Authors: Craig Spivek
WHEN CRAIG MET CARIN
“Craig-rock,
take this up to Carin!” said Pudgie. It was a monstrous order, absurd in
its ingredients. Two full pizzas, two pepper and onions sandwiches, two
full cakes, a six-pack of three different sodas, some batteries, a mop handle,
and the user manual to a Verizon cell phone. “Try to get there fast.
Hey Donnie did you see the page six of the
Post
?” Donnie
tried to pretend like he didn’t hear. Pudgie persisted. “Man, Lindsey
Lohan is such a whore.”
“I know her Pudge.”
“Oh...uh...”
“
bit
troubled, good
kid.”
“I uh...loved her in Mean Girls.”
“Can I get a check, Pudge?”
“Sure Don-O.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“My bad.”
Donnie
kept reading his Esquire. I walked past him with the order headed towards
the car. I stopped by his table.
“Donnie, I bought a VHS tape of the Raquel Welch
special your dad made, do you think he could autograph it for me?”
“Absolutely, God I’d love to see it.”
“I’ll bring it in next time.”
“I’d
totally bang Raquel Welch! Man, those titties! Am I right Don-Don?
screamed
Pudgie.
“She’s my Godmother Pudge.” Pudgie went
blank and looked back down at his paper.
“Pudgie means well.” I whispered.
“It’s all good. Tell
Carin
my dad and I say hello.”
“I will.”
I was going in. I pulled up to Carin’s
building. I had passed Geraldo who was speeding the other way. My
music blared.
The Band –
Anthology Volume 1.
I hoped he could hear some of it. I enjoyed exposing people to new
music, even for an instant. I felt it to be diplomatic on my part.
Everyone new to America should be given a nice tour of the place.
Grand Canyon, a baseball game.
I wondered if he’d ever
been to Disneyland. Growing up, it was a wonderful place for me. My
dad would get cheap tickets because Disneyland offered a day just for state
employees at cheap prices. My brother and I got to go. I remember
believing The Pirates of the Caribbean was another world. I loved it.
Geraldo looked like he was in a hurry. He didn’t see me. I’ll blast
it louder next time I see him and ask him about Disneyland. His birthday
was coming
up,
maybe I’d spring for two tickets for
him and his girlfriend. I like doing nice things for new couples.
It’s the
Yenta
in me.
It was a high-rise just off Sunset near La
Cienega. All the New Yorkers who had money lived in these high-rises.
None of them lived in houses that were remotely California. It was
a massive structure, white on all sides with balconies. There was an
outside doorman, followed by an inside doorman and a service entrance I had to
walk through. I actually had to exit the building and re-enter by a side
door to the same lobby area, where I was instructed to take the same
elevator the
tenants use. Segregation has come a
long way.
The food and supplies weighed a ton.
I visualized a huge after-party that had gone late and was now on round
two. A coked-up Bobby Du on the couch grabbing Tatum O’Neal’s juicy
ass.
Her--giggling, laughing.
Scorsese
locked in the toilet, Polanski and his “niece” dropping by. Clooney,
Damon, Pitt, Jolie, Oprah, Bono, Bishop Tutu, all laughing, clinking glasses,
sealing deals…pushing the dawn away.
As the elevator
rose
my mind moved ahead and saw the inside of the apartment: plush, white,
overstuffed couches with lots of pictures on the wall. I felt another
vision coming but it was bigger. I needed more time in front of a TV to
process it. Everything was white. I was nervous. What should
I say? Do I bow? She had come through the television and into the
room I grew up in and told me to come forth. She had whispered in my ears
unknowable truths and unspeakable pleasures. She had blessed me with
work, kindness and camaraderie, yet we’ve never met. My grandpa would be
proud. The Big Pizza was my family. I actually cared about my job.
It frightened me. It gave me something my family couldn’t. It was
my family.
Surrogate in its design, but functional
nonetheless.
I now
understood why people liked to work.
She gave me my soul back. Carin’s portrait will hang in my
bedroom, blessing all who stay there. Guiding us. Passing over.
Isn’t that what the
goyum
did with Jesus?
Then that’s what I’ll do with Academy
Award nominee and People’s Choice winner – Carin Murphy. I just
wanted to thank her, really. And most important, I wouldn’t be mad if she
didn’t tip.
The elevator doors lurched open.
Eleven floors up.
I was amazed at how people could
live so high. It’s not a mountaintop. It is artificial.
Unpure. Yet we humans persist in imitating the divine. I’ve never
understood that. I finally made it to the door. I was sweating
and exhausted like I’d walked twenty blocks. I knocked. Nothing.
I knocked again. And then rang the bell.
Still,
nothing.
Finally I heard a jerking back and forth of a
bolt and a chain and some additional noise from within, as if somebody had hit
their head against a wall.
Then more of nothing.
A door ten feet down to my left began to
crack and open. It was the service door, which opened directly on the
kitchen. Slowly, a mop of shit-blond began to poke its way out.
A pearlish, skeletal hand underneath it, propping it up.
Carin’s face appeared underneath the mop. Why is she answering her own
door? “Yes?” her voice stuttered, deep and throaty. She had just
woken up, or come to. She sounded like she had been run over by a car.
A shiny, new car, but runover nonetheless.
“Hi, Carin, your food is here,” I let
out, nervously. She vanished. A moment later, the door opened
up a little more.
“Come in,” she whispered. I turned
and walked to the service entrance, my arms on fire from the Gunga Din moment
I’d been having schlepping a ridiculous amount of food and supplies halfway
across the city. Her voice trailed off at the end. Carin stumbled
toward the kitchen. “Hang on; put it all there on the counter, don’t
leave, I want to give you a tip.” She pointed to a nearby countertop that
had more crap on it than a baby with diarrhea. I carved some space out of
the counter mulch, which caused a chunk of wadded papers and half-filled
Starbucks cups to drop to the floor. I placed all the new supplies in their
place. I looked back over at Carin, who was mumbling to herself while
searching around her kitchen for her wallet. It sounded like she was
running lines for a show or a movie, but it didn’t make sense. Every now
and then a slight giggle, pause, a flushing out of her cheeks…and repeat… Carin
was drunk.
My savior was drunk. Like, majorly drunk.
She tugged at her purse and it fell on the ground. I stared down at
her as she dug through the garbage garden she had going on the linoleum.
It was almost impossible to step through. Old fast food bags, pizza
boxes, opened up shoe boxes with tissue torn around and everywhere scripts
piled high, papers, more papers, an unopened box of garbage bags, plates,
silverware, half-eaten sandwiches, a vacuum turned on its side, DVD cases.
I couldn’t believe it. The image of her on TV flashed
in my brain.
The blond hair, the business attire.
All smiles.
She was on the floor, on all fours,
chasing after her lipstick and mumbling to herself. She grabbed at it and
attempted to give her lips a new coat. I’ve never seen the floor of a
modern kitchen become a make-up studio before. “A-ha!” she bellowed.
As she regained strength she attempted to stand. I moved over to
her and reached gently at her elbows to assist. She looked shaky, but
eventually rose to her feet. A look of terror was upon me. This was
my angel? This was who played a down-and-out
amputee-showgirl-turned-hooker with a heart of gold
who
captured the hearts of America with her masterful, hilarious and tear-jerking
performance in
Kicks and Giggles
opposite Kevin Spacey? This was
the portrait that would adorn my bedroom wall? This was the woman who
gave me a life outside my parents’ prison?
She stared at me as she became balanced
under her own power, standing there, her purse still strewn about her feet.
Her eyes tried to pierce but were too dull to cut. She sensed my
fear, though. She could barely get her words out. “Don’t be afraid,” she
said. “I’m aw-right…” She reached into her purse and pulled out five
crinkled dollar bills. “I want to give you a tip…whass yur name?
Are you new…?”
“I’ve been working for you for six
months.” I realized I’d just embarrassed her. Now I must save face.
“Uh…but I’ve never delivered to you before. I’m Craig.” I bowed,
ever so slightly. “It’s a real honor to finally meet you. I’m
actually a fan of some of your work.” I stuck my hand out. She grasped it
like she was trying to pull herself up.
“Some?”
“Uh, well, yeah…”
“…
not
all?”
“
uh
...there’s
too much of your work out there for me to have seen it all.”
She paused for a moment. She had retreated
backwards a few steps toward a countertop. She grabbed a cigarette from
somewhere. Grabbed up a Bic lighter and flicked it unsuccessfully.
On the third try it ignited. As she was sucking in she mumbled, “Well
played.” She brought her head back up.
The cigarette in
her right hand.
Her left on her hip.
She took me in. I needed something to say.
“I really liked the one about the
suitcases, with George Hamilton, on that island.”
She seemed to spring to life. Her eyes
opened big. Sobriety seemed to be winning out for the moment as she
formulated a response. “Reeeally?” She smiled, big. “God!” She twirled
back her head and let some of the hair flop about. “We had to shoot
there; it was in Hamilton’s contract. He was such a tool.
Sweetheart, though.
God, I think you and maybe my
hair-dresser were the only one’s who saw that.”
“
Gorgeous
George and the Island of Lost Luggage
, I remember. My grandma took to
me to see it at the mall.”
She had a mark of disbelief to her now.
“I really liked the script.” Her head started to shuffle down, like
it was divorced from the neck, wobbly, her speech got a bit transient.
“My
agent said don’t
do it, no money. But
I…I liked it y’know?” She threw her arms up in disgust, ”Oh, well!!!”
She paused for a moment. Like she was taken away by a memory.
Her eyes vacant, staring off into the kitchen ceiling.
She remembered the island.
The
funnest
parts for her were the locations. They had shot the whole thing on an
island near Fiji. It was absolute paradise. She remembered having
the most fun of her life there. No man involved, just friends, and new
faces
who
became family. She thrived there.
Things got ugly when she got back. She broke up with one guy, dated
another. Things always got worse when she came back.
“Maybe I’ll go back there.” She
sounded stronger now. She was
fully-awake
.
She seemed to grow steady. Her posture seemed to sober and
solidify. “Hey, you want to hang out with us? We got plenty
of food. You can tell me about other movies you liked.” She waved
her head at me ushering me into the family room where there was a guy on the
couch watching TV. I could only see the back of his head but it looked like it
could be Gino.
Whom I despised.
We all
despised him. He looked the same age as me. She grabbed up
the pizzas and cake. I instinctively grabbed the extra bags that had all
the other weird supplies in them. The guy on the couch was wearing a very
tight t-shirt and possibly no pants. He was stuffing what looked to be
potato chips into his mouth and appeared to be on a cell phone. Yes, it
was in fact, Gino. The worst co-worker I’ve ever had. If he had
been my boss I would have never made it past day one. Geraldo couldn’t
get rid of him because Gino was in with Dickie and Pudgie. Even if he was
sleeping with Carin, he was still golden. That’s how it plays sometimes.