Manimal Crackers

The Fateful Phone Call

That Sunday, they *finally* got back to me. Okay, so it was technically only one day, but for me, it was like months. I mean, I was going to Hollywood of all places! Why wouldn't I be anxious to do something like this?

"Hello, is this Jessica Rothenberg?"
"Indeed it is!"
"Yeah, what do you think of going to Hollywood?" they told me. "All expenses paid and everything!"
"Yeah, cool," I told them. "I just had to talk with my family about this."
"Family?" they said. "We thought you were in your thirties or twenties! You mean to tell us you're just a kid?"
"Well...yeah," I shrugged. "I'm really sorry about this."

"We can't have a kid working here," he said. "We'll get in trouble due to child labor laws or something."
"Wait a minute," I told him. "Are you sure there's a law for that?"
"Sure as the day is long," he said.

"But...I'm just a film consultant!" I said. "And, you're too far into the movie to drop me like a hot potato."
"Well, we'll still let you work on the movie under two conditions- you do a great job, and tell us when you turn 18."
"Okay, I'll turn 18 on my birthday."
(Of course, like Mila Kunis, I didn't specify "when" that birthday would be.)

"Good," He replied, clearly not realizing I wouldn't be 18 for another three years, at which point I hung up the phone, to Miranda's rather baffled reaction.

"You're turning 18?" she asked. "When?"
At which point, I knelt down to her to explain what was going on. I had the brilliant idea to tell her more clearly what was going on.

"Now, Miranda," I told her. "Sometimes, you have to lie to get what you want. Your big sister, for example, is lying about her age to get this film gig."

"I thought lying was bad."
"Not here," I told her.

Famous last words.

No sooner were we ready to watch the news, then Miranda confessed to my parents what was going on.

"Jessie's lying! Jessie's lying about her age!"

"She is?" asked Dad, clearly baffled at what the hell was going on here.

"Jessica?" said Mom in a firm, you're in-big-trouble missy voice.

"Mom?" I told her. "...I can explain." Yeah, right.

"Look, Mom," I told her. "They want me as a film consultant, but only because I sounded a lot older than I already was."

"Jessica!" snapped Mom. "You can't do this."

"Look, Jessica, as much as we appreciate your film dreams, and we do, we don't appreciate you lying like this," said Dad. "Even if you want to do this, you can't lie like this."
"Yeah, thanks a lot!" I started barking. "Well, too late. They already signed me on. What are you going to do about this?"
"Oh, we have our ways," said Mom. "We can call them up."
"No, you fucking can't," I snapped. "You don't even have their number."
"I can always find it online."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this," said Simon. Uh, no, not really.

"Is there actually a minimum age for being a film consultant?" asked Dad. "Or do they just want to look more professional?"

"I honestly don't know," I said. "The guy who's helping me out sounds more like a millennial-bro, or Gen-X bro since we're talking Manimal here, very casual and all."

It was right then and there that I remembered that the other guy working on the film, Jay, knew I was still a teenager, but didn't care. He was a bit surprised, but otherwise okay with the fact that I was a minor working on the movie. I should've realized from the tone of his voice that this was not the same guy who took me out to eat in the city, this was an older guy who did care how old I was. This was getting very suspicious. Perhaps he didn't want me there?

I frantically tried to call him, until I remembered that I didn't remember his phone number! Smart one, Jessica. Now, you have no way to get out of this.

You really should've seen how nervous I was. I was rocking back and forth, biting, and breathing heavily. Not a pretty sight.

Then suddenly, I overheard a voice. It was warm and calm, but it couldn't have been Simon. There was no British accent.

"Hey Jessy?"
"Yes?" I said, turning my chair around.

"It's me, Dad. You want to do this film?"
"Yeah," I said. "But...why are you doing this to me?"
"Doing what?"
"Giving me permission to do this."
"Oh, that's easy," said Dad. "You're just a film consultant; I'm not sure why you would have to lie about your age. There are child directors, child actors, child writers out there, I don't see why you shouldn't be able to do this."
"Aww thanks, Dad," I told him. "But...what about Miranda?"
"Yes, about Miranda," said Dad. "We'll see how she's like. If she can stay on the plane without misbehaving, it's a go. If not, we'll take her off, and you and I will go."
"But, Dad, she'll get jealous and throw a fit!"
"That's a risk I'm willing to take," said Dad. "Anyways, if she's bad, she'll have to live with the punishment. Sounds reasonable, doesn't it?"
"You know," I continued. "Even if she doesn't get jealous, what if we're 300 ft above ground and she misbehaves? Can't take her off then."

"She's got a point there," said Mom.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," said Dad in his reasonable father voice. "There's probably some system in place that can keep her calm."

"I guess," shrugged Mom.

"Your father is such a generous man," said Simon.

It was at that point I gave him a huge hug, happy at the way he handled, well, everything.