Hollywood Shuffle
As a personal assistant to a “B” actress, life tends to have its ups and downs. The ups come right after I get off work and the downs come when I walk in her Hollywood Hills mansion. Sometimes the downs come ringing to life at 3 AM with a shopping list. What does a bag of Kettle chips, band aids, Windex, and detachable erasers have in common? It boggles the mind. Try punching in an address into your GPS tracking device at 3 AM and see if you can stay awake.
I know actors are fickle and capricious, but my boss’s behavior is light years beyond that stage. She’s a single parent with two kids and is always afraid of getting a gig. That’s understandable if you’ve got to make the mortgage on a mansion in the Hills. I just wish she wouldn’t use me as her personal, emotional punching bag.
I took the job thinking all my Hollywood dreams would come true. I would get to meet famous people and schmooze my way into a film career. The problem is she doesn’t introduce me to anyone. She only refers to me in the third person. “My assistant will get that for you.” Thanks for the big break.
The sheer tonnage of waste product she spews my way is absurd. I’m still waiting for Emperor Nero to jump out of the bushes and smash me over the head with his fiddle. If her kids cry about anything, I get blamed. It must be the stress of watching mommy slide down from B actress to C has-been. It’s a rough town, this Hollywood, but its even rougher when you’re playing Hamlet to a has-been’s ghost.
I say she’s a “B” actress but in all honesty her career has been on the skids for the better part of a decade. She got lucky with a sitcom and hasn’t been able to turn it into some bigger or better. I’ve accepted that I’m her foil — her therapy. I’m her walking, talking punching bag — and nurse. In the city of Angels, you’ve got to start somewhere.