Confessions of a Hollywood Star (4 page)

Pam looked to my mother “What’s that mean?”

“It means Mary sold the costume designers a bowling shirt,” said my mother. My mother
will not
call me Lola, just because it isn’t the name she gave me when I was born and too young to have an opinion.

“I should’ve known I wouldn’t get any encouragement from you.” I headed for the door. “I’m going to call Ella. At least she’ll be glad for me.”

“What happened to you?” asked Ella. “You’re in a much better mood than you were last night.”

I laughed. Last night was as far away from me by then as the Ring Nebula. “And how could I not be happy?” I demanded. “Don’t I live in this glorious jewel of the crown of the State of New Jersey?”

“Are we talking about
Dellwood
?”

“Where else? Haven’t I ever told you how much I love dear old Dellwood with every fibre of my being?”

“No,” said Ella, “you haven’t. You usually describe it as prison with its own shopping centre.”

I disregarded the flat, sour tone in her voice. “Well I do love it. I love its quiet, tree-lined streets. I love its giant supermarkets. I love—”

Ella interrupted my flow. “Lola, is that really you?”

“Oh hahaha,” I said. “I know that, in the past, I have had one or two small criticisms to make of your home town, El, but now I’m ready to get down on my knees and thank the gods for bringing me here from the mean streets of Manhattan. Really. Just ask me how happy I am to be spending my summer here among the shopping centres and lawn sprinklers of Dellwood instead of some dreary, passé place like London or Paris or Rome. Just ask.”

“How happy are you?” She asked this warily. Ella distrusts mood swings.

I was practically dancing I was so excited. “I’m happier than a million-dollar lottery winner. I’m happier than the champions of the Super Bowl. I’m happier—”

“Have you been drinking, Lola? Tell me the truth.”

[Cue: heavy sighing and rolling of eyes at the calendar from the Chinese take-away on the wall. This month’s sage advice was:
A wise man eats well and says little
.] “That really beggars belief, El. I mean, you of all people asking me that. You know what I think of the tragic destruction of lives by alcohol.”

“My mo—”

“I wasn’t thinking about your mother.” Mrs Gerard has a problem with white wine (which is one of the reasons Ella distrusts mood swings). “I was thinking of actors like Anthony Hopkins and Dennis Quaid.”

Ella said, “Oh.”

A great actor has to be prepared for people who laugh at the wrong line or cough during Hamlet’s soliloquy, so I wasn’t discouraged by this detour in the conversation. My excitement was undiminished.

“Now can I tell you my totally awesome news?”

“OK,” said Ella. “What happened?”

I told her about the costume designers coming into the store.

“Their names are Shona and Leslie, and they’re working on this big Hollywood movie!”

“Really?” Ella sounded skeptical. “And they were shopping in Second Best? Why would they do that?”

“Authenticity. But that’s not the best part,” I assured her. “Wait till you hear. It stars Bret Fork and Lucy Rio. The movie’s about a girl remarkably like me who is dragged away from her home and friends and everything she loves to live in a new town. But instead of being haunted by Carla Santini, she’s haunted by the ghost of a fifties biker who doesn’t want her and her family in his house.”

“Oh my God! Are you sure?” At last she’d caught my excitement. “But this is incredible! A movie right here in Dellwood! I’ve always wanted to see a real movie set. Do you think they’ll let people watch?”

Since I’d visited several streets that had been turned into movie sets when I lived in the civilized world, I was the expert. “Of course they will. They’re filmmakers, aren’t they? They love to be watched.”

“Oh, Lola…” A new, truly awesome thought had occurred to Ella. “Wait till Carla hears about this. She’s going to go incendiary when she finds out that something like this is going on while she’s in Europe looking at old buildings.”

I smiled into the receiver. “Especially when she finds out that I’m going to be in the movie.”

Ella was raised to be ladylike and demure, but she can squeal like a litter of pigs when she wants to. “Go on! Are you serious? You got a part?”

“Well, as good as. I know for a fact that they’ll be looking for extras.” Not that I had any more intention of having a non-speaking part in a professional production than I do in life. “Of course I don’t really think that being the back of a head in a crowd is compensation for not going to RADA,” I went on, “but I’m confident that once they see me in action they’ll find something more substantial for me.”

Ella said, “Lola…”

“What?”

“Well…” I could hear Ella choosing her words as if they were chocolates. “I don’t know if you should count on that…”

I told her she sounded like my mother. But I was in too good a mood to let the naysayers dampen my spirits. Right at the eleventh hour I was going to take my final revenge on Carla Santini for all the years of grief and humiliation she’d caused me. “And anyway,” I continued, “the most important thing is that Carla will miss the whole thing.” I laughed. “It couldn’t be better if I’d planned it myself.”

In the few precious minutes of privacy and peace we had before the free-for-all otherwise known as supper with Karen Kapok and her younger daughters, I told Sam about the movie.

“I don’t get it,” said Sam. “So they’re making some movie here. What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’ll be good for the town – you know, for business – but except for that what’s the big deal?” He gave me a searching look. “Oh, hang on. You want to be in this dumb movie. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Considering how annoying Sam can be, it often amazes me how much I like him. “I am an actor, after all. It’s not like being a mechanic. You can refuse to work on four-by-fours because you think they’re nothing but gas-guzzling status symbols, but actors don’t always have the luxury of being able to turn down jobs.”

“Right,” said Sam. “That’s why all those big stars do those really crappy movies and commercials. Because they’re afraid of starving to death.”

“Whatever. I don’t really want to have this argument right now.” This is what I mean about being annoying. I’m all in favour of principles, of course, but Sam’s inflexibility drives me nuts. “And anyway, that still doesn’t mean it’s not exciting. Personally, I think it’s the most exciting thing that’s happened around here since the revolution.”

“Oh yeah? Well, personally, I think making another mindless, shallow, meaningless movie isn’t nearly as exciting as a populist revolt.”

[Cue: the heartfelt sigh that can sometimes be the only communication between one parallel world and another – in this case the imaginative one of the artist and the practical one of the skilled craftsman.] “And how do you know this movie’s going to be mindless, shallow and meaningless?”

“Well it’s not going to be
Little Big Man
or
Catch-22
, is it?” Those are Sam’s all-time favourite movies. “Not with those lame-os in it.”

No one has ever accused Sam Creek of being starstruck.

I sighed again. “As you know very well, I think the only true drama takes place in the theatre – and of course I totally agree with you about a lot of the movies churned out by Hollywood, but let’s not forget that the entertainment industry is very important to the economy. It makes billions of dollars a year.”

“So does the arms trade but that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.”

“Oh, please… There’s no comparison. People don’t need to be shot or bombed, but they do need to be entertained. Man does not live by bread alone you know.”

Sam put his how-could-you-forget-to-check-the-oil look on his face. “Baseball’s entertaining. So are basketball and soccer.” He started ticking off all the things in the world that are more entertaining than movies. “And bowling. And gymnastics. And the flying Shalon monks. And ballroom dancing.”

“Ballroom dancing?” I didn’t even think Sam knew what ballroom dancing was.

“Yeah. Ballroom dancing.”

“Are you saying that you watch ballroom dancing?”

“Sometimes. On cable. My dad likes it.”

It’s true that, no matter how old you get or how much you think you know, life always has another surprise waiting. “Your father likes ballroom dancing?”

“Yeah. He won trophies. That’s how he hooked up with my mother.”

I never met Sam’s mother of course (she was killed in a car crash when Sam was four), but I have met Mr Creek. Mr Creek’s a small, thin man who looks like a balding troll who fell into a grease pit. It was really difficult to picture him doing the Fandango in a powder-blue lycra jumpsuit covered with sequins. “
Your
father was a ballroom dancer?”

“You’re repeating yourself.”

“Just answer the question.”

“You’re not the only person who likes to show off, you know,” said Sam.

I made a face. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t like some minuscule part in this movie – if I can’t go to RADA I do feel it’s the least I deserve – but for your information it just so happens that this isn’t actually about me. It’s about someone else in Deadwood who likes to show off.”

A slow smile spread over his face. “We’re talking about Carla, aren’t we?”

“Who else?”

Carla thinks that when the Bard said
all the world’s a stage
he meant her stage – and that everyone else is only here as her audience.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to see her face when she finds out that Dellwood’s being turned into a movie set while she’s off shopping in Rome.”

“Oh, now I get it.” Sam laughed. “Now that’s a hell of a lot more entertaining than baseball.”

Like A Loaded Gun, Improvisation Can Be A Dangerous Thing

I
chose my outfit carefully on Monday morning. I wanted something casual and understated to contrast with the importance of the part I was about to play (the triumph of Good over Evil). I finally decided on a pair of vintage, button-fly jeans, a white silk shirt and the rope and canvas sandals Cal brought me back from Spain (my father’s picture books are very popular in the Old World). I thought of it as the Nicole-Kidman-goes-grocery-shopping look.

Because she never stops talking about herself, Carla Santini is the kind of person who constantly gives you the feeling of déjà vu. When Ella, Sam and I got to the cafeteria that afternoon she was still going on about her holiday as though about three minutes had passed, not three days. The disciples were gathered around her, listening raptly, for all the world as though they’d never heard any of it before either.

“Oh, Lola! There you are!” The gold bracelets on Carla’s wrist jangled like alarm bells as she waved her hand in my direction. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I had this fantastic idea last night.”

“Oh, really?” I stopped at the end of her table. I could hear Sam and Ella taking seats at the next one along. “What’s that? You’re leaving for Europe before graduation?”

Carla pouted as though her feelings were hurt (which is impossible since she doesn’t have any).

“We only have five more days of school left, Lola,” Carla informed me. “Don’t you think we could finally call a truce? I for one bear no grudges.” The curls shimmered. “And just to prove it, I want to do you a favour.”

The only favour I wanted from Carla was for her to leave for Europe yesterday.

“A favour?” Was this a large, wooden horse being hauled through the gates of Troy by Gucci-clad Romans that I saw? “What kind of favour?”

“I thought I could bring you back something from London.” Carla smiled at me like the Queen smiling on an African shaman who’s showing her how to perform a rain dance. “You know, like a consolation prize for not being able to go yourself.”

What a generous girl. She’ll win the Nobel Peace Prize yet.

My laughter bubbled like Alka-Seltzer. “Oh, Carla,” I gushed, “that is so incredibly kind of you…” The shaman smiled back at the Queen. “But I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble for me. Especially when we all know how busy you’re going to be.” The shaman knew that a monsoon was about to hit, sweeping away the very piece of land on which the Queen was standing, and was pretty pleased with herself. “And anyway, it really isn’t necessary. I’m happy to be able to say that the gods have already compensated me for my temporary disappointment.”

Alma, Marcia and Tina all glanced at Carla, but Carla didn’t blink. “Really?” One eyebrow rose like an inquisitive snake. “And how have they done that? Shut down Brooklyn College?”

“Oh, Carla … you don’t know how much I’m going to miss your sense of humour.” To prove this, I gave a very good impersonation of the Santini laugh of tiny glass bells knocking against each other in a high wind. “But it’s actually something that’s happening right here in Dellwood.”

“Here?” The disciples’ eyes were flipping back and forth like tennis balls at Forest Hills, but Carla’s eyes didn’t move from mine. “In Dellwood? Don’t tell me they’re reopening the Red Barn Theatre and you’ve got a job as an usher.”

The Red Barn Theatre was once suburban New Jersey’s answer to The Globe. Every summer it would put on old Broadway plays performed by professional actors (though largely ones who were household names only in their own homes), but it dropped its final curtain (though of course it didn’t actually have curtains) before I got to town.

“Close.” A warm feeling, almost of affection, towards Carla filled my heart. How was I ever going to find someone in the hometown of Walt Whitman and Junior’s cheesecake who could replace her? “And it’s almost as good.”

“Well come on…” She exchanged smirks with Tina, Marcia and Alma. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Well, you’re not going to believe it,” I leaned my arms on the plastic table top, making myself comfortable, “but it looks like they’re going to be shooting a Hollywood movie right here in dear old Dellwood!”

A wave of excitement ran through the student sea – but failed to even lap at Carla’s toes.