Alice in La La Land (26 page)

On various pretexts, they all moved off and Alice
was soon left alone.

Lewis Carroll,
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Alice looked sideways at Nick as the van hurtled down the 405 to LAX. 'So this is goodbye,' she declared. 'Fuck, what a day!'

'I was trying to tell you, but it seemed you were on a mission to exterminate all evil showbiz types,' he answered, swerving to avoid a trailer.

'I'm sorry, Nick. I've been horribly selfish.' Alice was unsure of how to proceed. 'Well,' she said finally, fiddling with her ponytail, 'do you think it would be at all possible for us to . . . how do you think we should . . . or were you just going to . . .?'

'Huh?' He looked at her sideways despite travelling at top speeds.

'Look out!' she cried.

An Escalade with a tough-looking driver and crew of passengers cut in front of the van. It felt as though they would lurch off the freeway and Nick struggled to keep control of the vehicle.

'Maybe we should wait 'til we get to the airport to discuss it,' he suggested, slowing down and focusing on the road ahead.

Nick returned the van to Avis and they caught a shuttle-bus to the international check-in, emerging at the Tom Bradley terminal where Nick's Aer Lingus flight would depart. Tired travellers smoked their last cigarettes above overflowing ashtrays, and security guards imposed a larger presence than Alice remembered from her arrival. Nick was light on luggage and no trolley was required. They entered the terminal through the revolving doors.

'I wonder what an airport bus from LAX to West Hollywood would be like?' Alice mused, realising she was now without wheels. She had left her car outside Zippy Goldman's office where it was probably being ticketed. Or towed. She looked up at the airport's Theme Building with interest. It resembled a tired UFO squatting for a breather. 'Time for a retro-futuristic snack?' Alice suggested, trying to keep her mood buoyant.

'Don't even think about it,' warned Nick. 'Here, take this for a cab,' he said, pressing twenty dollars into her palm.

'Don't be silly. You change that back into . . . euros, right?'

'Just take it, you silly rabbit,' he insisted. He sounded impatient and Alice stuffed the money in her pocket. 'Thanks,' she said.

'Now, I've ten minutes before I have to get in the check-in queue, or as I believe they say here, before I have to "wait in line", so let's sit.' He looked nervous, rubbing his stubble vigorously with his palm.

Alice and Nick looked around at the dirty concrete space and the succession of uninviting fastfood outlets. LAX, thought Alice, was in dire need of a good scrub.

'Er, somewhere,' he said.

'Why don't we just get a coffee in that charming establishment over there?' Alice suggested, pointing at a nameless neon joint with high tables, bar stools and dead things in a bain-marie.

'Why not?' Nick shrugged.

A television blared CNN in the top right corner as they walked through the door. A terrorist plot in London had been uncovered and there was animated discussion by blow-waved journalists about the possible repercussions of the event. Nick ordered two coffees while Alice perched on a bar stool at a small table.

'Here we are,' he said, putting their drinks down on the greasy surface and sitting awkwardly on the other stool. 'So comfortable!' he winced, trying to get his balance.

Alice took a sip of coffee and screwed up her face at its bitterness. 'It's not so bad here. It's the sort of place where . . . well, you know, a private detective might come for a cup of Joe after a stakeout in the LAX carpark.'

Nick kept his eyes focused on the table.

Alice braved another sip and smiled at him. She took a deep breath, aware she was launching into her second impassioned speech of the day. 'Well, we don't have much time, Nick, so I'm just going to come out and say it.' She gulped another scalding mouthful and carefully placed her coffee cup on the table. Aware she was slouching, she drew herself up to her full height and cleared her throat.

'I, for one, would love to see you again, so we can give ourselves a chance to figure out what the future holds for us.' She cleared her throat again, although there was
nothing to clear. 'Please forgive me if this sounds cheesy, but I'm unsure of how to say this sort of thing and make it sound cool. Anyway, I've never been cool, so I should just not . . . where was I?'

Nick said nothing, waiting for her to finish. He was toying with a sachet of sugar, turning it round and round between his fingertips.

Alice reached for some small containers on the table.

'Half-and-Half?' she offered. 'Ketchup?'

Nick shook his head.

'Anyway,' she continued, unsteadily placing the container and sachet back on the table, 'I thought perhaps the sensible way to proceed would be if either I was to come to visit you, or you were to come and visit me. We could take it step by step and see what, you know, happens. Despite my previous histrionics with the suitcase back at Casa Cat-Piss, I realise I need to do the mature thing and see my time in LA through. I've got my audition for
The Cleavers
coming up, and, you know, one thing or another is sure to go my way over the next couple of weeks. That way I can . . .' Alice trailed off. 'Well, you know.'

Nick remained silent. Alice felt like a lone tea-towel pegged on a clothesline in a high wind. 'Please say something, Nick. Do you feel differently?'

Nick still didn't answer and Alice was becoming alarmed. She longed for one of his witticisms, or for him to call her a donkey.

'Nick?' she tried again in a small voice and put one hand on the table close to his.

Nick's coffee sat untouched in front of him. The television broadcast images of stranded passengers at
Heathrow airport clutching ziplock bags containing bottles of milk. He finally raised his eyes to meet hers.

'Alice,' he began hoarsely, 'I adore you, but that's my problem. See . . . I don't think I can be with you if you're going to continue with your acting.'

'What?'

Alice watched Nick's mouth closely. It was as though she could see the tiny words coming out one by one and popping like bubbles in the air.

'I just don't see how it would work,' he continued, gathering momentum. 'Now, I know that may sound horribly, I don't know, 1950s or something, but I don't mean it in that way. I just think that while you're auditioning, you're here, and you're simultaneously obsessed and miserable, but then if you suddenly do get a break, you'll be on the road and I'll end up getting my heart broken when you fall in love with, I don't know, Anthony Banderas or . . . or somebody. You know, somebody far more glamorous than meself.' He stopped. 'God, Alice, this is hard!' He started fiddling with the sugar sachet again.

'Like, every time over the last few days we've made plans to be together, something else has always come first . . . auditions, your manager, your ex-boyfriend . . . it didn't seem to matter too much that I'd changed my plans for you at all.'

'But . . .' Alice protested.

'I mean, I want us to keep seeing each other, but I don't see how our future together will gel if you're working and completely absorbed in this gaffe.' He looked around the airport café as if he held it personally responsible.

Alice was aware her mouth had fallen open in shock.

'Are you saying it's over?' she blurted.

'No, I'm just being realistic here,' Nick replied.

'But Nick, I told you!' shouted Alice. It was an unconscious volume change and she quickly lowered her tone. 'This is all I know. This is what I've wanted
forever
. I can't just quit! I . . . can't believe you've asked me to give up what I love. It all feels so . . . shouldn't you accept me for who I am?' Alice felt a rush of colour in her cheeks.

Alice watched Nick swallow hard. 'I do, Alice. And that's why I know that what you do makes you miserable. You're like the bud of a flower that has never had a chance to . . . God, sorry, talk about cheesy dialogue,' he apologised, shaking his head. 'What did you say the other day about always feeling second best? I'm sure there is something else you'd be brilliant at that you would also have some control over instead of being completely at the whim of others.' A homeless man lurched up to them and stood silently by their table. His face was covered in a soot-like substance and he was missing a lot of front teeth. Nick wordlessly handed him ten dollars and he ambled off.

'I don't think I've ever given someone an ultimatum like this in my entire life, especially not someone I'm fast becoming crazy about.' He put down the sugar sachet and rubbed his hands on his jeans.

'But, Nick,' Alice pleaded. 'I've come so far, and it all feels so close, like any day now my luck will turn around. All it takes is one person, one director, to say "Yes,
her
, get
her
" and then everything will be all right. I can't give up now. I need to focus on my work so that I can . . .'

'You know, Alice, you talk disparagingly about other people being self-absorbed, but you are too. You need to
be practical, you know, to grow up and face the fact that not everything will go your way in life.'

Alice flinched. She felt herself withdraw like a hermit crab into its shell. 'You know, a nun said that to me once a long time ago, but to me that just sounds defeatist. If you withdraw yourself from the race then you've got zero chance of winning.' She folded her hands in front of her now discarded coffee.

'Which brings me back to what I said before,' Nick continued, sighing. 'I do imagine a future for us, Alice, if things were to change. Don't think I don't want you, every piece of you, but with the work you do . . . whether your career succeeds or fails, I lose.' He reached across the table for her hands. His palms felt warm and smooth on top of hers. 'I'm guessing now you're going to say goodbye,' he said.

'I'll need time to think about it, Nick. That's true. But I appreciate your honesty.' Alice shook his hands off hers and clambered down from her stool. She couldn't quite believe how perfunctory her tone had become. 'And now you'd better go or you'll miss your flight.' She paused to catch her breath. 'Thank you for everything, Nick.'

'Okay, Alice,' he replied. He seemed to take a long look at her before he spoke, as if searching for a sign. 'Here are all my contact details, if you should change your mind about it at all.' He handed her a crumpled piece of paper, picked up his one bag and walked away. Alice stared at the back of his Nike Air Maxes until they were round the corner and out of sight.

'O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool?
I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!'

Lewis Carroll,
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Alice waited in the taxi-rank out the front of the Tom Bradley terminal, staring up at the Theme Building. She was about twentieth in the queue. The sky was white and the roar of aircraft made her teeth ache. Her toes were cold. She raked around her satchel until she found her wallet, then recalled the twenty Nick had given her, fishing it out of her pocket. She winced, remembering their painful exchange.

A couple squabbled behind her in loud Australian accents, and Alice thought how strange their particular twang sounded in her new environment. It seemed so parochial and unfinished. Alice wished to distance herself from her fellow countrymen and instantly felt ashamed. She looked up at a billboard which ironically advertised Antonio Banderas's latest film; he looked swarthy in his leather breeches.

Alice checked her watch and was surprised to note it was nearly 5 pm. She wanted to call her dad, but could not make international calls from her cell. She wondered whether they were still suffering the indignity of Auntie Bev's cooking and political opinions. Bev had always voted for one or the other of the conservative parties, a political
shortcoming that endlessly riled her dad, who was a rusted-on Labor supporter.

The thought of returning to her apartment made Alice feel nauseous. It had been a long day. The sort of day that made an actor wish she'd joined the public service instead of the entertainment industry. A steady job processing workers' compensation claims for the electricity commission would not have involved the highs and lows she'd experienced in the last twenty-four hours.

Alice advanced slowly in the queue. She could feel the onset of tears and fished out her sunglasses case from the bottom of her satchel. She managed to push her glasses onto her face as her tears spilled over the rims of her eyes. Alice felt tired, so tired. And embarrassed. She tried to remember the last time she'd felt things were going her way. The
Rough Beast Slouching
audition? It seemed a lifetime ago. Had they really decided to go with the British name, or had she just blown the final screen test? Alice felt she did not know what was real or imagined anymore. Her barometer to measure such things was clearly on the blink.

'Excuse me, lady, the next cab is yours,' someone said behind her.

'Oh, thanks,' Alice sniffed, snapping out of her thoughts and sliding awkwardly into the waiting cab. It smelled of turnips and cigarette butts. Alice tried not to inhale, pitched forward and gave her address. The driver neither knew where she wanted to go, nor did he speak the same language. The smell of turnips was overwhelming and Alice fought the urge to gag. 'You know, the Miracle Mile . . . between Wilshire and La Brea?' she pleaded.

The driver shook his head and held up a map – much
good it had done him up until this point. Why didn't he study the damn thing on his day off?

Alice sighed, took the map and sat back in her seat. The springs were broken and one jabbed her in the spine close to where she'd injured herself on the day of her first audition. She prepared to direct the driver, via grunts and gesticulations, turn by turn all the way back to West Hollywood.

Alice was aware her phone was ringing again, but could not face answering it. She plucked it from her satchel when the driver finally had her in her own neighbourhood, and saw that it was Rebekah trying to get in touch. Alice placed the phone back in her bag.

'Oh, bollocks,' she sighed, suddenly realising that her car was still on North Beverly Boulevard, and that she would have to go through a further painful miming session with the driver in order to get there. She leaned forward to communicate with him once more.

He swung the taxi around and Alice stared out of the window at the two-dollar shops and the Korean manicure joints until they were finally in the more salubrious streets surrounding Zippy Goldman's office. She handed over close to forty-five dollars and rapidly clambered out of the cab. She felt she'd just survived something quite dreadful, but was it any worse than being ejected twice from an audition, being heartbroken at LAX and now receiving a parking ticket for a sum so large Alice felt her bladder contract? Alice swiped it off her windscreen and stuffed the ticket into her satchel. As she opened her own car door she swallowed down something that tasted very much like vomit, and drove home.

Shauna's car was missing when Alice pulled into her
parking spot at the apartment. She wondered where her roomie was, and whether she'd misjudged the encounter with Lenny as well. Perhaps she should have left well alone.

What had happened to her lately? It was as though her sense of judgement had been replaced by a jar of old buttons. Why was it that for all the best intentions in the world, each and every choice she'd made had turned out to be the worst one?

Alice struggled out of the Daewoo, swung her satchel over her shoulder and climbed the stairs. For once the thought of food made her nauseous. She missed Nick ferociously, suddenly realising how dear to her his support had been in their brief time together. She had taken it for granted. Anyway, it was too late now. It was all too late.

Alice dragged her feet down the hall and noticed that the door to her room had been left ajar. Cautiously stepping forward, she saw her suitcase sitting in the centre of the rug where she'd left it. Everything she owned was packed inside. But instead of being zipped up (surely she'd closed it?) the suitcase seemed to be open. Alice took a tentative step toward it, hoping to be wrong.

The black material of her luggage bore strands of cat fur and there was a cat-shaped indentation on the top flap. Alice flinched as a sharp odour hit her in the face like a fist. It was a smell fit to rip inner walls from nostrils and peel wallpaper. She knew without doubt that a cat had peed on or inside her suitcase. 'For fuck's sake!' she yelled, reaching inside for her toiletries bag. She withdrew a large bottle of floral perfume and splashed it liberally all over her suitcase, hopping from foot to foot in despair. Finally, content she'd done her best to mask the rank smell, she
stepped back, smoothed her hair into a ponytail and headed to the office. She made sure she closed the door to her room firmly, leaving no possibility that it could be clawed at or buffeted through by man or beast.

Alice glanced at Shauna's room on her way past. Her door was also open. Alice peered inside. Everything seemed to be in its usual disorder. There were no cats within and Alice pulled her door shut for good measure.

Once inside the office, Alice dug inside her satchel for a tissue and withdrew Nick's blue handkerchief. She drank in his smell then rapidly stuffed it into the bottom of her bag with her parking tickets. She logged on to the computer to check her emails, sagging in the retractable chair. Who knew, perhaps the Goldenbergs had called Rebekah and offered her the lead in
Beyond Sunset
? You never knew your luck in this town. The apartment was utterly silent, and Alice wondered where the cats were. She stared at the computer screen waiting for her emails to appear.

There was one message waiting. It was from Rebekah Bloomfield at Amoeba Management.

Dear Alice,
It is with great regret that we feel Amoeba Management
can no longer offer you representation.

We've loved having you on our books and wish you
the very best in the future.

Unfortunately we have had to scale back on our
number of clients at this time.

Please expect a courier with your publicity files and
show reel tomorrow morning.

Rebekah Bloomfield

Alice rubbed her eyes and stared at the screen. She read the email again. Did this mean
The Cleavers
audition was off?