Lights! Camera! Dissatisfaction...

by Kim Cayer

  Our stage was littered with spitballs. It seemed to be the current Grade Four fad. Teachers were wrestling with randy students; one was dragged out in a headlock. The cacophony never let up. At one point Barney was distracted by a seven-year-old trying to pass him something. “Farmer Dell,” I squeaked in my Betsy voice, trying to grab his attention. He was in a whispered conversation with the minor. “Farmer Dell!” I shouted, slipping into my aggravated Alice voice. I saw him reaching for his wallet. “Barney, for fuck’s sake!” I yelled, which finally caused him to look at me. He obviously couldn’t remember his next line. After some thought, he jumped in with a line five pages further in the story. I went with it, knowing no one was folioing the play anyways.

  As soon as the show finished, about one hundred kids crowded onto the stage area. Everyone was picking up props and looking backstage. It was like being surrounded by sheep. Barney, brandishing his pitchfork prop, hollered at them. “Everyone get outta here! Don’t make me use this on you!” He jabbed the air menacingly. The kids looked at him mildly, some sliding their hands toward their back pockets. Barney advanced on them and they slowly walked off the stage, some pushing props to the floor to let us know where we stood with them.

  In combat shock, Barney and I struck the set and went to load our truck. I suddenly felt a pang of longing for the silly shenanigans of the Mount Albert tykes. These Toronto hooligans didn’t bother disfiguring our truck; they merely stole it.

  After arresting two Grade Eight boys for joyriding, the cops returned our truck to us. Throughout the week we came to realize those kids took it easy on us that first show. Besides having to deal with prison-bound children, Barney and I had to battle Toronto rush-hour traffic twice a day.

  “Ah, your face, my ass!” Barney yelled at a driver who was trying to squeeze into our lane.

  “Barney, watch your mouth,” I told him.

  “Ah, your face, my breath,” he replied. The week’s events were having its effects on my partner and me.

  “Speaking of your breath, it DOES stink,” I retorted.

  “You ever have to smell your bunny suit?” Barney asked. “I hate having to hug you at the end. Let’s just go for a handshake from now on. Shit, we’re in the city now, Alice. Can’t you find a Laundromat?”

  That did it. We didn’t speak for two days unless we had to when we were performing. I was afraid Barney would actually load his gun. I DID wash my suit now and then; it’s just that I worked hard at being a bunny and was drenched from perspiration after every performance.

  I was packing for the next three weeks. This time we were touring Southern Ontario. My phone rang and I hoped it was my agent, Paul, changing his mind about caring for my cat. Seems Lunchpail and Paul’s leather couch had a roustabout and Lunchpail came out the victor. I answered the phone.

  “Alice! Guess who?”

  “Velda!” It was my best friend. “You’re back! How was the Bahamas?”

  “Beautiful! You should see my tan! What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked. “Why don’t you drop by?”

  “I can’t,” I said, then smugly added, “I’m working. Touring with a children’s show.”

  “Oh, well. I’m in town for three weeks. Then I’m off to Alberta to shoot a western.” She giggled. “I can’t even ride a horse!”

  Boy, that galled me. I can ride a horse well enough to enter the Kentucky Derby but Velda gets by on her good looks. “Velda, I hate to be asking as soon as you return but could you look after Lunchpail for me? I’ll be back on the 20th,” I said.

  “Welllll…I guess so. I leave on the 21st so it should be no problem. We’ll catch up the night you get back,” Velda said.

  I sure had missed Velda. Even though she got all the breaks, she would still be there for me to cry on her shoulder when my career was going nowhere. Velda couldn’t care less about being an actress; she didn’t go looking for work, the jobs usually came to her. She would be content to go on with her former job as an Avon cosmetics representative. Sometimes, after one of my complaining jags, she wouldn’t even bother to tell me she’d been chosen Miss Ontario or had just gotten a recurring character role on the only American production being shot in town. I couldn’t wait to talk to her when I got back from down South.

  Although the children in Southern Ontario seemed better behaved, the parents seemed over-productive. The gymnasiums were filled to capacity with their issue. Eliza had forewarned us that these schools also requested a question and answer period at the end of our shows. My poor bunny voice was shot from continuously trying to squeak loud enough for the back row to hear. Barney took control of these sessions.

  Q. “Why didn’t Farmer Dell just shoot the rabbit?”

  A. “I really can’t answer that.”

  Q. “Are you and Betsy married?”

  A. “Are you serious?”

  Q. “How old are you?”

  A. “I’m 25 and Alice is 28.”

  Q. “Wow, you guys look way older.”

  Near the end of that tour, I was changing my costume for the ride to the next town, Windsor, a regular metropolis. I went to unzip my bunny head when the zipper caught in my hair. “Yow!” I screeched in pain. “My hair is caught in the zipper!”I wailed to Barney.

  “Yeah, I know it’s my turn to drive,” Barney replied.

  “No, you goof! My hair is caught in the zipper,” I repeated.

  “Alice, take the goddam head off. I can’t make out what you’re saying,” Barney wisely told me. In a remarkable display of charades, I managed to inform my partner that I was unable to take the rabbit head off. “Hang on, I’ll go get some scissors,” Barney said.

  “No!!” I yelled, Betsy shaking her head wildly back and forth. I was given a bad haircut a couple years ago as an extra on a shoot where I wasn’t even used. It had taken me this long to grow my hair out.

  “What, then?” Barney impatiently asked. He wasn’t able to take the goddam mask off either and grew bored with me. He wasn’t the one suffering the dilemma obviously. It was decided that I’d just wear my head on the drive to Windsor; maybe I could somehow loosen the zipper en route.

  Barney checked us into the Sleep-E-Z (Sleep-E-Zed to us Canucks) Motel and I snuck into my room, still wearing my head. After we’d watched our three hours of sitcoms on TV, I finally gave up. By now a huge chunk of my hair was caught. I sign-languaged to Barney that I wanted him to find me some scissors.

  He left but was back in moments. “They don’t trust me to return them. You have to go to the office,” Barney said, resettling onto his bed to watch The Big Bang Theory for the second time that day.

  I headed off towards the motel office but was dismayed to see a sign posted on the locked door.

  ‘I’m at restaurant across street. Boris.’ it read.

  I walked to the side of the road and tentatively looked both ways. The highway was busy with transport trucks and it didn’t look like I’d get a chance to cross. I could see truckers giving me second glances, wondering if they really saw a rabbit that big. Finally I scampered through a break in the traffic and went into the restaurant.

  I opened the door and 30 burly truck drivers stopped eating to look at me. “Boris?” I squeaked, then remembered that bunny head or not, I was really Alice Kumplunkem. “Boris!” I yelled.

  The waitress came over. “The bars are in town, dear,” she informed me, thinking I’d already had one too many.

  “Bo-Ris,” I slowly enunciated. A man at a table looked at his friends and then slowly stood up.

  “I’m Boris,” he suspiciously said.

  “Scissors! Sci-Ssors!” I was speaking as if I were still on stage.

  “I’m sorry,” the waitress said as she tried to steer me out. “We’re not a licensed establishment.”

  I resorted to my sign language. I frantically made cutting motions. “Oh, you’re the girl who wanted scissors!” Boris eventually said. “Fran, you must have scissors here,” he said to the waitress.

  “Shore do,” she
drawled. We were in Southern Ontario after all. “Come with me, hon.” She led me to the cash register area. “Sorry, but Ah’m gonna have to cut a huge chunk of your pretty hair off.”

  I nodded my head, the mask beginning to weigh heavily on my neck. With one snip, I saw six inches of my glossy mouse-colored hair fall to the ground. I immediately felt for the zipper. It wasn’t attached to my hair anymore and I went to zip the head off.

  The zipper went about an inch of the way up and stopped again. I yanked but I could tell it wasn’t stuck on my hair. I gestured to Fran to see what the matter was. “Hon, your zipper is just plain broken now. You’ll never get that mouse head off,” Fran told me.

  “I’m not a mouse, I’m a rabbit!” I angrily informed her.

  “Two burgers and a shake, you said?” Fran asked, taking her order pad out of her apron.

  I ran out of the restaurant and back to the highway. A truck blared his horn to prevent me from becoming roadkill. I walked back into the room.

  Barney barely glanced up from Seinfeld. “Didja get the mask off?” he enquired.

  “DOES IT LOOK LIKE IT?” I yelled and started bawling. I stopped when I realized I couldn’t get a Kleenex under the mask to blow my nose. “Barney, the zipper is broken now. Can you try and fix it?”

  I sat on his bed and pointed at the zipper. Barney looked at the problem and said, “Alice, the zipper is broken now. I’ll try and fix it.”

  Barney finally kicked me off his bed a couple hours later. “I just can’t unzip it. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

  “What should I do?” I wailed, wanting to cry again. I was also hungry and wanted to eat.

  “I can’t understand you. You know that. So don’t talk to me no more.” Barney crawled under his sheets. “Good night, Betsy.”

  The only thing left for me to do was try to Sleep-E-Z. Lying on my back, snuffling a bit and feeling sorry for myself, I finally managed to drop off into a fitful sleep. I awoke a dozen times, waking Barney up with my muffled groans.

  “I had a bad dream! I was in this elevator that kept going down but it wouldn’t let me off,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. Barney just looked at me and went back to sleep.

  A while later, I woke up screaming from another dream. Barney jumped out of his bed at the sound of my cries. “I was on this beach and kids were covering me with sand. They wouldn’t stop! They were burying me alive!” I reviewed my dream.

  “Go to sleep, Alice,” Barney grumpily said as he crawled back into his bed.

  My sleep was invaded by another nightmare. I knocked the bedside lamp to the floor in my struggle to wake up. Barney was again lovingly by my side. “Barney, this time I dreamt…” I began, but was stopped by Barney’s hands on my throat.

  “Alice, if you wake me up one more time, I swear I’m gonna pop you one,” he threatened. He glared at me evilly and then went back to his bed. I stayed up the rest of the night trying to interpret my dreams.

  In the morning Barney ran across to the restaurant and returned with two coffees. I took one, lifted it to my lips and realized I couldn’t drink it. Barney, seeing my predicament, said, “That’s right. You can’t drink anything with that mask on, can you? You can’t eat anything either.” Why was he telling me what I already knew? I huffed in disgust and could distinctly detect morning breath.

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Hold still and I’ll give you a good shot to the face. It’ll be hard enough to knock that damn thing off,” Barney said as he drew his fist back to put his idea into action.

  I went into a tirade. “Are you nuts? This head won’t come off unless we cut it off, you idiot. I don’t need any of your simpleton ideas. ‘Knock it off,’ he says. I’d like to knock you off! I’ll just wear it ‘til after the show then I don’t care what the Spottle’s say, I’m cutting this mask off.” By this point I was getting slightly nauseated by the noxious gas in my mask.

  Barney waited a second then said, “Come again?”

  Did you know, ladies, that if you don’t bother with your face or hair whatsoever, you can get out of the house in under four minutes?

  I didn’t think I’d have the energy to finish our morning show. I was faint with hunger and holding my phony carrot was only rubbing salt into the wound. Parched; food and fresh air were the only thoughts in my mind.

  As soon as Barney answered the last question (“Did you shoot Betsy Bunny in the leg? She wasn’t even jumping near the end of the show.”) I rushed into the staff room.

  The teachers were enjoying a post-show coffee. “Can someone please help me cut this mask off?” I said upon entering. They all just looked at me, a couple cupping their ears. I had forgotten to use my Betsy Bunny lingo and newly acquired sign-language skills. I eventually got them to understand my need. One generous lady got up.

  “Let me help,” she offered. “There’s scissors in here somewhere.” I stood watching the teachers eat tarts the home-ec students had prepared. My stomach let out a huge growl. The teachers heard and they all turned to glance at my butt.

  “That was my stomach,” I corrected them.

  “You’re excused,” an elderly teacher granted me absolution.

  “Found them!” the lady said, brandishing scissors. “Turn around and I’ll cut the mask off.” I did as she suggested. It didn’t take long; in seconds I was freed! The stale air of the staff room, smelling of coffee and mold, hit me like an ocean breeze.

  I turned around to face my savior. “Thank you!” I gushed.

  She got a look on her face as if I’d given her a left hook, then staggered to her chair. A couple of teachers covered their faces, one man covered his mouth with a napkin and two more ran out of the room.

  I met Barney on my way out of the staff room. He gaped at me and kept walking. “Barney?” I said, hurt by his reaction.

  “I don’t know you, man,” Barney whispered, putting distance between us. I had a sneaky suspicion my breath might be a bit bad, perhaps rancid, so I walked into the little girl’s room.

  I looked into the mirror and gagged. My face looked like one of those bloated corpses you see washing up on shore. I don’t know you either, I thought, taking Barney’s side. I went to the use the toilet but forgot I was in an elementary school where they build the loos a foot lower for the young ‘uns, and almost broke my tailbone.

  For the last three shows of that tour, I had to wear a huge rubber band around my head to keep the bunny mask on. It gave Betsy a pinched look but I wasn’t worrying about the zipper anymore. After the show the kids were awfully impressed with my cool Toronto-style punk haircut. It was now being worn long on both sides with a six-inch shorter swatch up the middle.

  Trudging up the stairs to my apartment, I heard a loud mewling. Lunchpail? I got to the top and saw my cat tied to the doorknob of my flat. His water bowl and food dish were also out there but were licked dry.

  “Lunchpail? What are you doing out here?” I asked, going to pet him. He shot his paw at my hand, leaving a long scratch. He was definitely mad about something. I saw a note taped to my door.

  “Dear Alice,” the note read. “I got called to Alberta early! Had to leave on the 17th! I called your agent to see if he could take care of cat but he said you called him and would be back on the l8th instead. I just missed you!! So Lunchpail only stayed out for one night. You should leave me a key!!! See you in a month or so. Luv ya! Velda.”

  I wondered what Lunchpail would say when I told him I had no cat food in the apartment. He should have told Velda to lay newspaper on the floor if his litter box wasn’t available. And Paul, that liar! I never called him! Oh, well…at least I was home again. Only one tour left and then my freedom.

  * * *

  Barney was waiting for me to leave my apartment. I was in a quandary as to what to do with my cat. “Barney,” I pleaded, “let me take him with us. He’s a good cat.”

  “No way, Alice,” Barney bluntly put it. Paul had also refused to take care of him, saying he was going to Miami for th
e next three weeks. I knew I could find him at home every single day if I called but I didn’t push it. None of my other so-called friends wanted the responsibility either.

  I wasn’t worried about my fern, which had been flourishing. I had rigged up a kind of irrigation system and it seemed to be working. I looked at Lunchpail and a last-ditch plan formed itself.

  “Alright, Pail, follow me,” I said as I led him from room to room. First I went into the kitchen. “I’ll fill all these bowls with food,” I said as I dished cat food into every bowl and dish I owned. Then I went into the bathroom and turned on the tub’s faucet a bit, just so a slow stream of water flowed out. “And here is where you’ll drink your water,” I informed my cat. “I’ll be back soon. Just 21 days. Be good and…live.”

  Barney and I left long before sunrise for the most western point of Ontario. This time we were doing shows in towns we’d been unable to cover previously in the tour. There were libraries, recreation centers and schools spread out over the entire province. Our gas allowance had been quadrupled.

  One night we had been driving for six hours and I decided to catch a few winks. We were on our way from Niagara Falls, where it was usually quite balmy, to Sudbury where it still snowed in May. I was well into reel two of a dream when I became aware I was coughing.

  My conscious mind flitted a thought into my subconscious scenario. Must be all those cigarettes, I mused. Barney and I were both staunch non-smokers before we began the tour. Now we were working up to a pack a day each. Smoking looked so cool on the school kids. Besides, we needed something to relieve the boredom, even if it was remembering to take a puff before the cigarette burned to the end. I still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of smoking; for one thing I couldn’t put them out properly. Either they were still smoking after I butted them out or I’d burn my index finger in a concentrated effort to extinguish it.

  What a nightmare I was suddenly having! My throat was starting to catch fire and my body was rocking from side to side. I struggled to awaken, only to find real life even more of a nightmare.