Read Alice in La La Land Online
Authors: Sophie Lee
Alice in La La Land
Sophie Lee has worked in film, theatre and television for the past twenty years. She lives with her husband, three children and two French bulldogs in a beachside suburb of Sydney.
This is her first novel.
in La La
Land
Sophie Lee
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the
Australian Copyright Act 1968
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Alice in La La Land
ePub ISBN 9781864714227
Kindle ISBN 9781864716498
Original Print Edition
Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au
Sydney New York Toronto
London Auckland Johannesburg
First published by Random House Australia 2007
This paperback edition first published 2008
Copyright © Sophie Lee 2007
This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Lee, Sophie, 1968–.
Alice in la la land.
ISBN: 9781741667370
1. Motion picture actors and actresses – Fiction. 2.
Hollywood (Los Angeles, Calif.) – Fiction. I. Title.
A823.4
Front cover photograph: Getty Images
Cover design by Christabella Designs
Typeset in ITC New Baskerville by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia
'Reeling and Writhing, to begin with,' the Mock
Turtle replied, 'and then the different branches
of Arithmetic – Ambition, Distraction,
Uglification and Derision.'
Lewis Carroll,
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
For Anthony
'I don't quite understand you,' she said,
as politely as she could.
Lewis Carroll,
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
From: [email protected]
Re: Rough Beast Slouching
You will read for the part of Celia Jones, English foreign affairs journalist for a Rupert Murdoch-type network.
Rough Beast Slouching
is a satirical look at behind the news for HBO. We have worked in conjunction with CAA to set this one up. The audition is with Mandy Weinstein at Culver City Casting at 10 am. Fingers crossed. (Address and Yahoo Map attached.)
Love Rebekah
For some reason the name Culver City had conjured visions of a Wizard of Oz-style paradise complete with munchkins so Alice was once again surprised by the shabby featurelessness of LA's suburbs as she walked toward the small alcove of buildings with a few minutes to spare. A series of deserted lots were flanked by long wire fences and there was a great deal of rusty discarded metal. She noticed rows of widely spaced office buildings, usually only one storey high, and no sign at all of community life.
Mandy Weinstein's casting office was not unlike a small-town dentist's minus the shrill sound of drilling equipment. Bland mismatched chairs and a coffee table covered with tattered magazines accompanied a wilting plant in the waiting room. A sign on the door read: CASTING SESSION IN PROGRESS. DON'T KNOCK. PLEASE TAKE A FORM AND FILL IT IN. THEN WAIT. WE'LL GET TO YOU.
Hurry up and wait, thought Alice, wasn't that what they said in the army? She leaned back in one of the frayed '70s chairs and winced momentarily as pain shot through her back. She could feel a damp throbbing sensation where she'd fallen in her rush to leave her apartment. She hoped she wasn't bleeding onto her sweater.
Alice looked down at the form. It was strange to be asked to fill one in. Back in Sydney, the industry was small enough that the few casting agents were on friendly terms with actors and forms like this were unnecessary. Never mind, thought Alice. She dug out a pen from her satchel.
Name:
Alice Evans
Age:
29
Alice wondered momentarily whether she should be lying about her age.
Agent:
CAA
Not strictly true, but they had helped set up this meeting and would be representing her when she waltzed away with this job . . . fees to negotiate, contracts to sign. Alice scribbled down Rebekah's name for good measure. Anyone could get a manager in this town, not everyone could get an agent. An actor's manager was not strictly necessary. They wielded little power and were not as connected to the pulse of the business as an agent. They were certainly not afforded the same amount of respect. The agent negotiated the fees and finessed the contracts whereas the manager was involved with the smaller, personal stuff. Like what you wanted in the fridge of your trailer.
'Alice?' called a small frizzy-haired woman appearing from the other room. 'I'm Mandy, how are you?'
Before Alice could reply, Mandy let out a small shriek.
'Oh my God! What is that . . . a kilt? How . . . a-
dor
-able! Come on in!'
'Thank you, Mandy,' Alice replied, trying not to appear overwhelmed. She followed her into the casting room.
'Okay, hon, I know that you've just arrived in town, so this is how this works. We'll do a read of the material and see how it goes. The character is English, you got that in the character breakdown, right?'
'Righty-ho,' replied Alice, venturing into what she hoped was the right neighbourhood of accents. 'Top of page three, right?'
'Right,' said Mandy. Alice looked up and saw her longingly eyeing a coffee machine that sat in the corner. It was a top-of-the-line Gaggia and seemed out of place amongst the surrounding tattiness.
Alice turned back to the script, took a deep breath and began as Celia Jones.
'No, it won't be ready by deadline. It's as if my desk is a black hole that everyone feels quite comfortable pouring their detritus into!'
'Then you're fired!' countered Mandy dispassionately, reading the part of the newsroom boss. 'Pack your things and get out.'
Celia Jones and her cantankerous boss, as read by Alice and Mandy, then proceeded to have an argument that spanned several pages throughout which Celia turns to leave, changes her mind and comes back to let him have a piece of her mind, then inadvertently ends up pleading for her job back.
As the scene progressed, Alice stuck to her character's objectives with a bulldogged intensity that eventually won Mandy over, and by the time they read the second scene Mandy was fully paying attention. The dialogue was really quite snappy and for Alice it was the first time she'd had fun since arriving in LA. For a moment nothing else mattered. Her cluttered, expensive accommodation, the fetid cats with whom she had to share it, her debts, and her recently acquired back injury all faded away in the magic of playing out the scenes.
At the end of the tenth page of dialogue, Mandy looked up at Alice with something like real excitement, the Gaggia coffee machine quite forgotten.
'Excuse me, Alice, I know they had this out on offer to a big British star, but I think you should get over right away to see the director. Can you hang on while I make a call?'
'Of course,' said Alice, smiling widely. And they said it was hard in this town! First job up was going to be hers. She was mentally paying off her debts when Mandy came back from the other room.
'Okay, I've spoken to CAA, and your manager Rebekah at Amoeba, and let them know you'll be meeting with the director and putting something down on tape.'
'Oh, that's brilliant!' Alice exclaimed.
'I've written down the address for ya, it's a house in Beverly Hills, so you're good to go, Alice, and good luck!'
Alice darted back to her Daewoo and scrabbled around her satchel for her 'cell' phone. (She was still used to calling it a mobile.) A twenty-something guy came out to fill his parking meter and was surprised to see he was still in credit. Alice had filled his meter before her appointment.
'Karma, baby!' Alice smiled, observing him scratching his head. Alice liked to court karma before her auditions. As if the indifferent showbiz machine was momentarily ruled by a benevolent god who would look kindly on you if you did unto others on the way to your screen test. Once, in Sydney, on the way to a theatre audition, she had backed up to let in a motorist on a major arterial road and accidentally crashed into the car behind. In this case, she believed, the two incidents cancelled each other out. Naturally, she did not get the part.
Alice dialled her manager's office. She needed to find out how to get to this house in Beverly Hills, fast, and not knowing her arse from her elbow in this town wasn't going to help. If ever there was a time to use her manager's assistant it was now.
'Hello, Charlize? It's Alice. I need to get from Culver City to Beverly Hills, pronto!'
'Prompto?'
'Well, er, you know, very quickly.'
'Right . . . you need directions?'
'Yes, and I need to be there right away and I don't want to get lost, so could you tell me the easiest way to get there, so I can make it without vomiting from anxiety or veering into oncoming traffic?'
'Uh, you need to what now? You need to vo-mit?'
'Oh, no I'm just exaggerating for comic effect or something . . .'
'Uh, okay. That's funny, I guess. I'll get those directions for ya. Tell me the address.'
Alice scribbled Charlize's directions onto the back of her script and turned the key in the ignition. As she set off for the house in Beverly Hills, she started to sing a hymn at the top of her voice. She was off-key but she didn't care.
'
The captains and the kings depart
. . .' She had a particular fondness for the hymns they sung at home on Anzac Day in memory of war heroes. She finished one and began another.
For the first time in ages, something was going her way. She could even follow these street directions. The sky was high and thin and endlessly blue. Orange and acacia trees lined the streets that led to Beverly Hills and LA felt like a place of freedom and happiness. Alice was convinced she had done the right thing by coming here.
As she parked outside the house in Beverly Hills, her pink cell phone chirped. Alice answered breezily.
'Hey Alice, it's Rebekah calling. This is so great that you're going to the next step. We think you'll do great. Uh, listen, Mandy Weinstein mentioned that you were wearing a plaid skirt. Is there any way you can change into jeans? We don't really send our actors out in plaid skirts. Jeans, a T-shirt and heels are fine.'
'But I'm here now, I'm out the front of the place and I . . . I guess I thought I was dressing in character.'
'Uh-huh. But that's not really how we do things. But you're there now, I guess, so just know for next time. Good luck. Call us straight after to let us know how you go.'
'Will do!' Alice answered, looking down at her skirt. Her confidence was slightly dented. What the hell was 'plad'? 'I'm going to get this job despite my kilt,' she muttered and vigorously rubbed her front teeth with a tissue.
In her enthusiasm, Alice raced up the front steps. She knocked. The door was opened by a thin woman in jeans and a Gap sweatshirt who ushered her into a dining-room without exchanging a word. The room was small and the dining table took up most of the space. It was cluttered with scripts, reference books, an open laptop, and a spiral notebook scrawled all over with biro notes. Two large framed movie posters hung on the walls. One was from
Serpico
and the other
Howard's End
. Alice thought they made strange wall companions.
At one end of the table, a man sat hunched over a script printed on blue pages. This must be the director, thought Alice nervously, and was surprised to note both how young and tired he looked.
'Hey Alice, how're you doin', I'm Brad Silverling, the director,' he said, getting up to shake her hand. He had a wiry caffeinated air and his grip was moist. 'Thanks for comin' over so quickly.'
'Um, hello. Thanks for having me over,' said Alice. She tugged nervously at her skirt.
'Well, Alice, you look lovely in that . . . kilt, is it?'
'Yes. Thank you, it is a kilt.'
'Cute. Okay, let's sit down here and read a few of the scenes, Alice. Can my assistant get you something to drink? Do you want some water or something?' He didn't give Alice an opportunity to either decline or accept his offer. 'Okay Barbara, we're good here, thanks.'
The woman in the Gap sweatshirt left the dining room and closed the door behind her.
'Okay. Alice,' said Brad, raking his hands through his hair several times as if to dislodge something. 'You like my script?'
'I . . . gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you wrote it as well. That's great! Yes, I do really like what I've read so far. It's very funny. The characters are so dyspeptic!'
Brad peered at her in silence.
'But they only gave me a few scenes to read. I'd love to see more of the script. Obviously,' she said, filling the silence.
'You're an Aussie?' he asked, pronouncing it 'Ossie'.
'Well, yes, but I'm good to go with the British accent, of course.'
Brad surprised her by taking both of her hands in his. He gave no indication that he could smell the cat urine on her kilt. He was front and centre in her personal space, but this was the way with some directors. They were a bit like cult leaders. They're a strange lot, thought Alice, and not for the first time.
'Relax, Alice, let's just read and have fun, then I'm going to get Barbara back in here to put this down on tape for the network to take a look at. You've got a great quality about you,' he said, looking into her eyes again. 'I want you to find that sort of put-upon energy for her. Everyone in her office dumps stuff on her and she's sick of it; this is the first time she makes a stand.'
'Okay. Top of page three, right?' said Alice, and stooped for the pages she'd dropped while he had taken her hands in his. She felt the wound in her back re-open.
'Yes, that's right,' he said, knocking coffee from a takeout Starbucks container onto his script then brushing off the liquid with the back of his hand. He didn't even seem to notice the mess. 'Page three.'
Alice took a deep breath. 'No, it won't be ready by deadline . . .' she began, and was pleased to feel a depth and reality in her tone. It all fitted. Some scripts just felt right, and you didn't have to crowbar emotion into the delivery of the dialogue; the script did the work for you. The writer-director threw his energy into the other part. He was fuelled by a desperate passion for his own work. He'd written the damn thing and they'd greenlit his pilot. The man had every right to be enthusiastic. When they finished reading the scene, Brad was ecstatic.
'Okay, Alice! Way to go, that was cool!' He punched the air with his fist. 'Barbara!' he shouted.
'Uh-huh?' she answered, appearing almost instantly by the dining-room door.
'Let's set up the camera in here and get something down on tape. Can you rig up that light in the corner?'
'Okay,' she said, shooting a look at Alice that gave no recognition of the favourable progression of events.
Brad took Alice's hands again and said, 'Well done, I really like what you brought to that. We'll put it down for them to see over at the network, okay. Go Alice!'
'Well, terrific,' Alice replied, thrilled to have done well and wishing he'd let go of her hands. 'I'm really pleased you liked it.'
Barbara did not speak as she went about putting up the light-stand in the corner of the room. Brad lit up a cigarette by the window, blowing the smoke outside. He seemed focused and energised, tapping notes into his palm pilot, occasionally looking up to smile encouragingly at both Alice and his assistant.
Alice perched on the edge of a dining-room chair and watched Barbara set up the one small light and the camera on a tripod. Adrenaline prickled through her system and she wanted to shout to someone that it was going well, that she hadn't screwed it up yet! She suddenly felt she was going to be
that
girl, the lucky one who gets work in LA without having to donate bone marrow or sacrifice her firstborn. I'm going to be
working
here, she thought, with the slow-dawning amazement of someone for whom things don't ordinarily go smoothly. A deep wellspring of joy began to bubble inside her. After all the lousy things that had preceded this moment, her troubles were finally melting away.