Going Down in La-La Land (24 page)

“
Or any high-profile public job for that matter,” I said.

“
Well, I don’t know,” Candy pondered. “Look at Pamela Lee or Paris Hilton. Shit, it seems nowadays having sex on camera is a prerequisite to becoming famous, so maybe things aren’t so hopeless. The point is you’re getting out before things get out of control, like with Anna Lynn.”

Anna Lynn was Candy’s favorite illustration of the classic Hollywood tragedy. A cute blue-eyed blonde from Missouri, she came to LA through a modeling agent back home. Candy had met her in a Groundlings improv class, a class that Anna Lynn eventually stopped coming to altogether. Before long she was turning tricks with wealthy men, and out partying and drinking every night. The last she heard of Anna Lynn was that she had gotten pregnant by one of her johns, suffered a miscarriage, and incorporated the fetus into one of her oil paintings. When I heard that one I was grossed out beyond words.

“
Anyway, I’ve seen some ugly times myself involving drugs,” Candy went on. “Like the time in New York when I did too much blow and shit in my pink leather pants.”

“
You what?” I blurted, almost choking on my coffee.

“
Oh, I never told you that one,” Candy said with a guilty smirk. “One time back in New York I was on a call at this guy’s apartment in Trump Tower and did way too much blow. There was another girl there as well. The guy was a total coke fiend and kept pushing more at us. I mean it was blow, blow, blow—all night long. So the whole evening I smelled this awful stench. I figured maybe one of them had gas or something.”

Candy paused to take a sip of coffee.

“
Actually, it really smelled like baby diapers,” she reflected.

“
I thought maybe it was the other girl’s cheap perfume. Who knows? So I ignored it for a while, but then after being sent off with my own cocaine kit, I was in the limo with the driver and still smelled it. Gross, this driver reeks too, I’m thinking. But when I got home and took off my pink leather pants, I couldn’t believe it. I had thought I was just farting once and a while, but GEEEZZZZZ . . . diarrhea of the worst kind! It was so sick! Cocaine really loosens the stool, you know. I called the madam at the escort service and told her never to send me to that guy again because he got me so coked up I shit my pants. I had her in hysterics. She always got a kick out of me.”

Candy laughed the whole time telling me this, hardly able to finish. I couldn’t believe what she just told me and was laughing hysterically as well, tears running down my cheeks.

“
My point is, Adam, live and learn, right?”

Leave it to Candy to put a humorous twist on even the most grisly subjects.

The next day I skipped work and went to audition for
The Hollywood Windows.
I was glad Candy had signed me up because at least for a few hours I wouldn’t have to mull over Dale, HUNG Video, John Vastelli, or getting my life back in order from the mess I’d made of it.

The Hollywood Windows,
along with
The Price Is Right,
is the mother lode of game shows, and countless people dream of being a contestant. And on
Hollywood Windows
you don’t have to be a genius to win, unlike
Jeopardy.
Soon I was to find out that maybe I should have tried
Wheel of Fortune,
where you could be dumber than a stick and still win great shit.

These people meant business. Arrive dressed nicely, no jeans or sneakers. I wore my best black dress pants, nice Gucci knock-off loafers, and a blue button-down dress shirt. The audition took place in an office building not far from the Hollywood Bowl.

Upon getting there I was directed into a cramped room filled with rows of folding chairs. A variety of people were sitting in them, from nondescript housewives to pretty young girls, everyday-looking guys, office workers, and old ladies. After everyone had crammed in next to one another, a middle-aged woman dressed in black with an expensive dye job came in and announced herself.

“
Hello everybody! I’m Susan!” she said in an overbearing voice filled with gusto. Everyone gave her back what I thought was a very friendly hello.

“
Oh, come on!” she said in an obnoxious teasing voice. “I know you guys can do better than that! Let’s try again! Hello everyone!”

“
Helllooooooooooo!!!!” the room shouted back like a bunch of trained parrots. I felt like an adolescent child sitting in the peanut gallery of
The Howdy Doody Show.

“
Okay folks. I’m going to give you some forms to fill out.” Susan went on to explain the forms and then spoke further about other logistics. She had a voice that would be perfect for an infomercial or a hosting job on the Home Shopping Network.

“
If you are an actor, put down something else, whatever your day job is. We do not want any actors as contestants; we already have our nine celebrities on the show!” she said in a sarcastic singsong Snow White tone that assumed many of the applicants were starving actors.

It was no surprise half the people who came to audition
were
starving actors desperate for money to fund their pursuit of stardom. I wondered if anybody put down professional extra, as I’m sure they got a lot of those in here too.

We were then informed that someone named “Fran” would be coming into the room when we were done filling out our forms.

“
Fran is our head contestant coordinator, so you want to be nice to her! And just a hint, she loves friendly, energetic faces!” When saying this Susan made the most grotesque phony expression of excitement I think I’d ever seen in my life. I wanted to vomit. People in the room were laughing at her shtick in a forced way, and I could tell the competition to grab attention and become a favorite in this joint was really going to heat up.

Susan left the room and gave us five minutes to fill out our forms. People began making small talk and some asked to borrow pens or pencils, as I’m sure they were terrified to ask Susan for them for fear of looking like an unprepared contestant. Susan came back into the room with Fran.

“
Hello there everyone! I’m Fran!” Fran announced.

This time the response was enough to shatter glass. “HELLOOO FRAN!!!”

“
Wow! What a great group you are!” Fran said in a mock surprise voice with eyes wide open, as if we amazed her. It was so condescending and rehearsed that now I really, really wanted to puke.

We proceeded to hand in our forms and then Fran had us say our names aloud so she could check us off on her list. As soon as she started out, it was obvious she was feeling out the contestant potential in the room, hamming it up with each person so she could see how they would interact on the show.

A person who sat a few chairs ahead of me had a last name that began with a
w
, and Fran joked about it, telling him he was all the way at the end of the list. The guy replied he was used to it and again, and everyone in the room burst out in their now familiar forced laughter.

I was really beginning to feel that I was in some form of a lunatic asylum, or better yet, a living laugh track.

By the time she got to me I knew I’d have to think of something clever to make an impression and get on this fucking show to have a shot at winning some cash. She pointed the end of her pencil at me, signaling to say my name. This was my moment to make Fran think I was perfect
Hollywood Windows
material.

“
I’m most likely last, but not least! I’m Adam Zeller, with a Z!” I said in my peppiest voice possible and a plastic grin across my face. Sure enough the room erupted in the now very familiar chuckles and giggles.

“
You’re absolutely right; you are last on the list!” Fran shot back in an equally peppy shout as the room laughed gleefully like a cast of idiots.

After she was finished with the rest of the list I knew far more detail about these people than I cared to know, like the guy who flew in from Sacramento for one day just to audition.

Now it was time to take a test. It was a list of statements that you either agreed or disagreed with, similar to what’s said on the actual show. The statements ranged from “Horse racing is considered the sport of kings” to “Abraham Lincoln is the tallest U.S. president in history.” I considered myself a relatively informed individual but was stumped by a few of the more inane questions. After everyone was finished Susan and Fran left the room to go over our little pop quizzes, telling us they would be back in about ten minutes.

Immediately everyone in the room started buzzing about what they agreed and disagreed with. There was a loudmouthed male schoolteacher behind me who had been hamming it up more than the rest of us put together. The whole time I’d been there I just wished he would shut up.

Next to me sat a plain-Jane mom with young kids at home who really seemed to know her facts when we talked about the questions. I bet she watched the show religiously every night. She was very nice, and I hoped they’d pick her as a contestant. I could see them passing her over because she wasn’t slick or ethnic enough, or some stupid reason like that.

Eventually fake Fran and her sickening sidekick Susan came back into the room.

“
Okay everyone. Now we are going to read out names of people who we would like to stay for the second half of the audition. We appreciate all of you coming in today.”

Just get to it,
I thought as she informed us in what length of time the rejects could audition again. She read the names off and came to a stop. My name wasn’t called out. Shit. I didn’t even make the first cut. Not only was I a career failure with no marketable job skills, but now I was a failure as a game show contestant.

Well,
I thought,
I couldn’t have dressed better, behaved peppier, and wore any bigger of a grin across my now sore face.
I said good luck to the sweet young mother next to me and left the room. In the elevator the rest of the rejected contestants grumbled about their crushed hopes.

I guess I’d never be able to say out loud “I’ll start with the center window!” It would have been nice to get some cash or a new car, but this didn’t even make it near the top of my list of disappointments.

I got in my car and checked my messages. I had two of them. I looked at the phone in irritation; I was in no mood to listen Dale carrying on in one of his drug-induced episodes.

Sure enough the first message was him.

“
Why won’t you call . . .
beep
!” I erased it before I had to listen to any more.

I was just about to do the same with second message until a soft, calm voice stopped me from hitting the delete button.

“
Hey, Adam, it’s John. I hope you’re having a good week. I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner tonight. Give me a call, let me know. I know a quiet Italian place in Studio City. I think you’d like it. Hope to hear from you.”

The message had come in only twelve minutes earlier. Hopefully John was still around to answer his phone. I dialed his number.

“
Hello,” a voice pronounced. He answered his phone in the same boisterous manner that he performed in.

“
John, it’s Adam,” I said.

“
Hey there,” his voice lowered a bit, but betrayed a genuine excitement that I had called him back.

“
I just got your message. I’d love to go to dinner tonight.”

“
Great. Listen, do you want to swing by my place at eight, and I’ll take us to the restaurant?”

“
Sounds good.”

“
How are things going?” he asked.

“
All right,” I lied. Then I thought better of it. “Well, not really. I’ll tell you more tonight.”

“
Are you okay?” he asked.

“
Oh, I’m fine,” I protested, trying to downplay any sense of drama. “I’m just really looking for a change of pace. Trying to clean up my life a little, you know what I mean?”

At first I hoped I wasn’t putting him off.
Fuck it,
I thought.
I need to be honest about who I am and where I’m at, if he can’t deal with my shit that’s his problem.
He knows what I’ve been around. It’s not like we met at a dinner party.

“
I think that sounds good,” John encouraged in a chipper voice. “If you’re not happy with things, you have to work to change them. We’ll talk about it more tonight over dinner, okay?”

“
I’m looking forward to it,” I said with genuine anticipation.

“
Likewise,” John said in a low voice. “I have to get back on the set. See you tonight.”

After saying good-bye I clicked off the phone and made my way back home. Earlier I had thought about going to the warehouse to do a little work but blew it off. I didn’t want to run into anybody that would sour my mood.

That night I kept on the nice outfit I had worn to my unsuccessful game show audition. I showed up at John’s house a few minutes before eight. He answered the door in slacks and a button-down shirt, and smelled great in Hermes cologne.

“
Hey, handsome.” He greeted me with a kiss. I felt comfortable and at home, just as I had when I left. I felt a sensation of arousal down below as he kissed me and his body brushed against mine.