Chapter 5 KELSEY MOURNS THE MUG
Chapter 5
K ELSEY M OURNS THE M UG
I can’t believe it!
After all my work, Jason’s agent turned down our request for him to audition for Limited Fate . I delivered a sixteen-point dissertation to Desdemona yesterday to contact him!
Granted, she quit listening after point three, but it was such a good pitch. She agreed that diversifying Jason out of the gate was a good move. Plus, this director would seriously owe her when he saw what she’d delivered.
And then, this morning, the agent wouldn’t even give Jason the script.
I text an upset message to Zachery and push my thumbs so hard that the phone flips out of my hands and lands on the ceramic tile floor, cracking ever so slightly in the corner.
Dang it!
Jester glances up from a call that has already gone on for twenty minutes, no doubt Jonathan Brady, an actor who once got a role as a corpse on a cop show in 1988 and still thinks Desdemona will deliver a career-changing part. He calls every Tuesday for an update.
Looking at Jester usually makes me happy. His wardrobe palette can best be described as Easter egg .
Today it’s purple pants (Hreski, $50) and a yellow shirt (unknown vintage) with a belt that ties it together in all the rainbow pastels. With his full head of snow-white hair and perpetually pink cheeks, he’s like a Care Bear. Or maybe a fashion-forward leprechaun. He might scrape the five-foot mark in his heeled boots, but that’s pushing it.
We love him.
But right now, nothing can soothe my rage. Not even Jester’s beautifully bright outfit.
He mouths, You okay, babe? as I shove the cracked phone in my dress pocket.
I shake my head and walk over to the tea bar, the one thing I am fanatical about in the office. I get my coffee from a shop, always, but for work I need my calming teas, my all-natural unbleached sugar, and, most importantly, a clean and dry collection of Peanuts mugs.
Today I’m feeling like Lucy, although I should probably take Linus and try to absorb some of his blanket wisdom.
Jester pounds the mute button on the phone. “I forgot to tell you. Charlie Brown bit the dust. I dropped him when I was washing.”
And that’s the last straw on this devil of a day. I whirl around, pick up my heavy white bag, and tell him, “I’m working from home.”
“Baby girl, I’m so sorry. I’ll replace good ol’ Charlie.”
“It’s okay. It’s just a mug.”
But it’s not. It’s representative of my life’s downward spiral.
There’s one more workday until Desdemona leaves for Cannes and nothing interesting to fill it with now that Jason has turned us down.
I have to avoid my boss for the moment, since she’s ultra annoyed that I suggested a path that embarrassed her.
Besides, I need to plan my route home, pack some things.
Decide who I’m telling I’m headed to Alabama, if anyone.
I wave at Jester. Desdemona is holed up in her office, trying to finagle some other way to “discover” Jason, even though he’s already filmed that bad sequel. She really wants him. Probably Jacobs already filled his head with superhero dreams. We were too late.
When I step outside, even the sunny California day fails to brighten my mood.
I park my car a quarter of a mile away at a cheap lot since there’s no dedicated space for me here, but our office is only a few blocks off Hollywood Boulevard. Desdemona pays a ridiculous price to be close to it.
This funk calls for The Walk.
If I go a little out of my way, I can stroll along the stars embedded in the sidewalk and soak up the energy of the buskers singing and playing, and the endless array of people in costumes working the tourists for tips.
Today, I need that pick-me-up.
The call of the silver screen brought me to LA. I was practical about what I could accomplish, focusing on behind-the-scenes skills rather than aspiring to be the talent in front of the camera.
I interned for free during the day, mostly as a gofer, and worked nights at a coffee shop known to be a favorite for studio interns and bit players. I listened to gossip and tried to figure out any way to break in.
When Desdemona’s former assistant quit, then the new one snapped within a few weeks, I heard all about it.
I sized up what I had gleaned about the young women who hadn’t lasted and determined I could manage.
I went on a mission to impress the casting titan with what I knew about the people she worked with. I scoured the receipts for names to drop, connecting it with industry gossip and who was going where.
I used it to fill in the application, liberally tossing in tidbits that I thought would appeal to a casting director like her.
And it worked. I got the job.
I wouldn’t have to go home like so many dreamers who ran out of resources and hope. I was determined not to crawl back to Alabama.
Dad still lives on the farm, of course. My oldest brother, Cal, and his wife, Katie, stay there with their kids. Sid and Vanessa come and go, working with Dad when they wind up adrift. The baby, Alana, is in college.
Part of the reason I stuck with Desdemona is that she’s never out of work, and therefore, I’m not, either. I won’t wind up back in the barn, smearing Bag Balm on cows and mucking stalls. I’ll put up with a lot to avoid that fate.
I reach Hollywood Boulevard and start the trek along the shops, dodging tourists and keeping an eye out for paparazzi, a sure sign that someone famous is nearby.
A woman sings “Rolling in the Deep” at the top of her lungs, her upturned hat at her feet. A few yards down, a man rocks out on a set of drums made from buckets, scarcely noticing passersby.
A set of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles takes pictures with kids near Bruce Lee’s star. I find the juxtaposition of the original martial arts hero and the turtles completely fun and satisfying, like something in the world makes sense.
Unlike Jason Venetian turning down Limited Fate .
The street in front of the famous Chinese Theatre is thick with tourists and buskers. I wave off Willy Wonka and Captain Jack, walking until I spot an empty rose-granite star and wonder who might one day be embossed in gold on it. Jason Venetian?
Not if he doesn’t listen to me! His agent is a mid-lister, and possibly reeling with interest for his new acquisition. People in this position often make short-term decisions. Not everyone can see the big picture.
This is one thing Desdemona is good at, and why I knew how to make her approach Jason about Limited Fate . But casting for that picture will go on as usual without my perfect pairing.
I sure could see the two of them reading the beautiful lines. Love stories like that movie don’t come along very often, particularly not with a decent budget attached.
Desdemona will go more traditional with it now. Get one A-lister to sign on, then use that as leverage to lowball someone who will work for less to keep in budget.
The pairing might work, or might be lackluster. It will end up based on lots of factors—availability, relationships, agent clout, and money.
That’s Desdemona territory. For me, it’s about the intangibles. Posture. Expressions. Charisma. The way they look together, or at least how I imagine it. I can see one person in a commercial and another on a talk show, and still, that whiff of how they’ll perform in certain roles comes to me like a movie in my mind. It’s a feeling, smoke and magic, but I can see it.
There are pairings I wish I’d made, ones that have worked over and over again.
Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler. Always fresh. Always funny.
Julia Roberts and George Clooney.
Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling.
So many perfect duos.
I want to make one that iconic.
But apparently it won’t be Jason Venetian and Gayle Sumners.
I hear a voice calling my name. At first, I pay no attention, thinking maybe it’s my brain trying to make sense of the cacophony of Adele, Taylor Swift, and Dua Lipa coming from buskers trying to outdo each other.
But then I realize it is my name. I turn around.
Zachery rushes toward me, holding two coffee cups. I haven’t seen him yet today. He met with an actress Desdemona is courting.
He looks amazing in a silvery gray suit (Brunello Cucinelli, $5,000), and my breath catches. His dark hair curls with the humidity and the exertion, making his couture look even more effortless.
But no doubt brokering a deal this morning with Perine Jetée involved an invitation to multiple upcoming events, and no telling what additional benefits .
He’s a natural-born charmer, and as he arrives with an outstretched coffee made just the way I like it, I wonder if he keeps a database on his phone. Name, birthday, coffee preference, sexual proclivities ...
Nope, don’t think about it.
To be honest, I love his attention. It scratches that itch to be seen, to be pampered, to be, well, chased after , without any of the drawbacks of a relationship. Namely, heartbreak. But also, what the fortune teller brought up. The withering of faith. Each relationship failure is another petal off the rose.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the cup and immediately taking a sip. I desperately needed a caffeine boost. And here Zachery is, fixing it.
I don’t have to ask how he knew where I was. He’s caught up with me en route to my car before. He knows that when I’m in a hurry, I go straight from the office to the parking lot.
And on bad days, I take Hollywood Boulevard.
We really are an old married couple.
If one half of the couple is rich and semifamous and way into courting every female actor who will have him.
He falls into step beside me. “It was a great pairing,” he says, not even out of breath from the rush. He takes his workouts as seriously as his women. He’s done five miles before most people shut off their alarms for the first time.
“Can’t win them all,” I say, dodging a mime pretending to pull on a rope.
“So, does this mean you’re heading out of town?”
I shake my head. “Desdemona doesn’t leave until Thursday. I’m packing, though.”
“Do you have a route?”
“Just a rough idea.”
Up ahead, three of the Transformers block the sidewalk in their bulky costumes. We pause while a mother takes a photo of her brood with the grouping.
“What’s your first stop?” Zachery asks.
“I think I’ll go north to I-40 through Barstow since I usually drive south through Palm Springs.”
“Because the fortune teller told you to take the long way?”
“I mean, if I’m going to listen to her, I might as well do it right. But going through the Midwest feels like the best choice.”
“What if she told you to go on foot?”
I lean in to bump his shoulder. “Don’t make fun of me. It’s a good move. The stops will be smaller, more intimate, and less touristy.”
“More farmers, fewer golfers?”
This makes me laugh. “Maybe.”
I can tell from his expression that he doesn’t think any of this is a good idea. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll see my dad, probably feel foolish for listening to a fake fortune teller, and head back to LA inside of two weeks.”
“About the fortune teller—”
I squeeze his arm. Hello, biceps. “Let’s not talk about her. I feel weird following her advice. I’d like to think of it as her being the person who got me out of my rut, and only rational thoughts are setting me on this journey.”
He nods. “Okay.”
The Transformers finally step away from the tourists, and we walk on.
But as we approach another cache of stars in front of the Hollywood Wax Museum, I slip on a bit of melted ice cream.
Zachery moves swiftly to catch me before I fall. “Careful there.”
His gaze meets mine, his body close. We’re a Hallmark meet-cute, right here on Hollywood Boulevard. For only the length of an inhale, I imagine this is our big moment, the one where we finally notice each other. Zachery and Kelsey, the ultimate Tinseltown pair.
Then it’s over. I glance down at the splat of pink. “Where there are tourists, there are spills.”
He sets me up straight. “Can’t live with them, can’t maintain our tax base without them.”
I realize I’m standing on Vivien Leigh’s star. I step aside, as if I’m on her grave. Vivien and Clark Gable. Now that was a power pairing if there ever was one.
Could I do that? Create a match that powerful?
Even if I did, Desdemona would be the casting director of record.
Zachery still holds my arm, and the heat of his hand feels good on my skin. He fits in so well here, in front of the museum, as if he might be one of its iconic figures come to life.
And me? An Alabama farm girl.
Maybe Vivien’s name beneath my feet will give me some good luck, and on this journey I’ll find someone as wonderful as Zachery, but available to a normal human like me.