Starchela in LA

Chapter Eight: NEGOTIATIONS IN A CALIFORNIA PIZZA KITCHEN

Chapter Eight: NEGOTIATIONS IN A CALIFORNIA PIZZA KITCHEN

"Getting in cars with strangers is a big part of being an actress," the bag lady said. Well, I'm not an actress. What I am is a girl who pretends she wrote this play that my mom wrote twenty years ago. Or maybe my mom stole it from her twin sister who is now a bag lady living in the streets of LA. That's a new theory that occurs to me just now. I must admit, my mind is overcomplicating things even further than they already are. My mind is darting this way and that just because it doesn't want to give me the green light to get in that car with this stranger.

"Who are you and who's requesting my presence?" I ask the driver of the Maybach.

"My name is Torquevald Nordon," he says in his gravelly voice. "Your presence is requested by Miss Evangeline Lilly."

"Kate from Lost?!?"

"No." He's heard this before. "It's just a coincidence of names."

The driver has some sort of a European accent that goes well with his uniform and the way he touches the brim of his cap. My mind wanders off again. How can somebody with such a wonderful name as Evangeline Lilly be reduced to a character named as mundanely as Kate? No offence to any Kates out there, my best friend in tenth grade was Kate. She turned into a bit of a bitch by the end though. Had to do with that love at first sight I've mentioned before. The end wasn't pretty.

"Who is she and what does she want from me?"

"She wants you to be in her movie."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"In a movie?"

"Yes."

"What's it about?"

"It's a compelling true-life drama about twin sisters who have a falling out. One leaves the quiet mid-Western town where they grew up and moves to LA, where she becomes a movie star and producer. Sometimes she goes back incognito and spies on her estranged sister and her family – the little town sister has a teenage daughter now."

I swear to God, the driver's voice as he recites this is the voice I know from a million movie trailers. The feeling is awesome and creepy at the same time.

"True-life, seriously?"

"The movie is based on the LA sister's autobiographical play."

Oh, so the LA sister, Evangeline Lilly, did write the play. My mom stole it from her 20 years ago. But the bag lady looks like my mom. She couldn't have written the play, she was learning the lines when I met her. She was given the lines by someone else. She was hired to be in the movie, so she is not Evangeline Lilly. Who is my mom's twin sister then? The Hollywood star and producer, or the bag lady?

"The lady you picked up from the bus stop this morning," I ask the driver, "did she write the play?"

"You want to know if she is Evangeline Lilly?"

"Yes, please."

"She told me you would ask that."

"Who? Who told you? Which one?"

"Haven't you read the play?"

 "I wrote the play! I mean, at UCLA I pretend that I wrote the play. And in the play the LA sister is both a powerful movie mogul and homeless woman."

"That's a wonderful metaphor."

"But twenty years ago, when the original play was written, did the sister who would become Evangeline Lilly plan to have that dual life, to be a metaphor?"

"You can ask her yourself.

"How does it end?" I ask. "Her version of the play."

"I'm not at liberty to disclose. You may read the script yourself if you agree to take the part in the movie that was offered you."

Tempting. Before I left, I had a talk with mom about all the different temptations that LA was likely to offer. I'm not a stupid girl – I just sound like one, haha – so I know not to even get close to drugs, one-night stands, and married men to try the experience just once. So I steer clear of the usual temptations. But what about promises of fame and fortune, and finding oneself? If I get into this car and meet Evangeline Lilly and star in her movie, will I find myself? Or get hopelessly lost?

I Tweet, "About to slip down the rabbit hole. Blue pill or red?"

I turn to Shane, "Blue pill or red?"

"If you want me to come with you..."

"Will you?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

I turn to the European driver. "Can I bring a friend?"

"No," he says. "The invitation is for you only."

"I want to bring a friend!"

"You can't," says Torquevald Nordon in his sonorous voice that has found some cold steel.

I turn to Shane. What can we do? We're separated by two unfinished salads on the table and the prospect of my disappearing in a strange car with a giant European stranger.

"I'll follow you in my car," Shane says.

"You can't get into the perimeter of the house," the driver says.

"The shoot is in her house?"

"Let's call it residence."

"Call me when you're done," Shane says.

"What? You leave me hanging?"

"What can I do?"

"Be more romantic! Follow us regardless, climb the wall, penetrate the residence!"

"Security's pretty tight," the driver tells him.

I look at Shane. He shrugs, gestures to the driver, See what the man said.

"Scale the walls?" Shane says. "Don't be a child, Starchela. Text me when you're done."

I pull out my handheld like I'm going to smack him with it. "Men are boys and boys suck," I Tweet.

Then I leave him with the check and leave with the big brooding driver. I get into the big brooding car. I'm no actress, no Hollywood star, but I could get used to a car like this.