ya!
Mx
I love you, too, Miles, you annoying, irritating, stupid, stupid man! And when are you going to learn to spell?!
Miles
Day four in LA.
I was woken up by Adelita, Rhonda’s maid, banging on my door.
“Mr. Miles! Mr. Miles! Telefon! Telefon!”
She opened the door and peered in. Shit! I was sleeping naked. Some privacy, please! She crossed herself again and scuttled out, pulling the door behind her, but it was still ajar and she was still yelling at me. I scrabbled around in a heap of clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans.
Adelita was waiting at the door, clutching a cordless phone. She shoved it into my hand and backed away from me, looking as if she thought I might assault her virtue, or that my head might start revolving.
“Hello?”
“Miles. Get your pale, limey ass over here now ,” Rhonda bawled down the phone. “I’ve sent a car for you. Take a shower. Wear the suit. You’ve got four minutes. And have a fucking shave!”
The phone went dead and I was still trying to think what came after ‘hello’. Finally my brain connected with the parts that moved and I hustled. Rhonda sounded as cheerful as a hungry grizzly with poison ivy up its jacksy.
Earl was waiting for me with the same sardonic smile on his face.
“Hi, Earl,” I wheezed, skidding to a stop at the car. Nine minutes, and I didn’t cut my throat shaving – not bad.
“Another day in Paradise,” he said, holding back a smile.
I smirked and climbed into the back seat.
“Got something special for you, son,” he said, and pressed a button on the steering wheel.
I listened for a moment.
“Bud Shank?”
He chuckled quietly. “White boy – like you.”
Ten minutes later, we were pulling up to the security gate at the studio. Earl flashed some ID, the barrier was raised, and we were through. I felt the familiar tensing of my stomach muscles, the tremor of nerves, and I had to remind myself, don’t talk shit, don’t talk too much. I wished Clare was here – she’d say something to help chill me out. But she wasn’t. There was no one. I had no friends in LA, only people I worked with, or rather people I might work with. And that was a whole different ballgame.
Earl was cool. So maybe…
Perched at the reception desk was a permatanned woman with a cloud of peroxide hair, and candy pink fingernails that flexed like talons. Despite her seriously scary appearance, she gave me a reassuring smile. It reminded me of mum.
I tried to smile back but my face was frozen in what was probably an expression of abject horror. Or maybe I just looked like my usual moronic self.
A size-0000000 assistant, who had overdone the perfume big time, showed me up to ‘Mr. Hyde’s office’. I wondered, absently, if Mr. Jekyll was in the room next door. I must NOT say that out loud.
“There he is! Come on in, Miles.”
Rhonda welcomed me warmly. It was unnerving. She seemed… what was the female of ‘avuncular’? Aunticular? Clare would know – but I didn’t. I realized that the thought alone meant that half my brain was in terrified denial. I tried to tell myself, it’s just another fucking job , but I was a sodding awful liar. Yeah, and a third rate actor , my Id spat at me, the sour-faced git. My balls had shrunk in terror at the sound of Rhonda’s not-so-dulcet tones.
Donald Hyde stood and offered me a firm, practiced handshake. He’d had a manicure, too.
“Welcome, Miles. Good to see you again. I hope you had a pleasant evening last night. Please, take a seat.”
Rhonda was beaming. It was eerie. Then I spotted Jo-Anne Moody on the other side of the room, and she winked and gave me the international hand gesture where her thumb and forefinger made a circle. I thought it meant ‘okay’ – either that or ‘butt monkey’, depending on which country you were in.
“So, we’ve reviewed the screen test,” said Hyde, “and we think you’re the guy who’s gonna bring Nuriel to life for us. Congratulations, Miles, I
Mx
I love you, too, Miles, you annoying, irritating, stupid, stupid man! And when are you going to learn to spell?!
Miles
Day four in LA.
I was woken up by Adelita, Rhonda’s maid, banging on my door.
“Mr. Miles! Mr. Miles! Telefon! Telefon!”
She opened the door and peered in. Shit! I was sleeping naked. Some privacy, please! She crossed herself again and scuttled out, pulling the door behind her, but it was still ajar and she was still yelling at me. I scrabbled around in a heap of clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans.
Adelita was waiting at the door, clutching a cordless phone. She shoved it into my hand and backed away from me, looking as if she thought I might assault her virtue, or that my head might start revolving.
“Hello?”
“Miles. Get your pale, limey ass over here now ,” Rhonda bawled down the phone. “I’ve sent a car for you. Take a shower. Wear the suit. You’ve got four minutes. And have a fucking shave!”
The phone went dead and I was still trying to think what came after ‘hello’. Finally my brain connected with the parts that moved and I hustled. Rhonda sounded as cheerful as a hungry grizzly with poison ivy up its jacksy.
Earl was waiting for me with the same sardonic smile on his face.
“Hi, Earl,” I wheezed, skidding to a stop at the car. Nine minutes, and I didn’t cut my throat shaving – not bad.
“Another day in Paradise,” he said, holding back a smile.
I smirked and climbed into the back seat.
“Got something special for you, son,” he said, and pressed a button on the steering wheel.
I listened for a moment.
“Bud Shank?”
He chuckled quietly. “White boy – like you.”
Ten minutes later, we were pulling up to the security gate at the studio. Earl flashed some ID, the barrier was raised, and we were through. I felt the familiar tensing of my stomach muscles, the tremor of nerves, and I had to remind myself, don’t talk shit, don’t talk too much. I wished Clare was here – she’d say something to help chill me out. But she wasn’t. There was no one. I had no friends in LA, only people I worked with, or rather people I might work with. And that was a whole different ballgame.
Earl was cool. So maybe…
Perched at the reception desk was a permatanned woman with a cloud of peroxide hair, and candy pink fingernails that flexed like talons. Despite her seriously scary appearance, she gave me a reassuring smile. It reminded me of mum.
I tried to smile back but my face was frozen in what was probably an expression of abject horror. Or maybe I just looked like my usual moronic self.
A size-0000000 assistant, who had overdone the perfume big time, showed me up to ‘Mr. Hyde’s office’. I wondered, absently, if Mr. Jekyll was in the room next door. I must NOT say that out loud.
“There he is! Come on in, Miles.”
Rhonda welcomed me warmly. It was unnerving. She seemed… what was the female of ‘avuncular’? Aunticular? Clare would know – but I didn’t. I realized that the thought alone meant that half my brain was in terrified denial. I tried to tell myself, it’s just another fucking job , but I was a sodding awful liar. Yeah, and a third rate actor , my Id spat at me, the sour-faced git. My balls had shrunk in terror at the sound of Rhonda’s not-so-dulcet tones.
Donald Hyde stood and offered me a firm, practiced handshake. He’d had a manicure, too.
“Welcome, Miles. Good to see you again. I hope you had a pleasant evening last night. Please, take a seat.”
Rhonda was beaming. It was eerie. Then I spotted Jo-Anne Moody on the other side of the room, and she winked and gave me the international hand gesture where her thumb and forefinger made a circle. I thought it meant ‘okay’ – either that or ‘butt monkey’, depending on which country you were in.
“So, we’ve reviewed the screen test,” said Hyde, “and we think you’re the guy who’s gonna bring Nuriel to life for us. Congratulations, Miles, I
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