Angels
Page 39
Emily went to pay a fealty visit to Dan Gonzalez, the host, and I stood sipping champagne and watching, hawk-eyed, for signs of debauchery.
‘Hi!’ A burlyish, youngish man wearing a wing-tipped collar walked up to me. ‘Gary Fresher, executive producer.’
‘Maggie Gar – Walsh.’ They were certainly friendly here!
‘And what do you do, Maggie?’
‘I’m just taking some down time right now.’
Then, so quickly that I could hardly take it in, he said curtly, ‘Nice meeting you,’ turned his back and walked away.
Whaaat?
I should have had a job. He wasn’t interested in talking to me because I couldn’t help him. The realization shocked and depressed me. Party, my granny. More like a dreadful networking convention. Next, people would be exchanging business cards. Oh, hold on, they already were, and Emily O’Keeffe was one of them. There she was, in the thick of things, glossy, confident, talking the talk, walking the walk…
No sign anywhere of Shay Delaney. He mustn’t be in town.
‘Hi! I’m Leon Franchetti.’
A startlingly handsome man had materialized in front of me, his hand extended.
‘Maggie Walsh.’
‘And what do you do, Maggie?’
‘I’m a pet groomer.’ I just couldn’t run the risk of being snubbed again and that was the first job to come into my head. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m an actor.’
I admit it, I was quite impressed. Not as much as I once would have been when my feelings were normal, but… ‘Cool.’
‘Yeah, things have been going pretty good.’ I was spellbound by his matinée –idol smile. I was about to ask what he’d been in, but he beat me to it. ‘I’ve just finished a pilot for ABC, should be screening in the fall – I’ve got a totally great character, with lots of room for growth, I could really stretch myself with it–’
‘Excell–’
‘Before that I was in Kaleidoscope.’ Another hypnotizing smile.
‘Were you?’ I’d seen it, but I didn’t remember him from it.
‘Not a huge role, but it got me noticed. Oh yeah, it got me noticed.’ He flashed me another handsome-devil smile. Oddly, this one didn’t affect me like the others had. ‘I’ve also played Benjamin in the House of Pies commercial. “Where do I get my pie?” He stuck out his bottom lip, suddenly looked woebegone, then delivered, with a beam, ‘“In the House of Pies, stoopid!”‘It appeared to be the catchphrase from a very crap ad. ‘It didn’t screen in California, but it was totally HUGE in the midwest. Even politicians were saying it. “Where do you see yourself in ten years time?” “In the House of Pies, stoopid!”
It was around then that I realized how superfluous I was to the conversation. Emily rescued me, but within minutes I was boxed in by another walking résumé, who gave me chapter and verse on his entire acting career. He asked me one question and one question only: did I work in ‘the business’?
When he’d finished with me, I stood alone and watched the room. All the glitter had rubbed off and the people moving and smiling and talking looked like sharks in a shark pool. It was true what Emily had said: it would be impossible to find love in this town. They were all too into their work. Within me a space opened up; there was nothing to distract from my thoughts of Garv. Depression began to circle and settle…
Then my heart thrilled at the sight of an old friend across the room: Troy, with his long face and implacable mouth. OK, so I’d only known him since Friday, but compared to this awful crowd of humourless egomaniacs he was one of the closest friends I’d ever had. I hurtled through the throng.
‘Hey,’ he exclaimed, looking as happy to see me as I was to see him. ‘Having a good time?’
‘No.’
He turned my wrist to him. ‘Uh-oh. The emergency happen?’
I nodded. ‘I rang him, he wasn’t there. Thank you for the liquorice lace.’
‘Twizzler,’ he corrected. ‘It help?’
‘It sure did. I could have done with twenty more.’
‘Buddhists say that everything is impermanent – that’s a comfort. But not as much as refined sugar. So you’re not having a good time?’
‘No,’ I said hotly. ‘I’ve been monologued at by countless thesps. Such egomaniacs!’
‘Acting is a savage profession,’ Troy explained softly. ‘Every day you get told that your voice is wrong, that your look is over. You get so many blows to your ego that the only way to survive is to overdevelop it.’
‘I see.’ I was momentarily humbled, then I remembered another wound. ‘Wait till you hear what happened when I first arrived!’ I related the story of the man walking away when he heard I didn’t have a job. ‘Where I come from,’ I scorned, ‘people aren’t interested in you because of what you do.’
‘No, they’re interested because of what you look like,’ he said drily.
I paused. ‘Fair enough,’ I conceded. ‘And I haven’t seen one person snorting cocaine. Call this a Hollywood party. Although do you think she might be a hooker?’ I indicated the very young Hispanic girl.
‘That’s Dan Gonzalez’s daughter.’
I could feel the disappointment on my face and Troy laughed a low, gentle laugh. ‘You’re not going to find drugs and sketchy stuff at this kind of party. They’re here to work. But,’ he said, ‘if you want I’ll take you out some night and show you a different side to LA.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, coolly. Irritated by the flood-tide of heat that roared up my neck and exploded in bright colour in my face.
As Emily and I drove home, I was oddly mesmerized by the freeway traffic. Five lanes of cars streaming forward, everyone proceeding at the same speed, with the same distance between every car.
Sliproads fed newcomers into the main body. They settled into their place with balletic grace, without missing a beat. At the same time, cars were leaving, extricating themselves smoothly and zipping up sliproads until they disappeared from view. Constant motion, constant grace – I found it beautiful.
What was wrong with me? Finding traffic beautiful. Finding big-nosed, slab-of-granitey men beautiful.
‘Hi!’ A burlyish, youngish man wearing a wing-tipped collar walked up to me. ‘Gary Fresher, executive producer.’
‘Maggie Gar – Walsh.’ They were certainly friendly here!
‘And what do you do, Maggie?’
‘I’m just taking some down time right now.’
Then, so quickly that I could hardly take it in, he said curtly, ‘Nice meeting you,’ turned his back and walked away.
Whaaat?
I should have had a job. He wasn’t interested in talking to me because I couldn’t help him. The realization shocked and depressed me. Party, my granny. More like a dreadful networking convention. Next, people would be exchanging business cards. Oh, hold on, they already were, and Emily O’Keeffe was one of them. There she was, in the thick of things, glossy, confident, talking the talk, walking the walk…
No sign anywhere of Shay Delaney. He mustn’t be in town.
‘Hi! I’m Leon Franchetti.’
A startlingly handsome man had materialized in front of me, his hand extended.
‘Maggie Walsh.’
‘And what do you do, Maggie?’
‘I’m a pet groomer.’ I just couldn’t run the risk of being snubbed again and that was the first job to come into my head. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m an actor.’
I admit it, I was quite impressed. Not as much as I once would have been when my feelings were normal, but… ‘Cool.’
‘Yeah, things have been going pretty good.’ I was spellbound by his matinée –idol smile. I was about to ask what he’d been in, but he beat me to it. ‘I’ve just finished a pilot for ABC, should be screening in the fall – I’ve got a totally great character, with lots of room for growth, I could really stretch myself with it–’
‘Excell–’
‘Before that I was in Kaleidoscope.’ Another hypnotizing smile.
‘Were you?’ I’d seen it, but I didn’t remember him from it.
‘Not a huge role, but it got me noticed. Oh yeah, it got me noticed.’ He flashed me another handsome-devil smile. Oddly, this one didn’t affect me like the others had. ‘I’ve also played Benjamin in the House of Pies commercial. “Where do I get my pie?” He stuck out his bottom lip, suddenly looked woebegone, then delivered, with a beam, ‘“In the House of Pies, stoopid!”‘It appeared to be the catchphrase from a very crap ad. ‘It didn’t screen in California, but it was totally HUGE in the midwest. Even politicians were saying it. “Where do you see yourself in ten years time?” “In the House of Pies, stoopid!”
It was around then that I realized how superfluous I was to the conversation. Emily rescued me, but within minutes I was boxed in by another walking résumé, who gave me chapter and verse on his entire acting career. He asked me one question and one question only: did I work in ‘the business’?
When he’d finished with me, I stood alone and watched the room. All the glitter had rubbed off and the people moving and smiling and talking looked like sharks in a shark pool. It was true what Emily had said: it would be impossible to find love in this town. They were all too into their work. Within me a space opened up; there was nothing to distract from my thoughts of Garv. Depression began to circle and settle…
Then my heart thrilled at the sight of an old friend across the room: Troy, with his long face and implacable mouth. OK, so I’d only known him since Friday, but compared to this awful crowd of humourless egomaniacs he was one of the closest friends I’d ever had. I hurtled through the throng.
‘Hey,’ he exclaimed, looking as happy to see me as I was to see him. ‘Having a good time?’
‘No.’
He turned my wrist to him. ‘Uh-oh. The emergency happen?’
I nodded. ‘I rang him, he wasn’t there. Thank you for the liquorice lace.’
‘Twizzler,’ he corrected. ‘It help?’
‘It sure did. I could have done with twenty more.’
‘Buddhists say that everything is impermanent – that’s a comfort. But not as much as refined sugar. So you’re not having a good time?’
‘No,’ I said hotly. ‘I’ve been monologued at by countless thesps. Such egomaniacs!’
‘Acting is a savage profession,’ Troy explained softly. ‘Every day you get told that your voice is wrong, that your look is over. You get so many blows to your ego that the only way to survive is to overdevelop it.’
‘I see.’ I was momentarily humbled, then I remembered another wound. ‘Wait till you hear what happened when I first arrived!’ I related the story of the man walking away when he heard I didn’t have a job. ‘Where I come from,’ I scorned, ‘people aren’t interested in you because of what you do.’
‘No, they’re interested because of what you look like,’ he said drily.
I paused. ‘Fair enough,’ I conceded. ‘And I haven’t seen one person snorting cocaine. Call this a Hollywood party. Although do you think she might be a hooker?’ I indicated the very young Hispanic girl.
‘That’s Dan Gonzalez’s daughter.’
I could feel the disappointment on my face and Troy laughed a low, gentle laugh. ‘You’re not going to find drugs and sketchy stuff at this kind of party. They’re here to work. But,’ he said, ‘if you want I’ll take you out some night and show you a different side to LA.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, coolly. Irritated by the flood-tide of heat that roared up my neck and exploded in bright colour in my face.
As Emily and I drove home, I was oddly mesmerized by the freeway traffic. Five lanes of cars streaming forward, everyone proceeding at the same speed, with the same distance between every car.
Sliproads fed newcomers into the main body. They settled into their place with balletic grace, without missing a beat. At the same time, cars were leaving, extricating themselves smoothly and zipping up sliproads until they disappeared from view. Constant motion, constant grace – I found it beautiful.
What was wrong with me? Finding traffic beautiful. Finding big-nosed, slab-of-granitey men beautiful.
