Dramatic Pause, page 13
“Well, don’t worry, because you won’t be spending much time in here today. You have a very busy schedule,” she says, and places the schedule down on the makeup table in front of me. “But don’t worry, Mr. Flores. I’ll make sure we adhere to the union contract and take the necessary breaks, and if she needs a break to do homework, we’ll make sure that happens as well.”
“Thank you, Pam. It looks like she is in good hands.”
Pam looks at her watch and says, “Well, I’ve got to get you to wardrobe for your fitting.” I look down at the schedule and see that wardrobe is the first thing on the list, but they have two whole hours blocked out for it. How long can it actually take? “Do you want to come with us or stay here, Mr. Flores?”
“I know you have the gallery blueprint to go over, Dad. I’m fine. You stay here.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say, and Pam and I head to wardrobe.
• • •
I expect to find a sewing machine and a plump lady with a measuring tape draped around her neck, but when Pam opens the door marked WARDROBE, I feel like I’ve entered the inside of a computer. At first I think we’re in the wrong room, since I don’t see any banana costumes.
“This is Isabel,” Pam says.
“I’m Mark,” says a guy with glasses, a goatee, and a T-shirt with the symbol for NASA on it. “I’m in charge of wardrobe, and I have yours right over here.” He reaches for a small shopping bag that looks like it could barely fit a real banana, let alone a banana costume. Yet when he hands it to me, I notice the tag on it says BANANA GIRL, so it must be mine. At least Banana Girl is better than being called by a number. “You can change over there,” he says, and points to an area behind a curtain.
Then I realize that my costume must be waiting for me behind the curtain. I go to the changing area and close the curtain behind me, but I don’t see anything. Nothing. I think about going back to Mark and asking him where my costume is, but instead I shout from behind the curtain. I’m sure they’ll realize the mistake quickly and send Pam back with it. “Excuse me,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see my costume back here.”
“What?” Mark shouts back, because he’s on the other side of the room.
“My costume? I don’t see it.”
“It’s in the bag,” he says.
At first I think I didn’t hear him correctly, but what else could he have said? I take the small bag from the chair I set it on and look in it.
Green. Lime, eye-hurting green.
I put my hand into the bag and pull out something in the shape of the hood of a jacket, but it’s made of green spandex. I pull out the other two pieces, and clearly one is a pair of spandex leggings and the other is a long-sleeved spandex top, all in the exact same shade of green.
“Everything okay back there?” Pam asks from the other side of the curtain.
“Fine,” I say. “Everything is fine.” Of course, everything is not fine. It’s far from fine. I don’t care if this commercial is only going to be seen in Japan. I can’t be in it looking like I jumped into a lime-green balloon. Maybe something is wrong. “Um, why is the banana costume so green?” I ask. “Is this an unripe banana?”
“No, that’s the performance-capture bodysuit for the CGI. You put it all on, and the hood should leave an opening for your head. The banana part and everything will be done on a computer later. I have to set it up so the sensors on your suit match up with the computer sensors. Are you almost ready?”
“Just a minute,” I yell back. I have no idea what a performance-capture bodysuit is, but I have a hunch it’s not going to be a good look for me. I put on the garments as quickly as I can, but it takes a few minutes to figure out what is an armhole and what is the hood for my head. When I finish, I turn to look at myself in the mirror, but the second I see my image I scream, “Ahhh!”
“Is everything all right?” Pam asks.
“Yes,” I say. Again, I am totally lying. I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I am completely covered in green spandex, including most of my head—except for my face, which pops out like someone is pushing my head through a drinking straw. I never thought I would actually be in a position to wish that I was wearing a banana costume, but right now I would trade anything for some yellow foam. I take a deep breath and head out of the dressing room.
CHAPTER 34
Once Mark is finished connecting the sensors, I’m allowed to walk back to my dressing room. As soon as the door opens, my father sees me and breaks out in hysterical laughter. I just stand there in my spandex and wait for him to stop.
“Dad, I want to make sure you know that, as my parent and official guardian, your job is to support me.”
“Of course, mija. I love you, but you do look a little . . . funny,” he says with a sheepish grin.
“A little?” I ask. “A little funny? I look like I’m about to be sent into space.”
“But why green? You are a banana, not a plátano, right?”
“Yes, Dad. I don’t think they have plátanos in Japan.” I force myself to look in the mirror in the dressing room. He’s right. I look more like the green starchy banana-shaped fruit he grew up eating in El Salvador than I do a banana. I explain to him that all the graphics are going to be placed on me using some computer program.
Someone knocks on the door. My dad opens it and Pam says, “They’re ready for you on set. Mr. Flores, you can watch on the monitor in here.” She turns on the small TV. The bright-green set suddenly appears on the screen, and you can hear the people walking around on set. “Or you can watch on the soundstage.”
“Dad, you should wait here,” I say. “I don’t want your laughter drowning out the sound and making us go a second longer than we have to.”
“If you say so,” he says, and sits back down in the chair next to the monitor.
I follow Pam to the set, and we pass by a bunch of the crew. No one looks at me funny, so that makes me feel a little better. Still, it’s weird to show up and have the set done and the costume created. When I’m in a play, it’s all about building a community. During the rehearsals, I get to know people and make friends. Except for Pam and Mark, I don’t think I know another person’s name.
When we get to the set, I recognize Mr. Fukishima and his interpreter, Miko. I assume I’m going to be officially introduced to them, but Pam tells me to go directly to the center of the soundstage, where the green set is so brightly lit that my eyes tear and I squint for a few seconds before they adjust to the light. “Stand on your mark,” Pam says. “The blue X on the floor made with tape.” We use the same thing in the theater, so I know where to go. I stand on my mark and wait.
It’s just like the audition and the callback. Mr. Fukishima yells something and then the interpreter talks to me. First she says, “Can we hear your lines?” My one line in the commercial is, “HappyWow!” Honey faxed over a page with this line on Monday, and it took me all of one second to memorize. I say the line out loud, and every single Japanese person in the room, and there are a lot, starts laughing. Then everyone else starts laughing. They can’t be laughing at my costume, because frankly you can’t tell where my costume begins and the set ends.
Miko says, “Very, very good. You say it so funny.”
“Thank you,” I say, not sure what I should say. I can’t imagine I say it any differently from any other girl, but I got the booking, so there you go.
Mr. Fukishima yells in Japanese and then gives a countdown, again in Japanese. When he gets to the end of his countdown, the speakers in the studio crackle and then, streaming out of them, I hear:
“Tang. Tang. Happy. Clang. Clang. Wow. Tang. Clang. Happy wow. Happy wow. HappyWOW! Tang. Taaaang.”
It’s the same “music” from the audition. I thought I had erased it from my memory forever, but once I hear it again, I know it will be with me forever, like some type of audio tattoo.
For the rest of the day Mr. Fukishima screams, Miko translates, and then I perform every possible ridiculous pose, dance, and gesture there is in the world, all the while telling myself that it’ll all be worth it when I’m at the academy next year. All the other fruits are sitting on magic “wheelbarrows” (the interpreter couldn’t think of the proper word, so they’re not really wheelbarrows, they’re like enormous mushrooms with an escape hatch and wheels, but close enough) and I dance around visiting them. None of the other kids playing the other fruits are actually there, because they plan to shoot them later and use the computer to splice it all together. The computer can only handle one live performer at a time. At each magic “wheelbarrow” I say my line and then do a different happy dance that also, of course, contains pride.
• • •
Six hours later I feel like I have heard the HappyWow jingle at least six thousand times. It is burned into my brain. I know I won’t be able to erase it from my memory, because I begin to feel like the jingle is my memory, like someone has taken out my brain and implanted a chip that plays it on a loop. Even when Mr. Fukishima yells, “Cut!” one of the only three English words he seems to know, the other two being “coffee” and, of course, “banana,” I still hear the “music” in my head. I wonder if I’ll have to take some type of medication to have it removed.
Mr. Fukishima insists we do one last take. I’m at that point in the day where I am just acting silly, so on the last take I let go and act like a complete and total moron. I talk to the other fruits and make silly faces. I mug at the camera and smile and stick out my tongue at one point.
I had always hoped to visit Japan one day, but as the day finally finishes and Mr. Fukishima yells, “Wrap it!” followed by the interpreter saying, “I think he means, ‘that’s a wrap,’” I realize that I will never be able to set foot in that country for the next fifty years.
My dad helps me carry my stuff to the town car, which is waiting to drive us home, and even though I am so tired I can barely think, a wide smile moves across my face and a feeling of contentment settles in. I did it. I booked the spot that will pay for the academy, and no one in this country will ever see it.
CHAPTER 35
Two weeks later my life is perfect.
Perfect.
My parents have made arrangements with the academy to have the remainder of my tuition paid in installments. With the money from my commercial booking and the scholarship, we’ll be able to afford it. I have officially enrolled for the next grading period, which starts after winter break, and told my current school that I’ll be leaving. I’ve even made up my schedule for next semester. I’ll be taking classes like Scene Study and a class in Stage Combat, something I’ve always wanted to do.
To add to the perfection that is my life, I’m waiting outside the theater for my final rehearsal with Preston before the benefit. I wanted to share all my good news with him about actually being able to attend the academy, but I can’t, of course, because he never knew there was a chance I wouldn’t be going. I guess I could tell him now, but that would mean telling him about the commercial, and that I can never do. I can’t begin to imagine that the son of Patricia Banner would have anything to do with the dancing banana of the HappyWow commercial. Luckily, I don’t expect the Banners to be traveling to Japan anytime soon, so HappyWow is all behind me—except for the checks that will be coming in and the very annoying fact that I still can’t get the stupid jingle out of my head.
I’ll be walking down the street or eating lunch at school and out of nowhere in the back of my mind I’ll hear: “Tang. Tang. Happy. Clang. Clang. Wow.” It sounds like chipmunks singing a Celine Dion song backward. You would think something so awful would leave my brain immediately, but instead it has lingered like a piece of tape on a cat’s paw. I can’t shake it.
“Are you ready for our final rehearsal before the big show?” Preston asks as he walks toward me outside the backstage door.
“Completely. I can’t believe the benefit is next week,” I say, and he reaches behind me and presses the button to let Gladys know we’re downstairs.
“And don’t forget,” Preston says as the door buzzes and he opens it for me. “You’re coming over tomorrow to watch the Seggerman Awards. My mum had the TV cable installed this weekend, and she bought a brand-new huge flat-screen TV last week, so it will feel like we’re there live except for the stupid commercials.”
I laugh the kind of laugh the guilty party laughs in a crime drama when someone suggests they might have committed the crime. “Yeah,” I say, “those stupid commercials.”
We climb the stairs to the greenroom, and as usual Gladys is sitting there, watching her little TV with the volume turned up as loud as it can go. “Hey, kids,” she says, “he’s almost ready for you. I’ll buzz him and let him know you’re here.”
Then my mind starts playing tricks on me.
“Tang. Tang. Happy. Clang. Clang. Wow.”
I’m hearing the HappyWow jingle in my head. I must really be losing it.
But then there’s something a little different about the way it usually plays in my head. First, it’s really loud, and second, it’s a little staticky. Then I realize that it’s not coming from inside my head. It’s coming from Gladys’s TV!
HappyWow is actually playing on her little TV, and I’m pretty sure her ten-inch TV doesn’t pick up stations from Tokyo.
“Ahhh!” I scream. I actually scream out loud. It’s not a quiet little I forgot to feed my goldfish gasp. It’s an all-out scream.
“Are you all right?” Preston asks, and turns toward me. This gives me a split second to catch a glimpse of Gladys’s TV, and sure enough, I see an extreme close-up of my face surrounded by computer-generated banana.
“What’s wrong?” Gladys asks, turning away from the TV to look at me. My little screaming trick has worked. I just wanted to keep Preston away from the TV and Gladys’s eyes off the screen for thirty seconds.
“Yes,” I say. “I just . . . uh . . . I stubbed my toe really bad. Ahhh!” I scream again, only this time louder. They must think I’m possessed. I figure I have about ten seconds until the next commercial comes on and then I’ll be safe, unless they’re planning to do a HappyWow double feature.
Preston gives me quizzical look. “How did you stub your toe standing still?” he asks.
“Oh, well, that’s the worst kind,” I say. I never thought I would be grateful to Fruity Pops, but when I hear the cereal commercial on the TV, I know mine is over and the coast is clear. “Look, I’m going to take care of my toe. You head into rehearsal. I’ll meet you there.”
Preston looks a little confused, but he heads out of the greenroom and down to the rehearsal studio. As soon as he’s gone, I take out my cell phone and dial a number I thought I would never have to use again. After a few rings no one picks up, and it goes to voice mail, so I leave a message. “Hi, Honey. It’s Isabel. Look, I’m having a little bit of an emergency. Can you call me as soon as you can? I have a few questions about the HappyWow commercial. Thanks.”
I hang up and head to rehearsal, still in shock over the fact that HappyWow might be here in this country. The only thing I can think is wow, and boy, am I not happy.
CHAPTER 36
“But Isabel, baby, this is good news. Do you realize you’re going to be famous not only in Asia but around the entire world?”
Honey says this like I have just won the lottery.
“Honey, this was only supposed to air in Japan. Small island, lots of people. Great sushi. You know, JAPAN!” I yell into the phone.
“I know, but that’s how it works. You sign the contract, and you don’t get to decide where it shows up. It happens. They loved the spot, and they decided to launch in the US and UK immediately. They’re making a major push, sponsoring everything from sporting events to art programs. They’re running print ads in all the major magazines and even making billboards!”
“Well, that’s just great,” I say as sarcastically as possible, but Honey doesn’t pick up on my lack of enthusiasm.
“See, that’s the idea, doll,” she says, and hangs up.
I turn off my cell phone and sit on my bed. Yesterday everything was perfect. A mere twenty-four hours later and everything is miserable.
“Are you ready to go?” my dad says as he knocks on my door.
“Almost, Dad,” I say. “Come in.”
As soon as he sees me sitting on the bed in my favorite black dress, he can tell something is wrong.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“Yeah. I mean . . . physically, I feel fine, it’s just that . . .” I haven’t told them that I’m about to become the laughingstock of the globe as a dancing banana.
“Well, you know that commercial I shot?”
My dad shakes his head. “Ay. I can’t get that jingle out of my head. They were playing it through the monitor in your dressing room all day. Ting. Ting. Lang . . .”
“Please, stop,” I say, holding up my hand. “I don’t want to hear another note.”
“What’s going on?” he asks, sitting down on the bed next to me.
“Remember how when we left the studio, we thought we would never have to hear that song again?”
“Yes,” he says. His eyebrows are furrowed in that concerned dad way.
“Well, let’s just say that never isn’t very far away.” I explain to my dad how the makers of HappyWow liked the commercial so much that they decided to launch the product around the world, including the good old USA, and that means that I will soon be appearing as a banana on TV, magazines, and billboards all over the country. “Dad,” I say quietly, “how can I be respected as an actor when the whole country will see me dancing around like a computer-generated idiot?”
“Mija, there are a lot of girls who would love to be in such a commercial.”
“But the whole reason I even auditioned for the commercial was to earn enough money to pay for school.”
“And you did that. Your mom and I are very proud of you. Do you know what the first painting I ever sold was?”
