Just North of Whoville by Turiskylie, Joyce (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📗

It felt good.

Having documented the ill-mannered conduct of this particular family, I will say that most of the mother-child combos were fairly well-behaved. Some of them even seemed to be having fun and enjoying the shoot. There were always a few stage mothers at these things, stressing their kids out with numerous instructions and demands that even an adult would find difficult to fulfill. But mostly, the studio resonated with the usual cries of mothers watching their children pose for a photo: Smile! Sit up straight! Don’t put your finger in your nose! Look over here! Smile! Don’t hold your pants! We’ll go to the bathroom in a minute! Don’t hold your pants!!!

Deb and Jamie stood off to the side, occasionally giving instructions to Natasha, the photographer; but mostly just watching the money roll in. The shots went quickly. A line of children took their turns playing with three different toys. A toy for girls. A toy for boys. And a toy for babies. Then each child was photographed opening a gift. Later, while the mothers were getting their children all bundled up in their winter gear for the snow scene shot, Jamie called me into her office.

“I’m starting to sense that you’re not on board, Dorrie.”

“It’s not that I’m not on board…” I paused, trying to come up with a better analogy than Shipwrecked at Sea. “To be honest, I’m just really happy being the temp here. I like my job!” I said with loads of good cheer and holiday spirit.

“Look. The truth is, things haven’t been going so well. The rent is going up in January and we need to generate more profit. And a temp doesn’t bring in revenue. An agent does. I can’t promise you more salary, but you’d get a commission on your sales. We’re offering the Smiling Class again in January. You could talk it up with your actor friends. We really need to bring actors into the ABC family. Dorrie, this is a big opportunity for you. And frankly, if you’re not generating income, we’ll have to let you go in January. So let’s put our heads together and start selling that class on character building!” she enthused. “Or character models. Whatever it’s called. Hey---how about a class called ‘Character Acting’? That would bring in the actors, don’t you think?”

So I agreed.

Truth is, I was stalling. Playing for time. Conning the con artist.

I figured that by saying yes, I’d stave off a lay-off. At least for a few weeks while I got trained-in. “Agent-in-training” certainly looked better than “temp” on my resume. Surely I could parlay this into a better position before I was forced to flip the switch on one of my own.

At rehearsal that night, “my own” read-thru the new script. Nate had worked miracles with only a week. We’d had plenty of time to chit-chat on the long car ride to Coney Island and I gave him a lot of tips, but I was still impressed that he’d managed to re-write an entire script in only a week.

Well, almost.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said as he reached the end of the script. “I think I’m missing some pages at the end.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” Marc said as he held up his unfinished script.

They all looked to Nate. He pointed to me.

“I’m sorry. I just had a problem with the ending. No offense, Nate.”

“None taken. I was just going by the film.”

“What’s the problem?” Steve asked. “Anything we can do as actors to help?”

“It’s not you guys. It’s just the piece overall. I think I’m fighting the happy ending.”

“But it has to have a happy ending,” Marc explained. “It’s a Christmas story.”

“Think so?” Steve countered. “Meet Dorrie.”

“Hey come on, I like a happy ending as much as the next guy. But do they all have to end happily? I mean, in real life, everyone doesn’t have a great Christmas every year.”

“But it’s George Bailey!” Steve yelled at me. “If he can’t have a miraculous Christmas, then what hope is there for the rest of us?”

“I’m just saying, wouldn’t an audience feel more connected with George Bailey if his Christmas turned out kind of crappy or mediocre just like ours?”

“Dorrie,” Steve held up his hands, “it’s CHRISTMAS! Save the big gloomy Russian finale for Easter. Please, I’m begging you.”

“I didn’t say I wanted it to be depressing. It’s probably just director’s block or something. Right?” I looked to Nate for confirmation.

“Oh, sure,” he said casually. “But you open in two weeks.”

It seemed like only yesterday we had almost seven weeks to put this thing together.

“If you want,” Nate suggested after the rehearsal, “I’ll drive you out to Coney Island and we can hash out a new ending.

“Oh…that’s okay.”

“Are you sure? It’s no problem…”

“Actually…um…I have to stop by Alex’s place. To get my cat. Alex isn’t coming home till late tonight, so I figured it would be a good time”

It was too many lies. Waaaaaaay too many lies. But there was no way I was going all the way out to Coney Island at nine o’clock at night. I wouldn’t get back till almost midnight.

“Oh, great! I’m going that way, myself,” he suddenly declared. “I’ll drop you off.”

But as we drove to “my” apartment, I could just feel the whole thing falling apart. Luckily, I was able to keep the conversation strictly business. Not that I necessarily wanted to, but what’s the point in having a social life if you’re living on the street? And what would happen to Heidi? I couldn’t put her in a shelter. She’d have to come with me. I’d be one of those homeless people with pets.

There used to be a homeless guy with a cat who hung out at 53rd and Lex with a big sign that said “Help me and my kitty.” I used