Part 1 - Californication
Allison hunched over the steering wheel of her black Mustang as she sped across four lanes of traffic, her steel gray eyes shifting focus between the traffic ahead and the cars in the rearview mirror. Horns blared and middle fingers jutted into the air as she cut through the maze, narrowly missing the exit ramp for Burbank. It was another August scorcher and everyone was driving like a maniac; angry at the heat, angry at traffic, angry at wherever they were coming from or wherever they were going. She turned down the chatter on the radio; it made her anxious listening to the latest litany of disasters and she need to keep a cool head today. She dialed the number for her day job and listened with relief as the answering machine picked up her call.
“Hi, this is Allie, just wanted to let you know I’ve got an audition in the valley today, but I’ll make it back to Bel Air… ”
Her message was cut short as someone picked up the line.
“Allie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh, hi.” She gripped the steering wheel. “Yeah, so, a last minute audition came up for a big movie, and this is the only time they could fit me in.”
“That’s not my problem. My problem is you showing up late again. This is a new client, and I need to make a good impression. I’m running a business here and my clients demand professionalism.”
Allie licked the sweat off of her upper lip. “I won’t be late, I promise.”
“You’re going to have to make a decision. Do you want this job or not? I can’t risk my reputation for your acting career.”
Allie glared at the phone, willing it to burst into flame. She couldn’t believe that after years of training and thousands of dollars of student loan debt, she was struggling to hang on to a house cleaning job.
“Don’t worry, I promise I’ll be there. Hey, I’m going around a hill here, so I may lose you.” She screeched around a corner and disconnected the call before her boss could respond.
Allie screeched into a handicapped parking space on the studio lot and grabbed a garment bag from the backseat and ran to the hangar-like building marked with a large letter “A”. She commandeered the ladies room, plugging in a hot iron curler and spreading her makeup kit across the countertop. Tiptoeing across the cold tile floor and into one of the bathroom stalls, she changed out of her jeans and into a tight-fitting red dress and black patent leather pumps. She bent over at her waist, head upside down, and misted hairspray over her head while holding her breath. She hated all the fluffing and puffing that went with auditions, but producers wanted to see a “complete package”, someone who could sell a movie based upon the one-sheet poster.
She brushed her teeth with some hardcore brightening paste, painted on some lip gloss, and stepped back to look at the package in the mirror. “It’s show time.”
As she walked towards the casting office, the door opened and an actress whom she recognized rushed out, her face puffy with emotion. The casting director’s assistant stood in the doorway and gave Allison a non-committal look and shrugged her shoulders. Allison She took a deep breath and strode into the casting director’s office feeling a little unstable on top of her new pumps. After all these years, she still got butterflies at auditions, especially if she didn’t know the producer or the material. Auditioning is a surreal experience. You walk in, entertain everyone with some light chit-chat, then suddenly you’re reading through the script and occupying a different world, laughing or crying, but generally spilling your guts out all over the floor. When it’s over, everyone chit-chats again and you smile and wave and walk out the door; all in a day’s work.
The casting director was speaking in hushed tones to an imposing woman sitting next to her. Neither one of them turned their head to acknowledge that Allie had entered the room, so she took a seat in front of the camera. She crossed her legs and uncrossed her arms, trying to strike a pose that read “relaxed confidence.” The women seemed to be having some sort of disagreement, until finally the casting director set down her pen, crossed her arms, and looked at Allison.
“Sorry about the wait.” She nodded towards the woman next to her. “This is our producer slash director slash writer, Rachael Wyse.”
She knew the name. Rachael Wyse was one of the most successful producers in Hollywood, and one of a handful of women. She had a reputation for being sadistic, but then, most successful producers did. She and her husband were a powerhouse team, famous for creating slick, violent action films. The plots were heavy with unique methods of killing and torturing, while the endings applied a thin veneer of morality. Though many actors got their start in Wyse projects, Allie included them in the nebulous genre of films that get away with exploiting exploitation. Had she known that it was Rachael Wyse auditioning her today, she never would’ve come. She wasn’t hungry enough to bottom feed.
Rachael raised her eyes and examined Allison from top to bottom, squinting at her through dark choppy bangs and thick mascara. She stood up and her presence filled the room. She exuded a masculine confidence but was dressed like an Italian fashionista, in high heels and a form fitting dress suit. Allie forced a smile.
“Would you mind standing up, mmm…”
“Allison.”
“Yes.” Her voice was throaty, as if she were hoarse from too many cigarettes and martinis. She swiveled her finger. “Will you turn around?” She twisted her finger in a circle.
Allison shot her a look. “What for?”
One side of Rachael’s mouth curled crookedly. “I’m shooting a film, not an eight by ten glossy. I need to see the whole picture.”
Allison turned in a small circle, having one of those moments where she wondered how she got there and why she didn’t leave. She needed the work, so she decided to stay until she read through the script.
The casting director handed Allison a few pages of script as Rachael spoke. “What I’m looking for is something straight from the gut. No technique. I’ll be reading with you.”
Allison glanced at the casting director and caught her rolling her eyes. Typically the casting director read with the actors.
“In this scene, you’re playing a mother in a crowded outdoor market and you’ve just realized that your child is no longer holding your hand.”
Allison felt a slight jolt at the fact that she’d just moved from ingénue to mother roles. Rachael fed her the first line and she responded like a well-trained animal.
As she read, she noticed something unusual about the dialogue; it was very simple and direct, creating an immediacy that resonated inside her. The words came out of her mouth as if they were born there. There was no thinking or anticipating, no critical eye in the back of her head watching herself move or speak. She was totally present, alive in the moment. As the tension in the scene grew, something strange began to happen. She felt a tingling start at the base of her neck and then work its way across her skull, like a migraine. Searing pain radiated through the base of her head, from ear to ear, and a blinding light switched on, obliterating the casting room.
She found herself in the market, full of panic, a viral fear raging through her body as she searched for her daughter’s face. Her heart pounded as she pushed through the crowd, abandoning herself to the terror and screaming out her daughter’s name. She grabbed a woman’s arm in desperation, refusing to let go, demanding her help. Images flashed in her mind’s eye. She saw the shape of a body inside a thick rug, and it was being turned over and over again by two pairs of tattooed hands. As she focused on the shape, her peripheral vision narrowed, and then everything went dark. She opened her eyes, but saw nothing but muffled blackness. The air smelled musty as something rough scraped against her nose. As her eyes adjusted, she sensed a faint glow coming from above her. She tried to look up, but was unable to move her head. Her arms and legs were pinned tightly against her sides; her whole body was constricted. She tried to call out but her lips were stuck together like glue. She felt herself being lifted up and folded over like a rag doll; she was being carried. Men’s voices whispered around her but they were speaking strange words that she didn’t understand. A car door opened and she was tossed inside. The door closed with a percussive thump and she realized she must be in the trunk. The engine started and she could smell exhaust fumes as the car lurched forward. Tears seeped from the edges of her eyes as she thought of her mother. She wondered how she’d ever find her again, if she’d be lost forever. She heard someone calling her name.
