Sounds Like Crazy (8 page)

“A beached whale, a broken-down Vietnam vet with a drug
problem, and a faceless boy?” she said out of my mouth. Milton’s head tilted askance.“Nobody wants to hear from them.And how can a mute be a voice-over artist?” She laughed.

“Holly, if you need my voice, you can have it,” said Ruffles inside my head. “I think that goes for the rest of us.”

“Well, well, look at you, my fat little saint,” said Betty Jane.“You forget that I decide who speaks. Me. Not you. Not them. Me. Nobody will speak unless I deem it so. I am in charge.”

“I can surmise from the words coming out of Holly’s mouth that there is a discussion about the other voices?” said Milton. My head nodded. “Let me be very clear with you, Betty Jane.” My body went taut with anger.“This agreement covers all the voices. Under the new terms, you will not decide if they may speak for training, work, or in therapy—or under any circumstances, for that matter—any longer. If any voice, including the Silent One, is needed, Holly may have it. If she or I request anyone, they may speak.You may continue to rule the Committee, but you will no longer decide who speaks.” Milton’s face was implacable, the tension in the room thick and the silence like fog. “Do you understand me, Betty Jane?” said Milton.

“Yes.” My voice sounded bored. “May I communicate my terms?”

Terms? Ruffles and I cast worried glances at each other. I should have known. I wished I could smoke in the Committee’s house, but that “dirty habit” was absolutely verboten since Betty Jane had moved in twelve years ago.

Milton waved his hand for her to go ahead, as if he’d anticipated this too. Betty Jane rattled off a list of demands that rivaled Santa’s entire Christmas catalog.Top on it was no more donating to charity the clothes and shoes we bought. I had one closet. At the rate at which Betty Jane made me buy stuff, I had to clear it out on a regular basis. And Goodwill picked up. Along with clothes
and shoes, Betty Jane wanted a maid, a car service, me to stop smoking, respect, lipstick, regular facials, hand cream, face cream, trips to the Bahamas, a better mattress. Then she said I deserved nothing in exchange for my largesse because having her was more gift than anyone could ever have or expect. I sat stupefied.

Milton held up his hand. My mouth paused midstipulation. “If Holly gives you what you want, then in addition to limiting your speaking, I have two more binding terms that you must agree to.” My head nodded for Milton to proceed.

“First, you must agree to never allow yourself more power than Holly has.”

Betty Jane considered this for a moment. “I would be equal, though? And I still control the Committee?”

“You may have control of the Committee, but you may never have more power than Holly,” said Milton.

Betty Jane considered this for a moment and then said,“I will agree to that.” I wished I could read her thoughts with the same facility that she read mine. But it didn’t work that way. “And in exchange, I need the entire Committee to pitch in and get us this job so I can finally live in the style I have dictated—and deserve, I might add.”

“We have not discussed the final term,” said Milton.

“Oh?”

“You and the rest of the Committee must agree to always resolve any conflicts in therapy whenever Holly makes the request. I will not support your endeavor if this particular condition is not accepted.”

“Is that all?” said Betty Jane. My voice sounded bored again.

“Then to be crystal clear, in exchange for the frippery you’ve requested, you and the others agree to my terms?” said Milton.

“Yes.” Betty Jane sniffed.

“Okay, then let Holly come back.”

I resumed control, suddenly aware of the scary side effect that accompanied this new direction—the demanding social aspect this line of work would certainly require.“Milton, how am I going to handle the social part if the Committee is so restricted?”

Milton’s eyes became compassionate. The fear cracking my voice would have been hard for an untrained seal to miss.

“Holly, one step at a time. You’ve always said you excel at learning. Well, then you can apply yourself to learning how to handle the social aspects—”

“I didn’t mean this kind of learning,” I said.

“Remember, a leap of faith is all I am asking for,” said Milton.

Milton’s requested leap of faith felt more like a jump out of an airplane wearing a parachute packed by Betty Jane.

T
he following Monday, I stood on Avenue A wrestling with the buttons on my blouse as my hair whipped across my face. I had allotted plenty of time to make my appointment with Brenda Barry, the agent Mike recommended. Then I lingered too long over coffee and cigarettes. Now, half-dressed and late, I’d lost the cushion I needed to get Betty Jane on public transportation, our only option under my current financial circumstances.

I popped the last button through the hole and clipped my hair back. Times Square, the location of Brenda’s office, wasn’t getting any closer. May as well face the music.

The street was dotted with enough people to make it a giant slalom run to the subway station. But what did I expect? New York City never offered deserted streets. I glanced at my watch, drew in a deep breath.

“Ready. Set. Go!” said Sarge inside my head. He waved the green starter flag.

On cue, Ruffles took over the live inner-cranium commentary.
“And she’s off, rounding the corner of First and First.” Her steady and even voice helped me find my race rhythm. “Old lady laden with shopping bags to the left,” said Ruffles.

Sarge waved a yellow caution flag. I swooped down and veered right.The familiar refrain of crunching chips kept perfect time with each footfall.

“Yes.” Sarge raised a victory fist. I pressed forward. Betty Jane stayed silent, like a crocodile waiting for the exact right moment to strike.

“Two bogeys, eleven o’clock and three o’clock,” said Ruffles inside my head. A flash of yellow skittered across my mind as I feinted left and then right. I turned the corner of Houston and Second.The street appeared empty. My lucky day. I moved faster. The Broadway subway stop stretched before me like a terminus beacon.
I’m going to make it
. Sarge reached for the red checked flag. My thigh muscles pulled. Shins screamed. Taking short breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, I crossed the finish line and entered the station, skidding. I got the caution flag as I teetered on the stair. I heard the collective intake of breath inside my head as I stuck out my leg for balance and leaned back, followed by a collective exhale as my right foot and then my left hit the stairs.

I grabbed the handrail to steady myself. “Oh, my stars,” screamed Betty Jane inside my head. “Do you realize how many unwashed, germ-ridden hands have been on that railing?” I snatched my hand back, hoping to get to and through the ticket line without incident. “Disgusting,” she snarled. “I refuse to ride the subway. I will not.” Her Southern drawl felt like a bad hangover pounding against my temples.

“Until we are making money, we have to ride the subway,” I said.The man in front of me turned around.
Must be a tourist
, I thought. Betty Jane opened her mouth and I wished for a mental
umbrella to protect me from the litany about to rain down. I waited for my turn while she started at the top. Experience told me that Betty Jane’s monologue would end with a bad job, no money, and the indecent and inhumane conditions she was forced to live in. Our first vacation should be to a third-world country.

“Christ, I have no time for this!” I yelled. The man in front of me whipped his head around again. The normally bored station attendant craned his head from behind the Plexiglas to get a glimpse of standard NewYork City crazy while he completed the transaction with my obstacle to the subway station booth, who made his purchase and walked off. My turn.The station attendant glared at me. My stomach did a fifteen-floor elevator drop and I floated weightless.

“She’s going down,” said Sarge inside my head. Different emotions blinked across his face as he ran forward. “Holly, you know the rules. I can’t take over.” I hovered somewhere between in control and in the Committee’s living room. “Stand up, soldier!” The force of Sarge’s voice put me back in control.

“We’ll take a taxi home. Okay?”

“Whatever, lady,” said the attendant.

“Oh, agony,” shrieked Betty Jane inside my head. Then she stalked out of the Committee’s room. At least she’s gone, I thought.

“Four dollars on my MetroCard, please.” I passed the money and the card through.Although it felt like walking through quicksand in cement boots, I made it to the turnstile, swiped my card, and crossed.

 

I exited at Times Square and scanned for a street sign to get my bearings. The gold front of 1516 Broadway was to my left. I walked through Brenda’s door ten minutes late and sweating even though it was January.

“Holly Miller?” said the receptionist. I nodded. “I’ll let Brenda know you’re here.”

At our first meeting, Brenda and Betty Jane came together like soul mates reuniting after several lifetimes apart.To this day, I can’t put my finger on the source of the attraction.Was it Brenda’s expensive clothes? Her dismissive attitude? Her unbridled greed? Probably all three.

“Do you have any idea what a lucky break you got?” Brenda said. Her legs were crossed, with one foot drawn back while the other waved like a cat’s tail. I expected Betty Jane to make a cutting remark from the privacy of my head. She sat listening, and her lack of reaction unnerved me. “I understand Walter’s PA found you in a restaurant?” Brenda laughed, but the sound was more like a harrumph.

“She’s good,” said Ruffles inside my head. I nodded.

Brenda arched an eyebrow at me. I felt like she knew I wasn’t nodding at her.“Imagine that. A virtual unknown.” Brenda turned the page of whatever she was reading.

Betty Jane wrenched me backward. I landed stunned on the Committee’s living room floor as she made the seamless transition to control. “A virtual unknown?”The words slid out of my mouth in Betty Jane’s silky Southern drawl. My eyebrow arched. “Not for long.”

“Holly,” said Brenda, “you don’t have to do your voices here.”

“Just practicing,” said Betty Jane while I fumed inside my head.

“She can’t take over whenever she feels like it,” said Ruffles.

“I know.” I stood up in the Committee’s living room. “She’s not supposed to do this. Milton made a deal.There are rules.” As we vented inside my head about Betty Jane’s peremptory manner, we missed half the conversation she was having with Brenda.

“Pay attention,” interrupted Sarge. I noticed my body stood upright with my right arm raised in the air.

All those years the patrons thought I was funny, but it was Betty Jane’s performances that went from their lips to the ears of God in the form of Walter. Now we were in this fancy Times Square office sitting across from a woman who made me feel like a puppet dangling on fate’s strings while Betty Jane moved my body around with confidence. She wasn’t dangling on anyone’s strings.

Even though Brenda appeared far away and slightly out of focus, I felt her studying me as Betty Jane sat my body down, composed and in control, without losing eye contact. Inside my head, I pinched the palm of my hand to see if this was a dream. I half expected to wake up carrying two eggs over medium with a side of bacon to some sleepy patron waiting with coffee.

Brenda uncrossed her legs and pressed her hands on her desk.Those handprints would show immediately. I felt Betty Jane suppress her germ phobia with a shudder.

“Okay, here it is.” Brenda’s voice was now brusque and businesslike. “According to the studio, you have two months to get yourself prepared.You will immediately begin private training for acting, speech, using the microphone, and everything else that goes along with voice-over.” Brenda waved her hand, blotting out part of the Times Square news ticker running across its midair track outside her office window. “The training will take about eight hours a day. On your free days, you will do auditions for the practice.”

“How are we going to pay for that?” Ruffles said to me. I knew Betty Jane wouldn’t ask, because it was vulgar to talk about money, which was ironic when you saw how not vulgar it was for her to spend it. I steeled myself to fight her for control. Sarge stopped me with a hand on my arm.

Betty Jane cleared my throat and tilted my head farther to the left.

“The studio pays, of course,” said Brenda. Talk about your telepathic communication. These two were soul mates. “For the training only. Here’s your schedule.” Brenda stood and handed me a typed list of courses. “You start tomorrow.”

As Betty Jane scanned it, I sat on the Committee’s couch taking in the full weight of what this meant. I’d have to convince Sarah to get my parents to cover my living expenses for a few months—and I wasn’t even sure I would actually succeed in the end.

“Auditioning for plays is good practice as well. It’s free and will help you get the hang of speaking out loud as different characters. You can do that in your spare time.”

“What spare time?” said Ruffles inside my head.

“You be quiet,” snapped Betty Jane. She was in control, so the words came out of my mouth.

“Excuse me?” said Brenda.

“Nothing, nothing,” said Betty Jane. She pressed my hand shyly to my mouth.

“Okay.” Brenda shook her head. “In a month the studio will do a preliminary audition. If all goes well, they’ll fund your second month of training.”

“She said two months. Betty Jane, give me back control.”

“And what if I exceed their expectations in that preliminary audition?” said Betty Jane.

What have I done?
This thought started looping in continuous motion inside my head.

“You have confidence,” said Brenda. “I’ll definitely give you that.” Betty Jane nodded demurely.“All right, say you do—and as much as I’d love that, because I’d start getting paid, you probably won’t—but if you do, then in a month’s time we’ll get a standard SAG contract. This will cover the particulars: rates, how many
roles, and so forth. Usually for the basic session fee, an actor can do two roles, plus a third for a small increase. If you do four roles, the ‘count’ starts over and you get paid the basic session fee again.” Brenda rattled this off like she said it twenty times a day.