Four mile run to a podcast with advice I tell myself I don’t
need (I do). A friend from college tries to make plans, but I am set in being
alone. A PA heading downtown. She orders, “Get ready! Come!” But I just can’t
be with people, not today.
The only person on the hotel patio. Cornmeal blueberry
pancakes. I write. I move to the pool. Kashishi is there so we discuss The
Notebook. Nails sparkly pink, bookstore, Whole Foods vegan chicken salad. Read
most of Leslie Odom Jr.’s memoir. There’s a brain click, I keep finding, for
those who get in the club. I think I’m standing in the foyer. My brain in the
foyer. An email comes from the treehouse. I had two goals for 2018, and I am
1.5 of the way there.
It is hot. Sweat through my leggings. Cowsk is acting today,
and she is very good. I had researched solar wineries and she uses my findings
for alts. Grief and I are invited to a private dinner with AP & MS. But we
go long, and then longer, and it’s a hilarious scene, but the crew tide has
turned. I get home at 9:30, nibble on some room crackers, fall asleep out of
some feeling that’s not fatigue.
My feelings are hurt and I tear up under my sunglasses. Get
stronger, I tell myself. I look at the view (rolling hills and orange petals),
sit down and make a to-do list. And it is a good day. Cowsk sends a text on my
behalf. In a discussion about roller coasters, AP tells me people die all the
time and could I please never go on one again. I am in shorts, so people talk
to me a lot about phones and Pop-Tarts. In particular MS says dryly, “You
remind me of a young me.” I change into a dress, and three gals have fancy
Italian. Talk about love and possibilities, laugh and laugh. I walk around my
clean hotel room touching things and saying thank you to them.
News from Chicago. It doesn’t phase me. I’m phasing out. The
landscapes are still unreal, but the bugs are getting to me. We move and move
and end in wine tunnels. I barely work from the in and out and breaks and lack
of chairs. I watch TV as homework.
First things first a potential opportunity. A dusty dirt
road. Then the very cool clam of AP’s trailer where I read Diablo’s play. Grief
and I watch Friends. It’s the weirdest Russian doll to be on location for a
movie on a dust patch inside a pristine motor home watching 90s TV. That’s show
biz, I hear Diablo say in my head. Cowsk and I sit in an actor trailer though, and
I slurp up the drops of advice she has. At night Grief and I have our Assistant
dinner malts. It was supposed to be at the same time as all the ladies’, but
they bailed on it. Because dream jobs can have long days and annoyances too it
turns out. MR has said she loves horrible Baked Lays because they remind her of
before she was anything. I pack late into the night. This person has said,
“Does she know we love her?” PP is singing “Another Suitcase Another Hall,” so
I chime in on backup, and it becomes a duet.
People are hugging. Last day. I sing Selena getting out of
the van. Another dust butt shoot. Stir crazy has set in for everyone. Waiting
and waiting. I eat my favorite donut for the last time. I have organized JS’s
wife to surprise him on set. I shuttle to base and back with her. He jumps off
a prop to grab her shoulders. All the Girls play HQ and get the SNL question
wrong. I’m as set up as I can be. More than I hoped, and hopeful for more. When
it is over we stand on this stupid road and AP thanks everyone, and Cowsk
cries, and our fearless director says, “Congrats on your first movie, Alice! It’s
all downhill from here.”
I wash up and curl my hair quickly, discuss the Spice Girls
in the cab with Pubbie. At the Wrap Party I’m told I did a
great job by S & SD. Grief and I watch all the slideshow photos. I stand
close to those I admire and cheers with the funky fresh costumers. Then there
is all the dancing in the world with AP leading the bounce. She tells me things
and holds my hands while doing so. Madonna gets us turnt up. Cowsk takes the
mic. Pubbie tells me we don’t want to stay any longer and I agree. Heart full,
it’s time to say goodbye to this movie of a lifetime. Get into bed, turn on a sit-com, eat a donut I had smuggled home, reread my note, look forward to tomorrow.
I leave a heap of snacks. The food waste I’ve seen in the
past two months is incredible, and now I’ve done it too. Unopened gummy sharks
and a near-full package of Oreos. Three cans of La Croix. Glass bottle. I chuck
my fruit cup but buy a Jamba Juice. Grief’s there. She waits while I go through
a groin pat-down. We had said, “It’s okay, I’ll see you again soon,” last night
and now we did. I get on the plane.
