Untitled by Joel Hughes

Untitled

by Joel Hughes

I love to act. Turns out I was born for Broadway as my auntie would tell you. I'm only 21, and I've already been in three off-Broadway shows. I'm hoping to get into Hollywood eventually. Most of us young girls around here think of Hollywood as a promotion from Broadway. But I . . . that is, we don't dare tell our producers. They would kill us, or maybe just yell at us a bit louder than usual. The Devil is in Hollywood, they'd say, or Broadway is as good as it gets, or Hollywood is . . . well, you understand.

Hollywood to me is all about the "lights, camera, action." I wouldn't get caught up in its "fights, mites, and wights" as Hollywood's talked about around here. Us girls know better. Broadway's just like Hollywood when it comes to the men wearin' the pants and makin' money off us girls. We know better.

My auntie Aggeme is coming to see me next week. She's always come to the premier of my new shows, at least since I've been on Broadway. It's a long drive from Tennessee—that's where we're from, Tennessee. I told her that someday I'd be makin' enough money so that I could buy her a ticket on an airplane. There's this billboard near where auntie lives, American Airlines from Atlanta to the Kennedy, it says . I'd buy her a ticket on United. It's much better (I hear).

My boyfriend, Cassander, works at the Kennedy (Jay Ef Kay International Aero-port, they call it). He puts the peoples' bags on the planes. He likes it, I guess. I could never love anything better than acting, 'xcept my boyfriend, of course . . . least that's what I tell 'im.

I've been busier than usual gettin' ready for this new show. My producer's been tryin' to get me to talk without my accent. Sounds like you 're stupid, he says. I know he's right. There's many a reason why New Yorkers are more successful than Tennesseans; for one thing, they don't talk like they used to own slaves and plantations. They double-talk more, that's for sure, but so does everyone these days. That's what you do to get ahead. My new show's called Tinker Bell Twinkle; it's my first one on Broadway. I'm not really the star of the show. But I'll be the star before you know it . . . once I get enough experience. If you know anything about science, you'll know that millions of years ago, after the big bang, that there were millions of stars made in an instant. That's not how stars are made now. I'm glad. I think that if God has to work harder makin' 'em . . . making those stars now, then we humans should have to work harder, too. I do work hard. Harder than anyone knows. Between bussing tables and acting (which seem like the same thing sometimes) I've got no time for myself... or for Cassander. And... let me get the phone...

. .

Three days till the big night. Auntie Aggeme will be here two days from now. I'm going to change my name today. Nestra Gideoni sounds so foreign, anyhow. Do you want to know who I'll be? You'll have to wait for opening night for that. They've already printed the posters, and my new name is in tiny little letters on the bottom. I told my producer about it a month ago; you know . before the posters were printed. My producer tells me that he's glad I'm thinking more progressively. I'm excited.

Two days till the show. My manager is giving me two days off work this week. So I've got tomorrow and opening-night day away from the diner. Cassander told me that he's going to take auntie and I out for a nice dinner tomorrow. I told him that I couldn't—that I had too much to do—but he insisted. You need to eat, he said. Most of the girls around here hardly eat at all. It's healthier for actresses not to eat as much because then we look nicer. I didn't used to believe that,but I've seen what they do to fat girls around here. I'm not fat.

Auntie will be here in one hour, she said. She just called me from a payphone. She said she's in Easton, near Nazareth . . . that's at least two hours away with the evening rush hour. But I didn't tell her.

It's two-hours fifteen minutes later now, and auntie just got here. She's fixing her makeup. Cassander will be here anytime now.

There's the doorbell ....

Aren 't you gonna get anything more than a salad, Cassander asked. It was a beautiful restaurant. I ate something a little earlier, I said even though I really didn 't. We ate and talked about the weather.

I'd be leaving soon. Excuse me, I said and headed towards the water closet. That's when auntie spilled her drink. Now isn't that just like Luck? Cassander and she were then distracted. I left the restaurant.

My new boyfriend, Jegison, was waiting outside and had all of me—that is, everything of mine packed in his car. I'm sure I'll make it in Hollywood. That's where we're going—Hollywood. What about the show'? you ask. Turns out I was just part of the Audience.

{Broad is the way, still broader to Hollywood.)