Rock Candy, page 7
part #1 of Dark Horse Series
Bertha winked at us, then showed herself out. "I'll leave you to it then, ladies. Here's my card. Don't hesitate to call if you have any questions about the apartment or about the neighborhood. But you ladies look like you can handle exploring on your own. You might want to take a walk around before it gets dark."
As soon as the door closed behind Bertha, Tiffany and I wheeled our suitcases into the bedroom, which had twin beds just like Ava and her husband on their show. We filled all the dressers plus the bedroom closet and the hall closet. I put my mother’s turquoise pots and pans in the kitchen and hung her hand towels and oven mitts. And just like that, we had a new home.
Gunnar: Wow, that looks just like the apartment in I Love Ava!
Me to Gunnar: Isn’t it great?
Gunnar: Yep. Can’t wait to see it in person!
Me to Gunnar: When can you?!!!!!
Gunnar: Not until at least Thanksgiving. :(
Me to Gunnar: It’s a plan.
I fought the urge to type ‘if you want.’ Why state the obvious?
Tiff and I did take that walk around the neighborhood, ending at the grocery store. It was a good thing there were two of us, because of course we needed everything. Even the stuff you don't usually think about buying, like cooking oil and salt. We made sure we had stuff to make omelets in the mornings and stews in the evenings and figured we’d buy lunches while we were out and about.
We looped the plastic shopping bags over our arms and managed to carry it all home.
“Next time we should bring one of our rolling suitcases,” I joked.
Tiffany said, “Good idea. Let's do that for sure.”
Before we made dinner, we put on our swimsuits and robes and took the elevator down into the basement and went swimming. The water was cold, which encouraged us to actually swim rather than just float around. I could see there was no shortage of exercise in my new life, and I was glad. Waitressing had always provided my exercise before, and I’d been a little worried about my figure.
Back in our apartment, we cut up vegetables and browned the meat, then put it all in the pot. While it was stewing, we went through the rest of my emails and Twitter messages, stopping to share them with Gunnar, and through him, with his band’s manager.
8
Minerva, Tracy
The call came the next morning at 8 AM sharp. It was a good thing I had my phone right by my bedside, because Tiffany and I had been so excited we couldn't go to bed. We stayed up late watching rom coms on the big tube TV in the living room. At least it had cable.
"Hello?"
Good morning, Tracy. It's DTZ. We decided to accept your counteroffer and pay you the amount we would've paid for the hotel and the flight. We emailed you a contract. But the thing is, you have to be here asap."
I worked my eyes open and looked at the phone to verify it was who it said it was. I'd put the contacts in my phone after I got the emails and then checked them on the Internet. The numbers I’d kept were all legit.
"Are you there, Tracy? Hello?"
"Sorry,” I sat up and tried to get my wits about me. "Tiffany and I would love to come tape the show today. What time do you need us there?"
"We’ll send a car. Be out in front of your building at 9 o'clock. Don't worry about your makeup or what you're wearing. We’ll take care of that, but we need all day to do it, understand? What’s your address?"
I had woken up just enough to make sure they understood me. "You know that Tiffany is coming, right?"
"Right."
I rubbed the sleepers out of my eyes with one hand as I held the phone near my face with the other, throwing the covers off the bed and swinging my legs to the floor. "Okay, I'm getting up. See your driver in..." I looked at the time on my phone now, "55 minutes.” I gave him my address. “No makeup?"
"Right, our makeup artist will just wash it off you anyway. Best spend the time on a shower and washing your hair. See you soon!"
I considered letting Tiffany sleep, but she would kill me later if she had to show up at a Hollywood studio unshowered. "We’ve gotta get up. We’re going to the studio in 53 minutes."
She opened her eyes and looked at me, revealing that she'd been awake, heard the whole thing, and was just seeing if I would really wake her up and give her the chance to come with me. She cracked a delighted smile. "Yeah!" She jumped up and hugged me, spinning the two of us around between our two single beds. "You get the first shower. But save some hot water for me."
"Okay!" I ran to the bathroom.
We waited out front less than a minute before a big gray sedan rounded the corner.
"Do you think that's it?"
"I don't know… Yep, that's it."
The gray car pulled up to the curb right in front of us, and the driver hopped out. He was an older gent in a snappy uniform with Paradise Studios emblazoned on his lapel.
"Wow," Tiffany said as she scooted into the back seat all the way over, "a studio driver. You’re important, Tracy."
"Very funny," I rolled my eyes toward the driver to show I knew I wasn't all that important.
He gave me the slightest of smiles as he settled into his seat and met our eyes in the mirror. "We will go as soon as your seatbelts are fastened, lassies."
"Wow," Tiffany mumbled to me as she fumbled for her seatbelt. "Such concern."
The driver made the slightest sound of disagreement. "That's the law here. Besides, the studio does na want the liability for your injuries in an accident. It would be bad enough that I was driving."
It really was a short drive, but we saw the Hollywood sign and all the studios we had imagined. Our jaws were open the whole time, and my mouth was dry by the time the driver pulled up into a spot in another underground parking garage.
"Does every building in LA have underground parking?" I asked somewhat rhetorically.
Our driver chimed in with, "Aye, most of them do. It's about the cost of real estate, ye ken."
Tiffany wrinkled her brow as he opened the door and the two of us scooted out the back seat into the underground garage. "Real estate?"
He led us over to a brightly lit hallway on one side of the garage, where I could see the four elevators waited "Aye, real estate. It's so expensive here in Los Angeles that no one wants to spare any for a parking lot."
We were at the elevators now, and he pushed one of the buttons and then stood patiently aside, indicating we would be the ones getting on the elevator first.
"I love your accent," Tiffany told him. "Are you sure you shouldn't be on TV?"
He chuckled as the doors opened and he gestured us on. "That's another prevalent thing here. Everyone's from somewhere else. You will see."
There were only two floors: the garage and floor one, so the door opened right away, with a ‘ding’ that made me and Tiffany jump.
We were outside now. “I expected an office building,” I told the driver. “This looks like a college campus. What is this place?"
He led us down a huge sidewalk between two cement buildings. There were other people rushing by back-and-forth, but it wasn’t crowded. Some people had racks full of clothing or other things that they wheeled in front of them. No one spoke. They were all in a hurry to get wherever they were going.
The driver let out one syllable of a chuckle, then reined himself in. "Apologies. You lassies truly are fresh off the plane, I see. This is Paradise Studios, where the show will be taped. I'm taking you to the wardrobe office. They’re expecting you, Tracy, and yes, they know Tiffany will be accompanying you wherever you go." He lowered his voice and spoke in confidence. "Most people who come to tape a show have their agent with them, or a personal assistant. It's perfectly normal."
He stopped at the door to one of the windowless concrete buildings.
I turned to Tiffany. "Quick, which one do you want to be, my agent or my personal assistant?"
"Personal assistant. The whole point of an agent is they know everyone." She turned to the driver and asked him, "Right?"
He gave her the slightest nod. "Aye. Now put on the image you wish to have for the duration of your fame, Tracy, for here we are entering in. From this point forward, it’s always on stage, you are." With that ominous bit of information, he opened the door, announcing us to the people inside like a butler. "Tracy Williams and her personal assistant, Tiffany." And with that, he bowed to us and walked out, letting the door gently close behind him with an ominous click.
The wardrobe department of Paradise Studios looked like a salon. Lounge chairs circled a stand with magazines and an espresso machine. There was even a pitcher of water with pieces of orange floating around in it.
A receptionist not much older than me spoke to us in a bored tone. "Names again." She popped her gum.
“I'm Tracy Williams, and this is Tiffany. They just called me this morning."
Without even looking up from doing her nails, the receptionist drawled out, "I'll tell them you're here. Have a seat." She tapped some keys on her computer and went back to her polish.
Tiffany danced over to the Keurig espresso machine and delighted in making both of us caramel lattes. We didn't even have a drip coffee maker in our apartment, just a percolator. I was going to have to ask Bertha how to operate it.
Me to Gunnar: Paradise Studios! (I texted him lots of pictures)
We were in much better spirits, better caffeinated that is, when the receptionist got up and opened the door to the back. "Go on in now. She’s expecting you. Third door on the right."
Some other people came in the front door, a troupe of 20 kids, all fidgeting and chasing each other.
"We barely escaped that one," I told Tiffany.
She grinned as we jogged through the door, just letting it close behind us as we turned to the right and counted three doors.
One of these was open, and we saw a young man pinning a suit on an older man who stood there looking at his phone. The older man was familiar.
I didn't have time to stare long enough to figure out who it was before Tiffany got to the third door and impatiently gestured me down the hall and through it.
“So, Tracy," said the no-nonsense woman in there, "the story is you’re a waitress who has come into something wonderful."
"Yes," I started.
"Right,” she rushed on. “We want to show the wonderful part with your entire appearance, the transformation you've made, you know?"
What is she talking about? Best just agree. She seems driven.
"Yeah,” I told her, “I guess that makes sense. I hadn't really thought—"
She waved her pretty hands. "No, no, no. You shouldn’t think about what you’ll wear for the interview. That's my job." She fluttered her hands in the air. "Now turnabout. Let me have a good look at you."
Feeling like a five-year-old at a birthday party, I twirled for her.
She laughed. A hearty laugh, tilting her head to the side and holding her belly. "I suppose I did tell you to twirl around. No, darling. Turnabout slowly, so that I can see what you look like."
I did as I was told.
"Right," she said as I turned. "Yes, yes, I see."
Having gone all the way around slowly this time, I paused, looking into her eyes for approval, of all things.
She was pursing her lips and running her finger up and down them with a thoughtful expression on her face. "Alright, I have just the thing. Follow me." Without further ceremony, she went past me and opened the door, standing impatiently until I caught on and turned around to follow her out of the room.
Tiffany gave me a shrug as she joined me in the hallway, where we rushed after the woman. “Might we know your name? I'm Tiffany."
The woman bustled into a room that several other people were bustling out of, all with clothes in their arms. "Oh, where are my manners? I’m Minerva. It's nice to meet you, Tiffany, Tracy. Now come along. It might seem like we have all day, but that’s how long it will take to get you ready."
We followed her into a gigantic room full of clothes on racks. We were not the only ones in the room, by far, but we were the only ones who didn't look like we belonged. Everyone else knew exactly where they were going, hurrying past each other with barely a nod of acknowledgment and gathering bunches of clothing in their arms as they rushed off.
Every time Minerva jigged or jagged across one of the aisles between racks, we had to backtrack to catch up with her.
"Are you sure we’re supposed to be in here, Minerva?" I asked after a particularly sharp jag where we almost knocked someone over while backtracking to catch up.
She stopped running down the aisle and paused at a clothing rack that to me looked like all the others. "No," she said as she briskly browsed, dismissing each one after only a second before she moved on to the next. "You aren't, but I find it much quicker to match the clothing with your complexion right here, rather than take it down to my room. If you can't tell, I'm from England. We do things differently. I think it's better.” She looked around, then said to me in a lower voice, “I'm grateful for the opportunity to work here in Hollywood, so don't say otherwise to anyone." She stopped, grabbed something off the rack, and held it up to me. "Perfect."
I looked down at the outfit. It wasn't anything I would wear, all fashionable and froufrou, a suit that insisted it was a cocktail dress in the evening. At least it wasn't low-cut, and the skirt looked like it would come mid-thigh.
It could be much worse, so I didn't object. I was concerned, though. "How do you know it will fit?"
Minerva lowered her head and looked at me over her horn-rimmed glasses. "Are you kidding? I pegged you for size 7 the moment I laid eyes on you. Your bra size is 30C. Shall I continue?"
"Nope," I said just as a man brushed past us with a smirk on his face.
Minerva was rushing off down the aisles again, barely pausing to look over her shoulder and urge us to follow. "We still have to get your accessories. There's no way you can wear those shoes, or that handbag." She tsked.
We jigged and jagged some more until we came to a corner crammed full of shoes, purses, scarves, belts, and cosmetic jewelry.
Minerva walked about as if she were conducting a robbery, grabbing this and that with apparently no thought for what it was, but when she got back to me, I saw a necklace, jacket, shoes, purse, and even a scarf that all matched my froufrou fashion suit. Everything was in shades of light green, a color I didn't usually wear.
Again, I could do much worse, so I didn't say anything.
We followed her back to her workroom, and she handed me the outfit plus some pantyhose I hadn't seen her grab, along with a slip. "Go on into the changing room. Do take your time and don't tear anything. You do know how to put on hose?"
I gulped.
Tiffany came to my rescue. "I used to wear tights to church when I was little."
Minerva pointed to the changing room. "If you feel up to it, Tiffany, why not go in there and help her. It can be challenging, putting on clothes you’re unfamiliar with, and I really don't want to go through all we just did again because of some rip, right?"
"Right,” I said, taking all the things she handed me and letting Tiffany carry the rest.
Minerva sat down on a stool and spun around to face a computer I hadn't noticed in the corner. “Right. See you in a bit."
When I came out of the dressing room, Minerva jumped up off her stool right away, looking me over as if I were a dog in a show, flipping the fabric this way and that and even poking me in a few places and pinching me in others. Well, pinching the fabric, not me, but it was so close it felt odd and intrusive. It was all I could do not to growl at her, and I liked Minerva.
"Up on that platform over there by the mirror," she said as she grabbed some pins and put them in her mouth like some of the people had in the big warehouse room.
I complied.
"Raise your arms," she said, and then she was poking and prodding me and pinning things and generally frightening me. After what seemed like half the day, she told me, "All right, go take this off, but do it very carefully, not disturbing the pins, mind. Don't bother removing the slip and hose. Just put this robe on."
Feeling more like a patient than someone about to be interviewed, I appealed to Tiffany to follow me into the room and help.
When we came out, Minerva gathered the clothes from us, declaring, “I won't be but half an hour. I see to the alterations myself, but they refuse to give me a sewing machine in here." She groaned under her breath on her way out the door.
Tiffany and I sat down on the hard bench and got out our phones.
My messages had slowed down somewhat. I was able to glance at all of them this time, rather than be overwhelmed by an impossibly long list. If it was from anyone I didn't recognize, I just deleted it without reading. Especially rude ones from strange men.
I was glad I got my phone out.
Gunnar: Thinking of you. Don't forget to smile for the cameras.
That made me smile bigger than anything had in a long time.
Me to Gunnar: I'll really be smiling at you.
The door opened.
I jumped like someone who had been sneaking her phone.
9
Ava, Tracy
It wasn’t Minerva who came in. No, much better. It was Ava Cavanah!
I loved her show as a kid, and I squealed when I recognized her. "Ava! I love you so much!"
Looking back, I know how stupid it was, but I couldn't help it, I ran over and hugged the woman who had brought me so much joy as a child, with all of her silly antics.
Amazingly, Ava knew who I was. "Hello, Tracy dear. It's good to know someone who's off having romantic interests with rockstars had a fun childhood." She said it teasingly, not at all judgmental.
Still enthralled with seeing my childhood idol, I gushed, "Are you really married to Wade Cavanah, and is little Tommy really your child together? And did you really live in an apartment with twin beds? Because Tiffany and I are staying in one very much like the one in your show!"
