Sweetheart Starlet: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 12

  When I showed up to meet Sarah at the Comedy Stand, I was pretty much wading through people I knew. I mean, there were plenty of regular audience members, but it was such a usual local hangout for comedians it was like some kind of reunion. Every few steps I felt like I was being stopped, greeted, hugged, chatted up. I couldn’t quite figure out if it was because all these people knew and liked me, or if it was because of my position on the show and the fact that many of them would love to get cast.

  “Oh my God,” said Sarah, grinning deeply, her straight black hair hanging down to her shoulders. “Is that Tabitha Bloom?” Amid the clamor of the busy comedy club, Sarah leapt up and wrapped her arms around me.

  “I can’t believe it’s been so long,” I said as I returned her hug. “Probably like a year or two now, right?”

  “At least,” said Sarah. “I barely ever leave LA anymore and you barely ever leave New York.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “So are you gonna go up?” she asked. “Do you even have material?”

  “I have some stuff,” I said.

  “Is it material about that picture?” she said, unable to suppress her smile. “Is it about bumping vag?”

  “I don’t believe that’s the preferred nomenclature,” I teased.

  “Is it true?” said Sarah in a conspiring whisper. “I mean, you can tell me. We go way back. It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Get off me,” I said, pushing Sarah away as she laughed at me.

  “God, you’re so easy,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Just don’t say anything about that to anyone,” I said.

  “Everyone knew it was true,” said Sarah. “I mean, first, you’re a total dyke.”

  “I don’t appreciate that way of—“

  “And two,” Sarah said, emphatically interrupting me, holding her hand up with two fingers extended. “Who wouldn’t want to bang CoHo? I totally would and I usually like dick.”

  “I’m starting to remember why I pivoted with this whole comedy thing,” I mused.

  “Oh yeah?” said Sarah. “Because you like writing for the lowest common denominator?”

  “At least my whole act isn’t just an even filthier version of what boring cliched female comedians have been doing for too long,” I said. “Dick this, cock that, jizz jizz jizz.”

  Sarah got really serious for a moment, starring me down, furrowing her brow, pursing her lips. She gave me this really bitchy angry expression, like she was just going to punch me. And then her mouth turned up into the craziest of grins.

  “I missed you so much, Tab!” she near screamed. She reached out for me and pulled me close, hugging me tightly once more.

  Comedians were a weird bunch.

  *

  “Let’s give a warm Comedy Stand welcome for head writer of This Saturday,” said the MC, a young comedian who I had seen before but wasn’t that familiar with. I stood off stage to the side, feeling more nervous than I had in a long time, a folded piece of paper in my sweaty hand. I shouldn’t have really been all that nervous. I’d been on TV in front of millions of people. But there was something about being at such an institutional comedy club, in front of a pretty stellar collection of LA’s comic elite, that brought me back to those early days of uncertainty. Was my stuff funny? I didn’t really know. But I was about to find out.

  “The woman who many of you have probably cursed when you failed to get cast on the show,” continued the MC. “Please give it up for Tabitha Bloom!”

  The audience applauded, hooting and hollering, as I slipped up onto the stage, looking out into the sea of people, giving them a light wave. The MC gave me a thumbs up as he passed me, then exited the stage and left it all to me.

  “Um, hello,” I breathed heavily into the microphone in mock-geekiness, grinning, then taking the mic off the stand and straightening out the cable. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought some notes with me.” I began to unfold my piece of paper. I took a deep breath and smiled.

  “God, I know too many of you out there,” I said. “This feels like a high school reunion. Except in this case, I’m sleeping with the prom queen.” The audience gave a loud laugh.

  “She opened with it!” I heard Sarah scream out.

  “I did,” I responded, looking down to the stage, trying to hide my joyful smile. It felt really good to be back on stage and not just sitting at a table drumming up ideas or at a computer furiously stringing words together. “But look, you can’t believe everything you read in the gossip columns,” I went on. “I mean, if you did, you might be lead to believe that any of you in this room actually have a career.”

  There was a lot of laughter and some phony booing. The audience was loving it and the other comedians themselves begrudgingly enjoying it as well.

  “Now hold on,” I said, raising up a palm. “It was just a clever joke and I didn’t mean any harm by it. Besides, who in this room besides me is even noteworthy enough to be featured in a celebrity rag?” Laughter again, which I then spoke through. “Emphasis on celebrity.”

  “Thanks,” I said as the laughter wilted. “No, really, I’m a pretty big deal. For those of you who are unfamiliar with my work, um… wait, Amish people probably don’t go out to comedy clubs, do they?” Even more laughter, punctuated by some clapping. “Well, if there are any Amish people out there… I raise a barn all by myself, weekly, and the barn shits money.” I could tell everyone was really getting into it. I was so irrepressibly happy.

  “But I know,” I continued, looking into my piece of paper for a moment to find my place. “I know you probably all want to hear my take on that little thing that happened a couple months back.” I said this in a bit of a singsongy, tired-of-talking-about it tone. The weird thing, or perhaps the robust thing about comedians, is that it’s so easy to make light of the stuff that pains us the most. It’s a blessing and a curse.

  “Look, it’s fun to speculate,” I went on. “And believe me, I am floored that people even think a nerd like me has a shot at the Sexiest Woman Alive, or whatever,” I said, feeling just the slightest bit of pain in my heart. “But you’ve got to understand something, folks… do you realize how long it takes to feed, bathe, and dress two dozen cats? Where do you think I find time to have a relationship?” The crowd roared, laughing, clapping, cheering. “They really don’t let you get those booties on. It takes real strength of will!”

  “This has been really fun,” I said, raising a hand up. “I’m Tab and you’ve been fantastic. Goodnight everyone!” I replaced the microphone back in the stand, pushing my notes into the pocket of my jeans amid the applause. I couldn’t believe I’d done a stand up set. It was unreal but it was totally fulfilling. I looked out into the audience and caught Sarah’s eye and as soon as she saw me she called my name loudly over the rest of the commotion.

  LA was turning out to be quite nice.

  *

  As Adam and a few other actors from the movie cast filmed a scene in the studio, lights burning down on them, cameras rolling, I hovered behind all the action eying a sticky bun calling my name on the craft services table. I debated with the bun. “I would love to eat you,” I imagined myself saying to it. “But my stomach would absolutely revolt.” I had subsisted on similar pastries in my high school days but in my advanced age they caused my bowels nothing but grief.

  The whole punch-up-the-script writer thing I found to be a breeze. The jokes were so easy. I mean, Sarah was right that we often played to the lowest common denominator with our humor on This Saturday but this movie of Adam’s was totally dick and fart jokes. Not that those jokes are necessarily unfunny, it’s just that, you know, they’re pretty simple. If a joke didn’t seem to work while they were filming, they’d toss the script at me and bark at me to make it funnier. And hey, I was pretty good at that so it wasn’t very hard work. And the paycheck… wow, it was just stupid. I loved LA.

  Being generally unneeded during the current scene’s filming, I wandered around the soundstage, checking
things out, seeing what kind of trouble I could get into. Idle hands, you know. Before too long, I found myself at one of the exits, popping the door open, looking across the lot at the very similar building across the street.

  “First time on a soundstage?” I heard a voice say behind me. I pulled the door shut, feeling startled, and turned around quickly.

  “No,” I said. “Just nosy.”

  “I’m Hank,” said the man with a smile, sticking out his hand. He looked kind of grizzled with an unkempt beard. “I’m a grip.”

  “And you have a nice grip,” I said as we shook. “I’m Tab. I’m a writer.”

  “I didn’t scare you, did I?” said Hank. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve got a big scar down one side of my face the way people look at me.”

  “Hank,” I said. “I feel the exact same way.”

  “You looking at that soundstage across the way because you know what they’re filming there?” he said portentously.

  “The moon landing?” I asked with a stupid grin.

  “I watched the moon landing on TV,” said Hank seriously. “It wasn’t filmed on a soundstage.”

  “I, um—“ I stuttered. “It was just… a joke. No, I don’t know what they’re filming across the street.”

  “That new superhero movie,” said Hank matter-of-factly. “It’s all green screens and cables over there.”

  “You’re shitting me, Hank,” I said, feeling an undeniably sense of kismet. “They’re filming Agent Force right across the street?”

  “Yep,” he said. “One of those movies that hardly even needs a set. It’s all computers.”

  “Not like the good ol’ days, eh?” I said, teasingly. But Hank didn’t crack a smile.

  “No,” he said plainly.

  “Hmm,” I mused, crossing my arms, standing there silently next to him. “Definitely not.”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” said Hank in a flat tone. He bowed his head slightly and then moseyed off, just as silently as he’d snuck up on me.

  “Doesn’t that just beat all,” I wanted to say aloud but I smartly didn’t. I mean, if they were filming Agent Force directly across the street then it stood to reason that Corinne was probably lurking around somewhere. And if Corinne was lurking around somewhere, it made sense that I could figure out a way to bump into her. And if I bumped into her, well, we could very well end up getting dinner, getting a drink, and possibly even getting hot and heavy once again. It wasn’t totally out of the question. I wasn’t delusional, was I?

  Of course, we were in Hollywood now. There were so many celebrities out here you could pave the streets with them and because of that there were paparazzi everywhere. They’d lurk just off the studio lot, waiting for a hot commodity like Corinne to stroll out, snap about a thousand pictures of her for no other reason than they could, and then try to follow her to wherever she was going. If Corinne was caught with me again, well, that probably wouldn’t be very good for all that damage control we did. It would probably undo all everything we’d done to dismantle the gossip.

  Damn it, I was delusional. I stood at that soundstage door, opened once more, looking across the street, daydreaming about Corinne inside. She was suspended from steel cables, flying through the air surrounded by green tarps, a single black streak running through her blonde hair just as Cloudburst had in the comics. She wore a tight black Agent Force uniform, so tight that her lightly muscled limbs (which would be made even more muscled in post-production) and her large chest were so apparent, it was like she was wearing nothing at all.

  I sighed dreamily and I starred and I pined. I was lost and abandoned in this dreamy reverie, hearing Corinne call my name. “Tab, Tab, Tab,” she was saying. Again, “Tab, Tab, Tab.” Then suddenly, jolted from my daze, I continued to hear my name but it was coming from a man’s voice. I felt my shoulder being grabbed and my body was being shook.

  “Tab!” I heard. I turned from where I stood and saw Adam there with me. “Tab,” he said once more. “Pull it together. We need you to take a look at this scene.”

  “Oh,” I said, frantically blinking, waking back up. “Yeah, okay, sure.” I said. I began to follow Adam back in toward the filming. But my mind was still dwelling on Corinne wearing that tight spandex superhero costume.

  *

  After another break in shooting I couldn’t help myself. My curiosity was getting the better of me and I knew I had to find away into the soundstage across the street. I began working out all my lines in my head, what I could say to get my way, how I could just “run in” to Corinne. Casually strolling across the street, straightening my shirt, trying to look like the consummate professional, I made my way up to the security guard watching over the entrance for the Agent Force filming. He was a big, boorish man with a greying goatee.

  “Can I help you?” he asked solemnly.

  “Tabitha Bloom,” I said, pointing to myself, offering him a dumb smile. “I’m a writer.”

  “You’re a writer for this movie?” he asked.

  “Well, uh, no,” I admitted. “I’m a writer for that movie,” I said, pointing now to my soundstage across the street. “But I’m just stopping over to see if the writers of this movie… needed any help!”

  “I think they’re fine,” said the guard unwavering.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But, you know, I’m really good and I’m just trying to—“

  “Ma’am,” he said. “Please move along. This is a closed set.”

  “Actually,” I began, changing tactics. “I’m supposed to have a meeting with somebody in there.”

  “Well why didn’t you say that at first?” said the guard flatly. He knew I was lying.

  “So I can go in?”

  “No,” he said. “No, you can’t. Should I call to have you removed from the lot?”

  “No,” I replied. “That wouldn’t be good.”

  “Then please move along.”

  “Hmm,” I mused. “Well, okay.” I was defeated.

  “Tab?” I heard a familiar voice say behind me. I turned quickly and saw a comic character actor friend of mine, Burt Newman. He was a rotund man with tight curly black hair and glasses. Burt had probably been in about a thousand films because he looked so quirky and he would do just about anything you asked him to do.

  “Burt?” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of New York.”

  “I’m working on this movie across the street with Adam Sperry,” I said. “And I was, uh, just trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on over here.”

  “Then come with me,” said Burt. “I’m in Agent Force, bit part of course but very exciting. I love the series.” Burt moved past me and approached the security guard with a smile on his face. “She’s with me, Michael.” He leaned in like he was about to tell as secret. “Did you know she’s the head writer for This Saturday. She’s a big deal.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the guard said to me. He opened the door for us. “Please come inside.”

  “Wow,” I mused, beginning to slink by the guard. Burt’s words really made me think.

  Burt and I walked together into the soundstage for Agent Force. The building was similar to the building we were in for Throttle Punch but the main stage was setup with a very large green screen hanging from the ceiling. I looked around, taking it all in, but really I was just looking for Corinne.

  “I’m guessing you’re looking for Corinne,” said Burt as we walked. Crew members moved past us on both sides.

  “Why would you say that?” I accused. Burt gave me a know-it-all look over top of his wire-framed glasses.

  “Tab, come on,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Do you really think anybody in this business is that dumb?” said Burt. I followed next to him as we continued through the soundstage. We past a scene that looked like a fancy office, big oak desk, a library of books. “That’s the scene I’m in,” he said, motioning
with a single hand.

  “No,” I mewed. “But I am surprised at how candid a lot of people are being about it. Wait, where are you taking me, Burt?”

  “Just keep up,” he said, walking quickly.

  “So, uh, you know what I’m up to and you’re helping me?” I said simply, feeling as though the puzzle was beginning to come together.

  “Yes,” replied Burt, giving me a smarmy, satisfied look.

  “Lead on,” I said.

  Burt and I continued walking through the soundstage until we reached another door, left wide open, that lead out into a little courtyard of trailers. I had seen something similar over at our soundstage. This was where the actors waited to shoot their scenes. The leads usually had their own trailers, while the supporting cast often had to share a trailer. The two of us stepped out into the courtyard and then Burt finally paused in his ambling.

  “Her trailer is a just a few down this line here. Her name is on the door,” said Burt. “You know, I would just love to make an appearance on This Saturday sometime next season.”

  “And we would love to have you, Burt,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. He laughed maniacally. “It must be pretty easy playing roles that are, essentially, you,” I said. “Conniving.”

  “I’ve made a good career of it,” he grinned.

  With that, Burt wandered back inside the soundstage leaving me in the restricted area for the actors. I took a deep breath, as the whole thing felt quite unreal. This was one of the largest blockbuster movies being filmed, the kind of film they announce and market a year in advance. I could most certainly get tossed out if the wrong person saw me.

  I began creeping down the line of trailers, almost tip-toeing even though, you know, that wouldn’t really matter all that much. My secretive little slink was interrupted when I heard the trailer door next to me open. Standing there in the doorway, at the top of the steps that lead from the ground up to the trailer, was Patrick Seward. Tall, bald, stately-looking. Like a regal Shakespearean king. He gazed down at me and gave me a confused look.