wailed. “They want 100 bucks for one room!”

  “That’s the going rate,” Barney said.

  “Let’s try the next hotel,” I suggested.

  The fifth hotel, along with the previous four, wanted $100 a room. “But that’s twice my per diem money!” I complained to Barney.

  “No, it isn’t,” Barney replied. “It’s our combined per diem money for the day. You’re not gonna get a room to yourself for 50 bucks unless we tour in Mexico. We have to share a room and we have to work a deal.” Barney went in.

  I sat in the truck, my prudish upbringing coming back to haunt me. Share a room with a man? Almost a total stranger? What if he tries something? I prayed Barney would get a room with two beds.

  Before long, Barney was back. “I got it for 90,” he said, giving me my change. I had five dollars to spend the next day on food.

  I wondered if I’d packed pajamas.

  * * *

  I entered my apartment by throwing myself onto the lime-green carpet. I gave it a resounding smack. “Home!” I went around kissing my appliances and furniture. I never thought I’d live to see the day I’d be happy to see my post-Goodwill decorated flat.

  I opened the fridge to see what kind of healthy food I had inside. Nothing but a bag of potatoes with long tendrils sprouting from them. I slammed the door shut. No more potatoes! I’d had French fries for lunch and dinner every day for the last three weeks. I reminisced about the first leg of our tour.

  “Barney,” I’d say, scanning a menu. “Everything costs more than five dollars.”

  “How much are fries?” he’d ask. He was on the same diet as I.

  “Three dollars.”

  “We’ll have two waters and two orders of fries,” Barney would usually end up telling the restaurant employee. If we had money left, we’d treat ourselves the next day to a fancy breakfast of toast and coffee.

  And while nothing was quite as horrendous as our first road show, we still managed to run into difficulties. One night we drove until 2 a.m. looking for a place to stay. “Alice, I’m falling asleep,” Barney said, at the end of his rope. “Either you drive again or we sleep in the truck.”

  I had been studying the road intensely. Northern Ontario roads are so desolate and lonely; nothing to keep you company but the moose crossing signs. “I’ll drive,” I said. I wasn’t about to park the truck where a wild moose might attack me.

  As soon as I’d taken the wheel, Barney fell asleep. Some copilot. I had a brainstorm. I’d drive to the school, park the truck in the parking lot, and we’d sleep there. I couldn’t wait to get there; I kept seeing eyes darting at me from the side of the road. Finally, exhausted, I made out the schoolhouse in the dark. I drove into the lot, shut the truck off and immediately joined Barney in slumberland.

  I awoke from a wild dream. I dreamt I was still seeing darting eyes but now they were the eyes of children. I kept shaking myself to wake up until I realized I was already awake. Dozens of children were staring through our windshield. I had parked under the basketball hoop on their playground. The teacher in charge of watching the playground strode over to have a word with us. Before she could reach us I considered gunning the truck out of there, but my getaway path was littered with children.

  Barney woke up when the lady rapped her knuckles on my window. He looked at me reproachfully. I tried to laugh a little. “At least I saved us 90 bucks…” The Spottles received word of our unbecoming conduct.

  And how about the day our schedule called for us to report to the Lady of Our Lord Church in Ste. Francis. Our truck, which had been running badly lately, chugged into town. Banners were hung everywhere, proclaiming this to be ‘Revive Religion’ Day. “Look, Barney!” I shrilled in delight. There was a poster advertising our play, Unity in the World.

  As we tried to find a place to park in the crowded lot, we were hailed by the townsfolk. “Welcome to Ste. Francis! God be with you! Can’t wait to see your enlightening show!”

  Barney had a grave look of concern on his face.

  “Barney, lighten up!” I urged. “This is great! May God be with you.” I was loving thy fellow man.

  “May the force be with you,” Barney mumbled in return.

  I was delighted to see a large crowd had gathered for our play. There must have been an adult for every child. After the donation plate had been passed around (of which we wouldn’t see any), Barney and I went on.

  After just a few lines, I noticed a change in the climate. The audience had quieted right down and were staring at us in disbelief. Barney was sweating and I started hearing snippets of outraged conversation. “…a bunny? …He’s got a gun! …Our children shouldn’t be seeing this…”

  One man stood up. “I thought we were going to see Unity in the World?”

  I broke character long enough to say, “This is it.”

  “Your title is misleading!” he shouted. For effect, he pointed the long arm of righteousness at us. “You have MISLED us! You are doing the work of the DEVIL!”

  I begged to differ but was struck by a ripe tomato. Barney took a good shot to the knee by a cauliflower. A veritable julienne salad began pelting us.

  “Run!” Barney shouted, already on his way. I completely broke character as I ran on two legs to the truck. Barney jumped in the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.

  Nothing. “Come on, you piece of junk! Start!” Barney screamed.

  “Please, God, let us get out of here. Please, God, let the truck start,” I prayed. Just before I was about to promise God I’d get out of the acting business forever, the truck started. I’m still holding a grudge against Him for not allowing me to make that promise.

  The angry crowd surged toward us. The man who had started it was at the forefront. “Devil’s henchmen!” he shouted, waving a rosary above his head like a lasso. Barney raced the truck out of the lot as more vegetables were hurled at us.

  “Barney!” I remembered. “Our set!”

  “Our life comes first,” Barney said. “We’ll worry about the set later.”

  We hid in the hills all day. As evening drew near we could hear gospel singing. Barney and I decided to slink back into town. It appeared everyone was at the revivalist meeting so we went back to the church and tore down our spotted, rotting set.

  Yeah, I definitely had enough of Northern Ontario for a while. I was anxious for the polite audiences of Toronto, where I would thankfully be working for the next week.

  * * *

  Toronto greeted us with open arms. Thank goodness, because then I could see the stilettos, daggers and brass knuckles tucked i
nto their clothing. I saw Grade Three children more mature than I.

  Barney met me at the inner-city school. I was waiting for him in the girls’ locker room off the gym, already dressed for work. Barney strode in, looking dangerous. He was wearing a tight black leather jacket and pointy cowboy boots. His muscle shirt had a logo reading ‘Fuck the System’.

  “What’s with the boots, Barney?” I asked.

  As if to prove his point, Barney killed a cockroach in the corner of the locker room. “Protection,” he muttered. I didn’t know he hated bugs too.

  Barney pulled his overalls out of the trunk. He simply put them on over his ensemble. “Barney, you’re gonna die of heatstroke,” I warned him. I was only too aware of the sweat I worked up every show.

  “Don’t leave anything they can steal,” Barney advised. “I’m gonna hang out in the schoolyard after we set up…see if I can score anything. You gonna guard the set?”

  I walked into the staff room to get Barney and I a coffee before we set up. I saw a couple pots percolating on the counter. One pot was marked ‘Special Coffee’. My taste buds jumped – that was probably some fancy Irish cream or amaretto-flavored blend of coffee. After my first cup I knew it was heavily rum-flavored. That coffee was spiked.

  Barney re-appeared five minutes before the show was to begin. The cavernous gymnasium was still empty. Barney sat motionless, his eyes on the clock. Feeling as if I were in a Twilight Zone version of High Noon, I tried to calm my partner down. “Relax, Barn. We’re in Toronto again. Civilization.” The clock struck 10 a.m. “Where is everybody?” I wondered.

  The many doors leading into the gym were thrown open. Hundreds of children rushed the stage. I leapt for cover behind one of the trunks backstage. Barney joined me.

  We could hear mass pandemonium. No one seemed to be coming backstage to murder us though. I looked over at Barney who was a quivering, spineless mess. “Barney!”I yelled over the din. “Don’t they have any teachers out there?”

  No sooner had I said that when a haggard woman ran backstage. Barney and I both cowered. “They’re ready for you!” she panted. With fear pounding in our hearts, Barney and I slowly made our way around the curtain.