#AMREADING VENDELA VIDA. Filming in Casablanca.
DRIVING TO LOCATION. The drive is supposed to take fifteen minutes. In twenty minutes you have moved ten blocks, maybe twelve. Why didn’t anyone take Casablanca traffic into the equation? asks the American producer. I grew up in L.A. Everyone always takes traffic into the equation.
THE MAKEUP LADY. When she is finished, you look into the mirror. Your skin looks as uneven as tree bark, the makeup emphasizing every ridge, bump, and dip. You thank her profusely. And rinse it off in the washroom.
WEARING A WIG: The wig is itchy on your scalp. You raise your hand to scratch your head, and the wardrobe women scream. It’s as though you’ve reached for a knife. Do not touch, the wardrobe woman says.
GREETING THE FAMOUS ACTRESS. You stand up, and as you do so, you hit your knee on the glass coffee table. You act as though you didn’t.
BEING A STAND-IN FOR THE FAMOUS ACTRESS. You are not needed for the rest of the day. The sadness of being unuseful, which is a particular type of sadness, begins to vine through your body. By 7p.m. you are wondering if you can take off your wig, scratch your scalp.
HAVING A LIFE AUDIENCE. The energy of the crowd has swarmed and collected and is harnessed toward the stage. You are certain the performers can feel this focused beam of energy too because they’re singing louder.
DATING A RICH MAN. His laugh is uproarious. He laughs like a larger man than he is. Maybe it’s the money, you think. Maybe when you have that much money in the bank you can laugh uproariously like a very large man at things that aren’t that funny.
(Source: Vendela Vida, The Driver’s Clothes Lie Empty)