Lights! Camera! Dissatisfaction...

by Kim Cayer

  Since I wasn’t going to get any lovin’ from my beau this Christmas, I decided to find it elsewhere. I booked a plane flight home to Oak Paw. “Mom! I’m coming home this Christmas!” I said when I called her.

  “Where you gonna sleep?” my mother replied.

  “Uh…in my old room, I thought,”

  “Well, I’ve turned that into the junk room,” Mother complained.

  “Gee, don’t we have a couch at least?” She drove me crazy sometimes. I was starting to wish I’d made this call before booking my flight.

  “Oh, I guess so,” Mom gave in. “Sometimes I like to fall asleep there too, you know.”

  “For cris’ sake, Mom!” I yelled. “I’ll sleep on the floor then! Maybe I just won’t come!”

  “Listen, Alice,” my mother warned me, “I won’t put up with that behavior when you get here. You may as well just stay there if you’re going to act this way.”

  “I’m sorry,” I backed down. “Look, I’ll see you on the 22nd. Don’t worry,” as if she would, “I’ll make my own way to Oak Paw from the Saskatoon airport. See you then.” I hung up quickly, just before the pent-up roar escaped my lips. I love my mother (I think…Aren’t we supposed to?) but sometimes I daydream of gleeful matricide.

  Instead, after I’d calmed down, I went out Christmas shopping. I entered a joke shop and bought my mother some lovely gifts. Cigarettes that blow up in your face, candies with a pepper center and perfume that was really spray-on itching powder.

  Money well-spent.

  * * *

  I was living a Family Guy episode. No, I wasn’t dreaming again. I was home for Christmas. I was experiencing a horrid tradition called Christmas dinner.

  Mother had the usual assorted relatives over for her annual display of culinary skills. The turkey was dry as dust, we had four different jellied salads to choose from (my favorite being the lime Jell-O with mini marshmallows), her famous root vegetable salad, with candied fruit thrown in, mashed potatoes mixed with an entire container of margarine, and canned everything else, including the ham.

  This year there were sixteen people crammed into our tiny house, including my sister Louise and her five brats. Each were a year apart and if one wasn’t fighting with the other, the other was fighting with the youngest. The last-born was five and I’ve yet to see him not crying. Louise stopped raising her children after the fourth was born. Every now and then though, the maternal urge would hit her and she’d remember she was a mother. I’d be talking to her and Megan would be yelling at Simon and Louise’s hand would just shoot out and smack Megan. She wouldn’t miss a word of the conversation. Other than those few times though, her kids ran wild. The oldest was ten and was smoking at the kitchen table.

  Speaking of the kitchen table, that is where the Grand Inquisition began. The family was curious about my showbiz career. When I had decided to move to Toronto and become an actress, my mother tried to discourage me. When that failed, she had every relative I owned try to dissuade me.

  “Alice, it’s alright to dream, but you’re goin’ too far!” from Aunt Stella. “What’s wrong with your nice job at the factory?”

  “Alice, I might do ya, but you’re no Megan Fox, ya know,” from Cousin Jerry.

  But I went ahead with my dream anyways and now they all wanted a progress report. The questions were relentless. I kept trying to change the subject but I couldn’t shake them. “Yeah, I do work pretty steady,” I said, then looked at my brother-in-law. “So, Frank, how’s the scrap heap business?”

  “Fine, do you ever get to work with any big stars?” he replied.

  I decided to make a big deal out of some of my better extra jobs, making it sound like I was one of the major characters. “Oh, yeah, about a month ago I had dinner with Tom Hanks.” Really, I was on a lunchbreak on a film he was starring in. Maybe we were eating at the same time, but he was being catered to in his deluxe Winnebago and I was eating my box lunch in a stairwell of the warehouse we were shooting in. “I also worked with George Clooney. One of the greats.”

  “I think Charlie Sheen is one of the greats!” Louise gushed.

  My great-aunt Ginny sat next to me. Every year she was seated next to me. She was about 98 years old and I could see right through her skin. She weighed about as much as Mom’s turkey and ate like a horse, most of it ending up on me somehow. I always had to fix her a plate because it was too heavy for her to carry to the table. “Do they manage to make you look any better?” she asked.

  “Sometimes I’m quite beautiful. When you get to set…” (and I knew they had no idea what common film words like ‘set’, ‘Winnie’, and ‘crew’ meant, but I wanted to assert some power), “…when you get to set, they have people there to do your hair, your make-up, everything. All you have to do is brush your teeth.”

  Aunt Ginny was all agog. But then she had spasms of delight when power windows were invented. “Do you ever get to work anywhere unusual?” she asked.

  “There’s lots of location work,” I said, again not bothering to mention that these included morgues, back alleys and gravel pits. “I even have to go out of the city on some jobs.”

  “Do they pick you up for work too?” Aunt Ginny asked, all aquiver.

  “Uh…sometimes we’re brought to the shoot in a Winnebago,” I replied, neglecting to add that I usually had to travel an hour and a half by public transit to get to the pick-up point. And when I did board the bus, I had to find a place to sit among the other 30 extras.

  “And do you get your own dressing room?” Ginny dominated the queries.

  I hesitated to answer but seeing as how she just couldn’t butter her bun until she heard my comment, I kept talking. “Sometimes. And then sometimes you have to share a room.” Yeah, with 100 other extras. Aunt Ginny just oohed and dug into her meal before it got cold.

  Aunt Gladys’ husband had been giving me funny looks all day and it was starting to make me uncomfortable. This was Aunt Gladys’ third husband and I have to admit, I didn’t much care for him, or her second, while I’m at it. After divorcing dear Uncle Sid, her taste got decidedly worse. Her latest, Vito Pennelli, had an undefinable presence. He was too smooth, too slick, a bit too greasy, oozy and languid. I guess it was definable. Aunt Gladys said he was a private investor but I harbored suspicions he was a gangster.

  Mom, bless her heart, ordered me to go downstairs and bring up some more wine. I was glad to escape Twenty Questions Times Five and eagerly pushed my chair away from the table.

  “I’ll help you,” Uncle Vito offered.

  “It’s OK, I can manage,” I said.

  “Please, allow me,” he said, pushing his chair away from the table. He had been seated across me and it felt like a showdown.

  “No, really, it’s OK,” I insisted.

  “Oh, Alice! Stop being such a big star and show your Uncle Vito our basement,” my mother butted in.

  “But, Mom, it’s only four cement walls and a dirt floor. Nothing fancy!”

  “Aaaaliccce…..,” Mother said warningly. I could tell my defense was arousing the relatives’ curiosity so I dropped the subject.

  We descended the stairs into the damp basement. The hair on my neck was standing up; I was tense. I was getting the creeps from my new Uncle Vito. I saw the wine in the old crate where Mom has always hidden her booze. “Our wine cellar, ha ha,” I said as I grabbed two bottles. Uncle Vito’s hands reached out and I automatically passed them to him.

  Instead of taking the bottles, Vito wrapped his sweaty palms around my hands. “Uh…ha, ha,” I laughed, even more fakishly than the first time.

  He only persisted in holding my hands and giving me what he thought was a romantic look. I read lecherous. I couldn’t pull my hands away without dropping the wine. Mom splurged and spent almost $8 a bottle.

  “Does our movie star want to give her new uncle Vito a kiss?” Vito asked, giving me an olive oil-eyed look.

  “Why don’t we wait until we get under the mistletoe upstairs?” I joked.
“Besides, I hardly know you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re quite accustomed to kissing strange men…and not only on the lips,” he replied, pulling me closer.

  His last comment didn’t sound very innocent. As a matter of fact, it had a rather perverse connotation. As he was drawing me closer, I pulled the wine bottles up so that they were pressed top to bottom against our chests.

  “We should get the wine upstairs,” I spoke rapidly. “Everyone is so thirsty. Oh! Look at this! Mom bought AUNT GLADYS’ favorite wine!” Hint, hint.

  “Don’t play the prude with me,” Vito growled, dropping my hands and becoming quite intense. “I saw Whispering Limbs.”

  “Whi…what? I didn’t do anything with that name.”

  “Sure you did. You were wearing an S&M outfit. I saw it at a stag. You were good,” Vito critiqued. He had something there…but I still denied it.

  “I think you’re mistaking me for some…”

  “Loved the bra with the spikes. The dog collar,” Vito recalled.

  He had me. I DID do a movie like that. But that was only five weeks ago! Could it have come out that fast? I thought it was called Blood Bed or something. I hung my head in shame. “Yeah. I did it.”

  “Why don’t we go upstairs and talk to the relatives about that movie? Or any other ones I haven’t seen, Miss PORNO star,” Vito suggested.

  “No! And I only did that one! I swear!”

  “Tell that to your priest,” Vito said. “So you don’t want me to tell them?”

  “No! Of course not!” I vehemently answered.

  “Then I won’t. But it’s gonna cost you.”

  “Cost me? Oh, fuck, I’ll give you a kiss already,” I sputtered.

  “No. Better. I want 200 dollars a month, every month, until…well, say until you want your dear family to know about them films.”

  I was shocked. This was blackmail! I was a victim of a crime! “Come on! You’re joking!” I laughed at Vito. He only gave a slight negative shake of his head. I tried to bargain him down.

  “Make it 50 bucks! Alright…100!”

  “200 payable to me every month. They’ll be wanting this wine,” Vito said as he took the bottles out of my hands. I was fuming with anger but damn, I was going to have to pay. How’d I land in a mess like this? I only wanted to better myself in the movie business, not end up dealing with the mob.

  I followed Vito up the stairs, killing the desire to push him back down. More relatives were entering the house. “Alice!” my aunt Fiona greeted me. “How’s showbiz?”

  “If I have to answer one more question about showbiz,” I yelled, “I swear I’ll puke!”

  I ruined Christmas.

  * * *

  My best friend Velda and I were splitting a slice of pecan pie at some ritzy dessert place. Velda was graciously allowing me to be seen with her. Her star was rapidly rising and I harbored suspicions that I would soon be left by the wayside. I took a bite of sweet, gooey pie while Velda pressed a few crumbs onto her fork. I saw her arm shoot out.

  “Bluto!” she trilled. She slipped her fork into her mouth and let it slide slowly, rather disgustingly, out. On her, it looked sexy. I turned to see who caught her eye and saw Bluto Parker approach us. Bluto Parker, the big casting director! I took his class! I tried to chew my mouthful of pie a bit faster.

  “Velda, darling, how are you?” Bluto asked.

  “Fabulous,” Velda replied. We were really being Hollywood North today. “This is my friend, Alice Kumplunkem.”

  I stuck my hand out and tried to say hello but my jaws were wired shut by the pecan filling. I desperately tried to get my mouth opened.

  Bluto touched my fingertips. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  What did he mean, ‘meet me’? I took his frigging acting class. Didn’t he remember me? It was only a couple weeks ago. He’d really taken an interest in me; he was always making me re-do scenes. I thought he believed I had potential since he suggested I take more acting classes.

  “Bluto, honey, I don’t want to keep you, but do you have any word on Stewardesses of the Americas?” Velda batted her lashes which prodded Bluto to answer.

  “Well, I can’t say anything for certain…yet…but I can tell you one thing. It’s looking quite promising.”

  “Oooohhh!” Velda gasped, in l950s delight.

  “I have to run. Shane Scott, the director of For Once and For All and Sometimes I Cry is joining me for croissants. Ciao!” Bluto flitted off just as my teeth, with a cavity-causing pop, sprang apart.

  “Bluto!” I shouted. Too late. He was already seating himself at a plate-sized table. I looked at Velda with anguish but she was busy looking at herself in her compact mirror.

  She glanced at me. “Fix your face, Alice. A big director might notice us.”

  “Do you think he can wait the six weeks for the bandages to come off?” I sarcastically replied. “What’s this Stewardesses thing you two were talking about?”

  Velda signaled for another cup of coffee. It was one of those places where you went to see and be seen, but you made sure you got your money’s worth out of a $6.50 cup of coffee. No charge for refills. “It’s a TV series about this bunch of girls who live together and they also happen to work as stewardesses for the same airline. I had a callback a couple days ago.”

  “Think there’d be anything in it for me?” I asked hopefully.

  “Are you kidding!? Tons of female roles! They’re looking at every girl in the city. I’m surprised you didn’t get an audition.”

  I wasn’t all that surprised, but I was mad. Mad at Paul and mad at Bluto and mad at Velda. And since Velda was treating, I ordered a slice of $14 cheesecake.

  * * *

  I was in Paul’s office, so hyper I couldn’t stop pacing. “Paul, Velda told me every actress in town is trying out for this show! Why didn’t you get me an audition?”

  “I tried, Alice, but Bluto refused to see you,” Paul replied.

  “Why?” I wailed. “I took his class. He knows my work. I bet he doesn’t like me.”

  “He loooves you!” Paul tried to console me.

  “Enough of that bullshit!” I screamed. “Everyone LOOVVVES me, that’s what you always say! Tell me the truth for once.”

  “OK,” Paul calmly said. “He hates you.”

  I gaped. “Really?” Paul solemnly nodded. Boy, I wanted the truth, but did he have to be so blunt? Yeah, the truth hurts. Matter of fact, I was momentarily devastated. Silent tears started streaming down my face. “Should I quit the business?”

  “It’s up to you,” Paul answered. Strange opening for a pep talk, I thought.

  “What I want to do is cry. I think I’m going to,” I warned. I could feel huge sobs starting to wrack my body.

  Paul grabbed the phone. “No, please, no, Alice. Let’s not have any of that. It’s too theatrical. Look, Bluto doesn’t know it yet, but he owes me one. Let me make a call.”

  I held off on the waterworks. Truth is, I was quite proud of my agent. He was about to swing some kind of deal on my behalf. “Bluto!” Paul yelled into the phone. “I got a meeting with the entertainment reporter of the Daily Moon, that gossip writer, Sophie Tellus. I just wanted to get one fact straight…that was Shane Scott the director I saw you with at BumBoys, wasn’t it?…Whaddaya mean, don’t tell Sophie? …I’ll say you were probably researching for locations…You still don’t want me to say anything? Gee, that was the only tidbit I had for the ol’ gal. Maybe we can come to an arrangement? I won’t say anything to Sophie and you see one of my talent for ‘Stewardessess’…No, you missed one, Alice Kumplunkem…come on, she can’t be that bad…OK, that sounds fair enough. We got a deal.” Paul hung up.

  “Did I get an audition?” I faintly asked.

  “Well, sort of. It’s actually a pre-audition.”

  “What the hell is a pre-audition?”

  “Something Bluto does once in a while,” Paul informed me. “He’ll have you come in and read a few scenes, just for his bene
fit. Then he’ll judge whether you’re actually good enough to be shown to a director.”

  “I don’t know if I like the sounds of that,” I replied. “Nobody I know has ever had to pre-audition. It’s like auditioning for an audition.”

  “Best I could do,” Paul said. “There’s a couple scenes for you to pick up at Bluto’s office. Outer office, I’m to tell you. Your time is 9 a.m. tomorrow.”

  At least I had a fighting chance. Before I left, I asked, “Paul, what were YOU doing at BumBoys?”

  “One of my guys is a dancer there,” he nonchalantly answered. “I caught his show.”

  Geez, Paul never saw me as Betsy Bunny and I was in Toronto for three weeks with the show. At least then he would have seen me at work and could have seen for himself I CAN ACT. Now I had to prove it to Bluto Parker.

  * * *

  I was still on the stoop outside Parker’s Casting at 9:30 a.m. No Bluto and no co-actor. I couldn’t bear to run my lines even one more time. The two scenes I was given to enact were pretty heavy. One was a love scene and the other was an impassioned argument. I had been studying them for hours. I finally called it quits at 3 a.m. but set the alarm for 5 a.m. to further prepare myself.

  An overweight man ambled up the walk. Since it wasn’t the anorexic Bluto, I assumed it was my co-star. Wanting to start off on a jovial note, I called out to him with his character name. “Hello, Nico!”

  He gave me a snooty look. “I’m Tad, Bluto’s assistant.” His holier-than-thou attitude was a requisite if you wanted to work for Bluto Parker.

  He didn’t say anything else; just slipped a key into the door’s lock and entered the office. I slipped in behind him before he could shut me out. “I’m Alice Kumplunkem,” I announced myself.

  There was still no response from him. His type of people really got my goat. Well, at least he didn’t react badly to my name as some are wont to do. Around two in the morning, I got to thinking about the possibility that my name was hampering my career. It‘s Alice KumPLUNKem. I toyed around with the idea of changing my name to Jasmine Rothchild or Katania Cheyenne but decided against it. I had this belief that I should make it in this biz with my own name, contrary to my mother’s wishes. But for the next few weeks, I was going to try saying Alice KUMplunkem.