The Actress

8/9/2019 The Actress

1/12

~ 1 ~

THE ACTRESS

By Hafsah Mijinyawa

Are you an actor?

Morgan Margaret Anne, inconspicuously clearing the tanned mans table, looked

surprised.

Surely, he wasnt talking to her.

Yeah, you!

He beckoned her closer with a frank smile. His teeth, Morgan noticed, were perfect and

blindingly white. His eyes, hidden by a pair of lightly tinted sunglasses, were appraising

her, andshe fearedundressing her.

No, fraid not. she grinned faintly and stared at him with wry caution.Wow! You should be.

Hayoure kidding, right? Morgan smiled. She could feel her face turning red.

Not at all sweetie. Youve got a look.

His eyes flickered up and down her countenance. Morgan shifted uncomfortably.

II really never thought about acting.

Shame.

Thank you though. For the compliment.

She grinned and started to head off to put the dishes away.

If youreinterested... he started saying, then his cell phone rang. Oh, shithang on.

He answered it, and was immediately engrossed. Morgan escaped to the back to clear

dishes. She hoped that he would forget about her.

An hour or so passed.

Margarets shift ended at six thirty. Hastily, she finished her final days work and slipped

on her jacket.

See you tomorrow, Craig. She grinned and waved at her co-worker. Looks like I beat

you on tips. Better luck next time.

Morgan Margaret Anne left the Sidewalk Caf where she worked. Dressed in ripped

jeans and a black windbreaker, she made her way down the steep San Franciscan

sidewalk, back towards the block where she lived. She was unaware of a sinister black


2/12

~ 2 ~

Mercedes ghosting her until she noticed the driver emerge as she eyed a favorite Gucci

knockoff purse in a shop window.

It was the tanned man. He jogged up to her.

You ran away! Didnt even say Gday! he was smiling broadly. She wished she had

sunglasses.

Ha! Sorry! Thought youd be long gone.

Well, Im here scouting. He pulled a card from his jacket. It was embossed, thick and

elegant, reading, among other things: TOMMY HARRIS, LA TALENT, 555-6412

Youre a...talent scout?

Tommy nodded. He removed his sunglasses and smiled. He reminded her vaguely of a

shark.

Id love for you to come down to my office, if you have the time.

Well, sir, Im really not

Just to see what you think. Im really getting something from you. Tommys voice

grew intimate. Theres a fire...electricity, if you can call it that. Only certain people have

it. And often, they dont even know it. Its a personality type...it just sucks you in. He

looked at her very closely. Unsettled, Morgan stepped backwards a little.

You have beautiful eyes. The statement caused Morgans eyes to dart away in

embarrassment.

You can say a lot with just an expression. Its true. Some folks dont have to talk at all,

they just look at you and they Tommy snapped his finger, connect. You know?

You know what Im talkin about?

Margaret shrugged.

Cruise, Clooney, Redgrave, Liz Taylorthey take you in by eye alone, sometimes. And

then the acting He whistled, Top notch! But listen, back to you, as I was saying, if

youd come down and read for me, Id really appreciate it. And I think...I think you might

appreciate it too.

Read? You mean a script?

Just a section! Well give you some lines, you do your best, see what happens.

And ifsomethinghappens?


3/12

~ 3 ~

You give us an address, get you in talks with some agents, sign you up for

something...leave it to us. Were the star-makers.

Make ya or break ya. Morgan grinned as she said the words. She didnt know why they

had come to mind or where shed heard them from, but she liked the way they sounded.

Tommy laughed.

Surewell be sure not to break ya, though. What do you say?

I dont do nude scenes.

Tommy gave a faint laugh. Tell it to your agent.

The next few days were a surreal blur. Morgan found herself being talked at by more

people that she would have liked. Papers were flung at her to be read, signed, rinse,

repeat. People kept taking pictures. Snap! Snap! Turn this way, please. Snap! Once more,

with a smile. Snap! She met her agent for the first time when the phone rang one balmy

evening. Ms. Anders was a woman who seemed to live constantly on fast-forward. She

spoke quickly in a clear American accent and exuded a prompt, professional aura just

over the phone.

Hello darling, how are you, how old are you? Have you ever acted before? I see. Youre

up for an exciting experience! Ive got the perfect thing for you

So it seemed, breaking in was going smoothly for Morgan Margaret-Anne. Too

smoothly...

Morgan received a thick envelope in the mail. It was from Ms. Anders in LA.

An exciting script that I think youll have a blast reading. Give it a look over, see what

you think.

The script was read. It was liked, not enthusiastically, but then going into this thing

hadnt been exactly enthusiastic one way or another for Morgan. What can you do when

an aggressive man with amazing teeth accosts you with talk of making you a star?

Morgan accepted. A demo tape was recorded and via airmail. Weeks passed. An excited

call soon came in from Ms. Anders. Apparently, the assigned director for the film, a Mr.

Sheele, had found her amazing. A flight was booked to LA for the audition.


4/12

~ 4 ~

Morgan found herself standing in a freezing airport early on a Tuesday night. For a

bizarre moment, she wondered what had happened and how she had gotten there, but then

a jarring voice from the P.A system jolted her consciousness and announced the arrival of

her flight, 91 Boeing, San Francisco to LA.

The airplane was cold. Morgan zipped up her blazer and looked out of the tiny window.

San Francisco diminished, shrank and finally disappeared behind billowing white

mountains of moisture.

Morgan leaned back in her seat. She could feel her ears popping, and then, slowly, a rush

of nausea.

She squeezed past the passenger beside her, apologizing, and wobbled down the isle to

the bathroom. She shut herself inside and didnt come out for awhile.

The restroom compartment was tiny and claustrophobic. Morgan, fortunately, didnt

suffer from claustrophobia. She in fact enjoyed the feeling of constriction. She sat for an

hour on the tiny toilet with the lid down. The sound of the planes engine would have

lulled her to sleep if there hadnt been sudden turbulence, shaking herout of her lulled

state. It was unreal, Morgan thought, staring at her clasped hands. Totally and completely

unreal. She thought of Tommy Harris the talent agent and his equally unreal smile. Of all

the cafs in San Francisco...

She came out of the bathroom finally, with a lingering thought of teeth in her mind.

Would she have to get hers bleached?

She sat down again, catching, for a brief second, the eye of her rather irritated passenger.

The lady beside her was a dark-haired, cream complexioned woman with small, neat

features and a slightly scrunched up but not unattractive face. She didnt look around

much, nor seem particularly interested in anyone, rather stayed engrossed the manuscript

she was reading.


5/12

~ 5 ~

After a moment, Morgan realized it was a movie script. In fact, it was the script for the

movie that she was flying out to read for. Morgan took a double glance at the brunette.

With a studious frown, the woman turned the page.

Excuse me...is that for The Veldt?

The woman looked at her. Her features were slightly bemused and bothered.

Sure is.

Are you in the movie?

Auditioning.

Really! Me too! Morgan was not one to boldly make friends on a plane, but this was

too cool a coincidence not to make the first move.

Im Morgan.

Thierry.

Terry?

NoThierry.

Oh! Is that French?

I dunno. I guess. I think its a boys name.

Morgan shrugged. So is Stacey. Still sounds cool. I like it.

Theirry grinned.

What part are you coming in for?

Taylor Landow. The sidekick. You?

Carrie.

Ha! You look like Carrie. Youll have to dye your hair, though.

Oh damn.

What?

Nothing...not a big hair-dyer, thats all. I went purple streaked in college. I looked like a

thin Oompa Loompa.

Thierry laughed. Her face was pleasant when it was genuinely amused. The crinkle in her

brow faded and she began to shift comfortably in her seat.

What did you think of the story?

A little unreal, but alright.

I think its weak. And I dont like the ending. Seems contrived.


6/12

~ 6 ~

Most movies are.

Ha ha! Spoken like a true cynic. Where are you from?

San Francisco.

A look of regret contorted Thierrys face. She said sympathetically: Oh hon, Im so

sorry.

Morgan laughed. She liked Thierry.

Morgan met another actor at the Los Angeles audition. Neil Anderton was a young guy

with styled hair and a ready joke. Cool was the most immediate way of describing him.

He had a cool attitude and looked coolly upon people. He already had a chip on his

shoulder and acted as if people should know who he was. He wasnt exactly arrogant, but

he did take some getting used to in the personality department. He had streaked hair and

chewed gum, often popping bubbles.

When the auditioning was over, Thierry, Morgan and Neil happened to stand next to each

other at lunch. Neil introduced himself and quickly got on the bad side of Thierry by

making a comment about her portrayal of Taylor Landow which she misconstrued as

slightly misogynistic and racist. Morgan swiftly smoothed things over, insisting that Neil

had intended to imply something else rather than what Thierry was accusing him of and

not desiring to be involved any further with the actors, whom she still found to be strange

animals, said goodbye and left for her hotel.

There is a very vague and slightly jealous saying among some that good things happen to

people who are not expecting or even desire it. Such was the case for Morgan Margaret

Anne, on the third day of her stay at her LA Hilton. She had been cast as Carrie, the

rational and blonde leadprotagonist of a B science fiction affair tentatively titled The

Veldt. Happily, Thierry and Neil had also been cast in the roles they had auditioned for.

Morgan felt a little better knowing that people she knew were going to be on set with her.

As it was, she knew no one in Los Angelesand really didnt wantto know anyone. LA

people were peculiar. They drove around in fast, pretentious cars, lived in large,

overcompensating houses and seemed thoroughly out of phase with the rest of the living

world. LA was their world. Obsessive compulsive shopping, toasted marshmallow tans


7/12

~ 7 ~

and unfulfilled ambition were the themes of the city. Even the animals were little

consumerists, trotting along on designer leashes or zipped into the most ridiculous outfits

with even more ridiculous price-tags. Mild-mannered Morgan Margaret Anne looked

wistfully out of the 9th

story window of her hotel and decided that she was not a stylish

personor at least, never to be up to Hollywood style standardswhich as far as she

saw, were mediocre, expensive and overproduced. She liked travel well enough, but LA

wasnt her prime pick for a destination. Morgan was the girl who smirked at the people

crowding into the doors of Disney Land and headed for Universal Studios.

Conversely, her new friends loved the town. Neil fit right in with his subtle New Jersey

swagger and charisma. He liked the girls and lucky for him, they liked him right back. He

seemed to like Thierry too, and the two often palled around after hours on the town.

Morgan liked that he took to deliberately mispronouncing Thierrys name, just to bug

her. Thierry seemed to survive well enough by ignoring the world around her and

enjoying the fact that she wasnt still living in a two bedroom shack in Detroit with her

boyfriend, or as she called it, The End of the World.

Morgan packed her luggage and soon found herself on a plane headed to the first

shooting site. She was flying to Nevada to shoot a scene in the desert. The Mid-western

desert, Morgan predicted, would be more her cultural speed. Maybe she would see some

foxes. She had always liked little foxes.

Morgan met the director for the first time on site. Addressing her as Miss Anne, Mr.

John Sheele gave her a hug, introduced himself formally and immediately involved her

with the work at hand. She had met Mr. Sheele one time before when she had gone for

the audition, but he had beenand still wasa vague blur of a man who was eternally

busy with something and had no time for newbie actors except to appraise them and give

the No or the Go. He was a reasonably nice man at first glance. He had a large Irish head,

white hair and thick blonde eyebrows. Morgan surmised that he should have been

Divinely implemented with a volume control because he talked very loudlya side effect

of giving orders to people on a daily basis. His bellow was often heard around the lot and


8/12

~ 8 ~

Morgan soon became used to it as a familiar and comforting sort of daily ambience. John

Sheele worked very closely with many people, but was not necessarily their friend.

Morgan felt no camaraderie with Mr. Sheele on any front, although she did feel very

excited when he involved her in the goings on. He was a clear speaker and directed well,

but got annoyed very quickly. Unlike Thierry, who got annoyed in a very quiet, frowning

way, Mr. Sheeles grandfatherly faade faded completely when he became upset, and he

began to bark and flail at people, particularly PAs and other various lowly and

expendably people. When he was really upset, he pulled out a hideous contraption called

a bullhorn which he bellowed through at the offending person as if they had gone deaf

and the horn was the last resort to get the message through.

THAT ISNT WHERE I ASKED YOU TO PUT THATI THINK I STATED VERY CLEARLY...

And sometimes hed shout, IS THERE ANYONE HERE AT ALL WHOS LISTENING, SHOW OF

HANDS PLEASE, EVERYONE WHOS LISTENING!

And the most common and most disheartening for Morgan to hear, NO, DAMNITCUT!

Mr. Sheele was easy enough to appraisehe was a man focused on his business with got

very little sleep was naturally short tempered, but it was harder to read Thierry and Neil,

whom Morgan found infinitely more interesting. As a pair, they were cerebral and quiet.

Neil, always, seemed cool and determined, and Thierry went about her business in a blas

fashion. Morgan wondered if they were as jaded as she was beginning to feel. Perhaps the

glam of Hollywood no longer had any effect on them. Maybe they had already seen

through its golden and lacy faade and decided not to care anymore.

Hey, its the job. Thierry would sometimes say with laughing resignation. Neil would

sometimes appear peeved but say nothing. The shoot would wrap up and everyone would

go grab their gear and go home to shower and prepare for the next day.

Morgan felt homesick, lonely and self-conscious. She would call her mother or

grandmother on occasion and narrate the horrors of the day but even after her mental and

vocal purging, Morgan never really felt any emotional release. It was a strange sensation

to be excited and afraid and repulsed all at the same time. She felt as if she was running

some great gauntlet between her definite future and her current position, between actors


9/12

~ 9 ~

and acting, between Mr. Sheele and the project, between her hope and her disdain. She

halfheartedly wanted to return to her safe little world back in San Francisco where she

knew all the streets and all the stores and recognized faces. She missed seeing the little

brown stone apartment where she lived appear on the rise of the hill she had spent 10

years of her adult life on. She missed her kitchen and cooking in it. Tommy Harris the

talent agent had stabbed at that with his dazzling grin. Ms. Anders had thrown her on an

airplane and taken her away from it. Mr. Sheele had driven it away with his bullhorn.

Morgan stood examining herself in the big full length vanity mirror of her hotel

bathroom. Shed noticed something while watching the dailies at the little local basement

theatre they used for that purpose. She tilted her head slightly, frowning. Was it possible

that one breast was higher than the other? She pushed on them, trying to calculate if her

assessment of her assets was accurate. After a moment, it occurred to her with the dry

voice of her grandmother: Im surprised more people dont find work kissing themselves

for a living.

Morgan didnt go to the dailies again.

Six months after the first day of shooting on-site in the Nevada desert, Morgan, Neil and

Thierry were re-united for the final day of shooting. The set seemed strangely silent.

There were no curious pedestrians and no lurking camera people. The set was a quiet and

empty road in the middle of the country. It stretched far and long, and didnt seem to go

anyplace in particular. It was just there, stretching out onto a bleak-looking California

horizon. The session was grueling that day, and the sun beat down hot with no trees to

take shade under. The production assistants put up a tent, but that was soon filled with the

muggy sweat and hot breath of cameramen and other various personnel. The actors were

glad when break time came. They put up their own tent and unfolded lawn chairs under

it. They sat languidly and ate pistachios, watching the sun move slowly west.

Sometimes Id like to run away, said Morgan randomly out loud, not thinking if her

cast mates were listening. She had been staring off down the road they were filming on,

imagining her sprinting figure growing smaller and smaller in the distance.


10/12

~ 10 ~

From the big dick-tator? asked Neil with a grin, disrespectfully referring to Mr. Sheele.

Hell, sometimes Id like to drop everything and head outta dodge too, Neil said,

chucking pistachio shells to the concrete. Be a helluva lot better than getting cussed out

by the Big Damn Visionary.

Thierry matched Neils pistachio shell throw with a delicate flick of her wrist. The shell

flew and skipped along the street.

Just dont let him hear you, she said with a laugh. She looked idly at her boots and

tapped the toes of them together.

What about you? asked Morgan casually.

Thierry looked surprised. Me? What? Running away? Ha ha! What am I, twelve? Why

would I? This is work. Im getting paid. Fine, you two ditch it, more money for me, she

laughed at her joke.

Dont ask her anything, said Neil with the blas disdain a friend displays towards

another. Shes completely bought.

Excuse me! Thierry exclaimed, laughing harder.

Bought? Morgan grinned.

Bought. In the directors pocket. You know what I mean. Shell never leave the lot. T-

Bone here is a first class actress. Endures all classes of shit for the paycheck. Lemme

tellya, they dont teach that at Julliard.

Yeah, how would you know anyway, youve neverbeento Julliard, Thierry said wryly.

Neil just snorted.

Tell the truth, Terry, he went on, flashing a goading smile at Thierry, youd run if you

really wanted to, wouldnt you?

Thierry stared blankly at Neil. She stuffed her mouth full of nuts.

Morgans eyes went back to the road. The blaze of heat created a translucent ripple above

the concrete, hovering like an opaque veil. Several hundred kilometers of concrete. How

shed love to run! Let the hot road melt the soles of her shoes and the heat sweat down

her back. Morgans feet tapped, though she was not conscious of it. She began to imagine

the set away. Made Thierry and Neil disappear. She rose, walking straight forward. No

dolly tracks to step over. No production assistants to impede her path. No bark of the

director. Just concrete and sun. Poured thick.


11/12

~ 11 ~

She walked and walked. She started to run.

Im going to need your full attention for this assignment, Miss Anne.

Mr. Sheele was looking at her from under his massive yellow eyebrows.

Alright, Miss Anne?

Rudely awoken from her daydream, Morgan stared. Thierry rose with a groan from the

tent and stuffed the pages of the script she was reading in her jeans pocket.

Back to the copper mines. The brunette pulled down her sunglasses and sauntered off

to the make-up tent.

I think Ive been here before. Neil was saying, in character. Dramatically he looked

upward. A man was standing before him on a ladder, holding a large cardboard sign with

a massive fanged frowny face scrawled on it. Neils face contorted.

Maybe.... said Thierry in character, standing astounded by his side, looking up at the

ridiculous drawing, wed better run.

The camera drew in on the two as Morgan entered the shot. There was a long hold on the

faces of the three as the man turned his big cardboard sign. RUN was scrawled on the

other side.

Morgan, in character, gaped.

Holy...

Off camera, the Assistant Director called out an instruction: Now run like hell from the

big scary monster!!

As instructed, the three bolted.

Cut! Mr. Sheele sprung up from his seat with a big smile on his face. Print it! Fan-

tastic!

Thierry and Neil stopped running. The two wandered languidly back to the set.

The set was like a taut machine relieved of its duty and shutting down, settling back into

a deep hibernation. It was as if a rubber band had been snapped. Everyone relaxed.

People began to talk amongst each other.

Fantastic! Mr. Sheele repeated, patting various comrades. That wraps that up

congratulations everyonereal proud of that, real proud, first class work, people! There

were whoops and whistles and scattered self-congratulatory applause.


12/12

~ 12 ~

say, what the hells she doing?

Everyone was looking at the road.

Mr. Sheele put his hands on his hips.

Thierry and Neil burst out with laughter.

Oh my god! Thierry was in hysterics.

Run girl! Run! Whoo-hoo!

Morgan was several miles away, sprinting like a cat.

Mr. Sheele looked incredulous.

What thewell somebody get her back! After her, you idiots! Someone get me the

damn bullhorn! The contraption was tossed. He deftly caught it.

MISS ANNE! Mr. Sheele bellowed, amplified. MISS ANNE, GET BACK HERE. YOU HAVE NOT

BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO LEAVE THE LOT. MISS ANNE! MISS ANNE!!

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The Actress