There used to be a place in Putnam, West Virginia called Howdy's. It was kind of a bar, kind of a music hall, and definitely a club - at least for the locals that ended up there most every night. It was a perpetually dim, borderline dank, concrete-floor-covered-in-sawdust kind of place. Bluegrass music reigned supreme at Howdy's, but they also were known to host local rock bands from time to time, so long as the group knew how to play at least two Allman Brothers songs.
One listless Tuesday night, a man walked in the front entrance. The door was propped open as it usually was during the summer, inviting a Teays Valley breeze, if any were to be found. The man looked over the room a bit. He'd seen plenty of dark dives like Howdy's, but he never got tired of the musty smell of stale beer and old chewing tobacco.
The man spotted a young woman in a yellow sundress standing alone by the bar, tapping her brown boots in time with the jukebox. He walked straight up to the woman. Something about the way she was made up told him that she was waiting on somebody special. But the way she stood taller when she noticed him approaching her indicated that she wouldn't mind his company in the meantime.
He introduced himself.
"You mean like the candy?" she asked. There was a Jimmie Rodgers tune blaring out of the speaker above them, which was a disorienting factor in the man's game. He shook his head, not understanding what she meant by the candy remark. She then held up a finger like "hold on" and began digging through her purse. Finally, she pulled out a small piece of candy wrapped in gold cellophane with the words "Werther's Original" written across the front.
He smiled, and she smiled back. The woman seemed to believe he was smiling because of the odd coincidence, her having that exact brand of candy in her purse. He didn't mind that she thought that. But the truth was that he didn't know where he'd come up with the name. It wasn't meant to be cute or anything. He just thought that "David Werther" sounded boring enough to not sound made up.
She leaned in and told the man that her name was Amber, but he didn't care about that. They all had names.
Friday, August 17, 2018
Monday, August 6, 2018
Motivation
Most actors, even ones that you might recognize from TV shows or movies, aren't able to earn livable wages as actors. In fact, less than 10% of actors belonging to the Screen Actors Guild are able to meet the requirements to qualify for health insurance. It's a cutthroat industry, one with too many performers scrambling for too few roles. Because of this, nearly all actors are forced to supplement their income by stealing lunch money from children after their parents drop them off at school.
There are several approaches that actors take to rob these tiny targets of their lunch money. Some work in groups, locking a kid into a "shove circle" or corralling them into an inescapable trap. Others prefer to work alone, utilizing so-called "diva methods". Solo approaches range from forceful begging to outright brute force. However, many actors prefer to craft clever grifting schemes, ones where they con children out of money by way of some sob story, or promises of vast returns on shady investments. This approach, not only less aggressive, has the added benefit of sharpening theatrical skills.
The wide-scale theft of lunch money has gotten so problematic in Los Angeles that tax programs have been created specifically to fund meal vouchers for thousands of schoolchildren. The actors, as brazenly shameless as you'd imagine, show zero remorse in public. City plumbers and tax accountants alike have grown to distrust all entertainers in equal measure.
Greta Peeler was one such actor trying to make a name for herself in L.A. You may have seen her guest starring on your favorite murder mystery, or perhaps praising a certain brand of soft drink during a commercial break. She'd certainly paid her dues, logging many hours in acting workshops...and even more hours skulking behind brambles near elementary school playgrounds. However, thus far the only name she'd managed to make for herself was "Dragon Lady", a name designed to strike fear into the hearts and minds of children everywhere.
Greta longed to join the lucky-though-small group of performers that earned their entire salaries from acting gigs, those who could afford to brutalize children just for the fun of it. But as time passed and circumstances mounted, she began to give up on her dream. A twisted ankle caught from a botched mugging forced her out of the lunch money game. In order to pay her rent, she finally acquiesced to a receptionist job for one of the more famous plumbing firms.
As time passed, she even stopped taking the classes that had guided her for so many years, halting her study of Stanislavski's method of emotional recall, as well as her Brazilian jujitsu training.
Things settled into normalcy until one day Greta's boss, Angela Fulccilio, exited the elevator in front of Greta's reception area with a small child following behind her. The little girl was sniffling, obviously carrying the sort of virus that constantly plagued children her age. She locked eyes with Greta and immediately recognized her school playground's most infamous assailant.
"Good morning, Greta," Angela said. "This is my daughter, Kalissa. She's out sick from school for the day. I hope she won't be much of a distraction."
She said this last part more to Kalissa than to Greta.
The kid was still staring at Greta, eyebrows low. Kalissa was smart for her age and calculated the situation quickly, that the mean woman who was now apparently going by "Greta" had switched over to spending the daytime hours at her mom's office, rather than terrorizing Kalissa and her friends for lunch money. But what was this new game?
"Draaagon Lady," Kalissa called out to her former bully, taunting. She was smart, but she was also 7 years old.
Greta's eyes widened. Looking to the child, she said in a voice a bit too loud, "Oh, that's a funny name, sweetie!" Then to her boss, "I think your lovely daughter has me confused with somebody else."
"No, I don't." Kalissa stuck her tongue out at Greta.
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't." Still 7.
"Yes, you--!" Greta slammed her hands on her desk and jumped up from her seat. Angela recoiled, throwing a protective arm across her child.
Sensing a bad scene, Greta smiled brightly. "I'm terribly sorry," she said. Her eyes darted around the office lobby for an exit path. "I have to check on something in...the. I have to ask somebody about...the-"
Greta scurried away from them, off toward the break room as Kalissa forcefully coughed in her direction. Angela gave her daughter a scolding look before ushering the sick child into an empty office that had a couch and a TV.
In the 2nd floor break room, Greta tried to compose herself over a cup of green tea and a few breathing exercises she'd learned from a vocal coach. One of the firm's hotshot plumbers walked in for coffee and made a couple of jokes about her looking "flushed". Ever the actress, Greta gamely smiled and laughed.
"You just never see these punchlines coming, do you?" the hotshot plumber asked.
"I never do!" Greta enthused, dying a little more on the inside.
After a while, she returned to her desk and tried her best to concentrate on calls and schedules. Kalissa found several opportunities throughout the day to peer out of quarantine to stick her tongue out at Greta. It was easy enough to ignore at first, but then the taunts turned into paper airplane assaults. Greta retaliated by miming throat slashes and quietly mouthing death threats at the girl.
At lunch time, Angela had Greta go out to fetch Kalissa a Happy Meal, which Greta had to convince herself to not sprinkle hot sauce over. She regretted her diplomacy when she returned to her desk and sat directly onto a wet stack of used coffee filters. Psychological needling had given way to biological warfare; death and destruction would certainly follow. Greta washed the grounds off her skirt in the ladies room, dried it as best she could, and wrapped the hoodie she kept around for too-cold A/C days around her waist.
Five o'clock eventually neared, though the tension in Greta's shoulders stayed rigid. Days at the office were always long, but this one had been a marathon on a burning tightrope.
And then on her way out, Angela marched the brat back up to Greta's station and announced that Kalissa would also be out of class the following day. The kid had somehow allowed herself to get sicker so as to push this little ballgame into extra innings.
"Cancel my 9am with the faucet people. I've got to take her to the doctor, but we'll be in by 11."
"Sure thing, Angela," Greta said. Nonchalantly, she turned her head to mask a twitching eye.
Kalissa stuck her tongue out again. As she and her mom walked to the elevators, she leaned her head back and cooed behind her, "Draaaagon Laaaaady."
Greta had trouble sleeping that night. She watched several old Law & Order episodes, noting each and every hapless bystander or junkie informant. Day player roles Greta was apparently all wrong for.
She dreaded the notion of returning to the office the next day, stepping back into Kalissa's line of torment. She considered calling in sick herself. A part of her hoped that Kalissa would simply feel better in the morning, at least enough to return to school. But a darker, more urgent place behind Greta's blank stare hoped that the child would take a dire turn for the worse, and spend a few days in the emergency room. Nothing too terribly serious. Maybe a burst appendix or something that would leave the brat with a permanent limp.
The next day started off quietly, though Greta could feel sour vibes in the air. She'd been bracing herself for more immature affliction. Her neck was sore again. But then Angela entered through the elevator carrying a sleeping Kalissa. She made a shushing face toward Greta, as though that was even necessary. Unconscious kid was the way to go.
After shutting Kalissa in the spare office again, Angela explained to Greta that her daughter's illness wasn't life-threatening, but the doctor recommended that she stay out of school for the rest of the week.
"She was up all last night, the poor thing," Angela said.
"Yeah. Awful, terrible thing." Off her boss's look, Greta quickly added, "Being sick, I mean. It's really terrible."
"Well, the worst part of this is that she's missing play practice all week. They might have to recast her."
"She's in a play?"
"Yeah, The Wizard of Oz."
"Oh?"
Greta envisioned Kalissa as the perfect embodiment of the Wicked Witch of the West. Cold, calculating, and willing to foster the worst fears of her victims to unrestricted panic. Or perhaps she would better serve the school's production as the evil witch's hapless sister that was introduced as a clump of viscera crushed underneath a fallen farm house, and had no lines.
Angela sighed. "I guess they can find another Scarecrow. Ah, well. It'll save me the trouble of sewing straw onto a blouse." With that, Angela walked off to her office. Greta figured that she would have gotten somebody else, Greta probably, to make that costume anyway.
Scarecrow...the heart of the play.
Greta sat back down at her desk and looked down the hall to Kalissa's quarters.
They must really be desperate.
She kept looking down the hall, thinking of the sick, little beast that would soon begin to feel better and resume her personal torture for what would feel like eternity. Maybe the kid would tire of the stupid pranks her limited imagination could conjure, and simply tell Angela about the trail of extortion in Greta's past. God knows there were plenty of witnesses she could call forth. If she got fired, Greta would be forced to pick on younger and weaker kids for lunch money. She wasn't in her twenties anymore.
Greta shook her head and tried to find something productive to do with her hands.
You know, besides wrapping them around a little girl's throat.
An angry, hoarse laugh escaped her. Shaking her head, she retrieved a stack of files from a drawer and whisked them off to the archives room.
Greta didn't realize it then, but Kalissa was driven by the same passion for acting that Greta had felt at that age. Her behavior was the direct product of immense creativity and an unflappable focus. The girl didn't just idly watch TV shows and movies; she studied the myriad of expressions and eye movements on the actors' faces. She continued this research in the real world, mimicking gestures and voices to her friends and teachers. Kalissa was a natural extrovert, and her mind found hope in appreciation.
Greta did find these things out about Kalissa eventually though, after she was coerced to coach the girl for the Scarecrow part. Kalissa couldn't help herself and exposed Greta's past to her mother - not as a criminal, but as an actress.
Begrudgingly, Greta volunteered line readings and explained motivation to Kalissa until the little devil was well enough to return to regular rehearsals. After the performance, everyone agreed that the Scarecrow was the standout of the show. Some of the other parents took notice of the improvements, and asked the former Dragon Lady to coach their kids too.
When did all of that happen? After Kalissa put a handful of bugs in Greta's egg salad, but not too long before Greta Peeler was energized to start auditioning again.
The lunch money muggings in Los Angeles eventually faded to nothing more than an occasional, brief warning to the kids during morning announcements. Then one day they just stopped altogether.
Some say it was because of all the streaming services that produced more original programming for actors to go after. Some say it was because of the billy clubs and jackknives the kids started carrying for protection. You can count both things as contributing factors, but it's clear that the current truce is likely only a temporary one. Any great actor will tell you, after all, you must maintain your craft.
There are several approaches that actors take to rob these tiny targets of their lunch money. Some work in groups, locking a kid into a "shove circle" or corralling them into an inescapable trap. Others prefer to work alone, utilizing so-called "diva methods". Solo approaches range from forceful begging to outright brute force. However, many actors prefer to craft clever grifting schemes, ones where they con children out of money by way of some sob story, or promises of vast returns on shady investments. This approach, not only less aggressive, has the added benefit of sharpening theatrical skills.
The wide-scale theft of lunch money has gotten so problematic in Los Angeles that tax programs have been created specifically to fund meal vouchers for thousands of schoolchildren. The actors, as brazenly shameless as you'd imagine, show zero remorse in public. City plumbers and tax accountants alike have grown to distrust all entertainers in equal measure.
Greta Peeler was one such actor trying to make a name for herself in L.A. You may have seen her guest starring on your favorite murder mystery, or perhaps praising a certain brand of soft drink during a commercial break. She'd certainly paid her dues, logging many hours in acting workshops...and even more hours skulking behind brambles near elementary school playgrounds. However, thus far the only name she'd managed to make for herself was "Dragon Lady", a name designed to strike fear into the hearts and minds of children everywhere.
Greta longed to join the lucky-though-small group of performers that earned their entire salaries from acting gigs, those who could afford to brutalize children just for the fun of it. But as time passed and circumstances mounted, she began to give up on her dream. A twisted ankle caught from a botched mugging forced her out of the lunch money game. In order to pay her rent, she finally acquiesced to a receptionist job for one of the more famous plumbing firms.
As time passed, she even stopped taking the classes that had guided her for so many years, halting her study of Stanislavski's method of emotional recall, as well as her Brazilian jujitsu training.
Things settled into normalcy until one day Greta's boss, Angela Fulccilio, exited the elevator in front of Greta's reception area with a small child following behind her. The little girl was sniffling, obviously carrying the sort of virus that constantly plagued children her age. She locked eyes with Greta and immediately recognized her school playground's most infamous assailant.
"Good morning, Greta," Angela said. "This is my daughter, Kalissa. She's out sick from school for the day. I hope she won't be much of a distraction."
She said this last part more to Kalissa than to Greta.
The kid was still staring at Greta, eyebrows low. Kalissa was smart for her age and calculated the situation quickly, that the mean woman who was now apparently going by "Greta" had switched over to spending the daytime hours at her mom's office, rather than terrorizing Kalissa and her friends for lunch money. But what was this new game?
"Draaagon Lady," Kalissa called out to her former bully, taunting. She was smart, but she was also 7 years old.
Greta's eyes widened. Looking to the child, she said in a voice a bit too loud, "Oh, that's a funny name, sweetie!" Then to her boss, "I think your lovely daughter has me confused with somebody else."
"No, I don't." Kalissa stuck her tongue out at Greta.
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't." Still 7.
"Yes, you--!" Greta slammed her hands on her desk and jumped up from her seat. Angela recoiled, throwing a protective arm across her child.
Sensing a bad scene, Greta smiled brightly. "I'm terribly sorry," she said. Her eyes darted around the office lobby for an exit path. "I have to check on something in...the. I have to ask somebody about...the-"
Greta scurried away from them, off toward the break room as Kalissa forcefully coughed in her direction. Angela gave her daughter a scolding look before ushering the sick child into an empty office that had a couch and a TV.
In the 2nd floor break room, Greta tried to compose herself over a cup of green tea and a few breathing exercises she'd learned from a vocal coach. One of the firm's hotshot plumbers walked in for coffee and made a couple of jokes about her looking "flushed". Ever the actress, Greta gamely smiled and laughed.
"You just never see these punchlines coming, do you?" the hotshot plumber asked.
"I never do!" Greta enthused, dying a little more on the inside.
After a while, she returned to her desk and tried her best to concentrate on calls and schedules. Kalissa found several opportunities throughout the day to peer out of quarantine to stick her tongue out at Greta. It was easy enough to ignore at first, but then the taunts turned into paper airplane assaults. Greta retaliated by miming throat slashes and quietly mouthing death threats at the girl.
At lunch time, Angela had Greta go out to fetch Kalissa a Happy Meal, which Greta had to convince herself to not sprinkle hot sauce over. She regretted her diplomacy when she returned to her desk and sat directly onto a wet stack of used coffee filters. Psychological needling had given way to biological warfare; death and destruction would certainly follow. Greta washed the grounds off her skirt in the ladies room, dried it as best she could, and wrapped the hoodie she kept around for too-cold A/C days around her waist.
Five o'clock eventually neared, though the tension in Greta's shoulders stayed rigid. Days at the office were always long, but this one had been a marathon on a burning tightrope.
And then on her way out, Angela marched the brat back up to Greta's station and announced that Kalissa would also be out of class the following day. The kid had somehow allowed herself to get sicker so as to push this little ballgame into extra innings.
"Cancel my 9am with the faucet people. I've got to take her to the doctor, but we'll be in by 11."
"Sure thing, Angela," Greta said. Nonchalantly, she turned her head to mask a twitching eye.
Kalissa stuck her tongue out again. As she and her mom walked to the elevators, she leaned her head back and cooed behind her, "Draaaagon Laaaaady."
Greta had trouble sleeping that night. She watched several old Law & Order episodes, noting each and every hapless bystander or junkie informant. Day player roles Greta was apparently all wrong for.
She dreaded the notion of returning to the office the next day, stepping back into Kalissa's line of torment. She considered calling in sick herself. A part of her hoped that Kalissa would simply feel better in the morning, at least enough to return to school. But a darker, more urgent place behind Greta's blank stare hoped that the child would take a dire turn for the worse, and spend a few days in the emergency room. Nothing too terribly serious. Maybe a burst appendix or something that would leave the brat with a permanent limp.
The next day started off quietly, though Greta could feel sour vibes in the air. She'd been bracing herself for more immature affliction. Her neck was sore again. But then Angela entered through the elevator carrying a sleeping Kalissa. She made a shushing face toward Greta, as though that was even necessary. Unconscious kid was the way to go.
After shutting Kalissa in the spare office again, Angela explained to Greta that her daughter's illness wasn't life-threatening, but the doctor recommended that she stay out of school for the rest of the week.
"She was up all last night, the poor thing," Angela said.
"Yeah. Awful, terrible thing." Off her boss's look, Greta quickly added, "Being sick, I mean. It's really terrible."
"Well, the worst part of this is that she's missing play practice all week. They might have to recast her."
"She's in a play?"
"Yeah, The Wizard of Oz."
"Oh?"
Greta envisioned Kalissa as the perfect embodiment of the Wicked Witch of the West. Cold, calculating, and willing to foster the worst fears of her victims to unrestricted panic. Or perhaps she would better serve the school's production as the evil witch's hapless sister that was introduced as a clump of viscera crushed underneath a fallen farm house, and had no lines.
Angela sighed. "I guess they can find another Scarecrow. Ah, well. It'll save me the trouble of sewing straw onto a blouse." With that, Angela walked off to her office. Greta figured that she would have gotten somebody else, Greta probably, to make that costume anyway.
Scarecrow...the heart of the play.
Greta sat back down at her desk and looked down the hall to Kalissa's quarters.
They must really be desperate.
She kept looking down the hall, thinking of the sick, little beast that would soon begin to feel better and resume her personal torture for what would feel like eternity. Maybe the kid would tire of the stupid pranks her limited imagination could conjure, and simply tell Angela about the trail of extortion in Greta's past. God knows there were plenty of witnesses she could call forth. If she got fired, Greta would be forced to pick on younger and weaker kids for lunch money. She wasn't in her twenties anymore.
Greta shook her head and tried to find something productive to do with her hands.
You know, besides wrapping them around a little girl's throat.
An angry, hoarse laugh escaped her. Shaking her head, she retrieved a stack of files from a drawer and whisked them off to the archives room.
Greta didn't realize it then, but Kalissa was driven by the same passion for acting that Greta had felt at that age. Her behavior was the direct product of immense creativity and an unflappable focus. The girl didn't just idly watch TV shows and movies; she studied the myriad of expressions and eye movements on the actors' faces. She continued this research in the real world, mimicking gestures and voices to her friends and teachers. Kalissa was a natural extrovert, and her mind found hope in appreciation.
Greta did find these things out about Kalissa eventually though, after she was coerced to coach the girl for the Scarecrow part. Kalissa couldn't help herself and exposed Greta's past to her mother - not as a criminal, but as an actress.
Begrudgingly, Greta volunteered line readings and explained motivation to Kalissa until the little devil was well enough to return to regular rehearsals. After the performance, everyone agreed that the Scarecrow was the standout of the show. Some of the other parents took notice of the improvements, and asked the former Dragon Lady to coach their kids too.
When did all of that happen? After Kalissa put a handful of bugs in Greta's egg salad, but not too long before Greta Peeler was energized to start auditioning again.
The lunch money muggings in Los Angeles eventually faded to nothing more than an occasional, brief warning to the kids during morning announcements. Then one day they just stopped altogether.
Some say it was because of all the streaming services that produced more original programming for actors to go after. Some say it was because of the billy clubs and jackknives the kids started carrying for protection. You can count both things as contributing factors, but it's clear that the current truce is likely only a temporary one. Any great actor will tell you, after all, you must maintain your craft.
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