Donovan asked the Andrews, Ron and Diane, still living in their rented upper duplex apartment in Rancho Park, adjacent to Hollywood, and from where they were unwillingly remanded from ever going anywhere,
“Is everything okay here? You need anything.”.
Ron groused, “I’d like to drive.”
“That we know”
Dianne said, “I’d just like to go to the supermarket myself once in a while.”
“The public has to think it could be real.”
“What the public doesn’t know is that it is real..”
“They’d like that even more.”
It was a weekday, kids at school, and after Donovan left, Ron signaled Dianne to go out to the utility porch. It was the only place in the house, except the bathroom, where they discovered, from watching TV episodes of themselves, they were never recorded from. The show never showed the bedroom either, but they knew there was a camera there and made sure there would be nothing for the dark web from there
Out with brooms and mops, Ron said,
“We have to escape.”
“We can walk out the front door and go to the police.” Donovan was the newly formed West Hollywood Police Dept spokesman, and now their legal rep entertainment lawyer, besides being a Captain “I mean, stroll into LAPD turf. They’d have to help us.””.
“With all that Hollywood money involved?”
“We need Virginia.”
“She’s the co-producer.”
“They just use here name and reputation.”
Her rep was being a prostitute who helped capture a serial killer, becoming an actress as a
result, and now coproducing the show that was imprisoning them.
“How can you be sure she’d help us?”
“Her character”:
She held back from saying ‘She’s a whore.”, did say “You should know.”
“That was just sex.”
“I’m sure it was for her.”
“So then it was nothing. What’s to be jealous about?”
“I’m not jealous. I’m angry I didn’t do the same thing. What about the kids? That’s really why we can’t just run out the door.”
“She picks them up for school.”
“Right. So?
“She’s Donovan’s unwilling gofer.”
“You really think….?”
“Yes.”
“That she would…?”
“Yes.”
Castle Productions used Virginia Castle’s name as co producer of the TV show EYES AND EARS, but Frankie Donovan was the real producer. It was a program about a family—suspension of disbelief or reality?— whose lives were being recorded then streamed every week without their consent or knowledge. To maintain this illusion, viewers were told the family were held prisoners. This information was conveyed in much the way wrestling asks you to believe its real while you watch, and almost everyone assumed the hostages bit was fictional. However, to maintain that premise, the family couldn’t be out and about the town.
The kids were taken in a discreet van to a very private school every day, played there afterwards, and all their friends were paid child actors and extras whose families signed NDAs, and firmly taught their children what not to tell anybody .It was Virginia who picked them up, Donovan always ‘too busy’ now for it. She drove them home too, but one arranged afternoon, instead of the kids going into the house, Ron and Dianne, out on the lawn in professional gardener garb, faces protectively covered, took the shears, hoes and grasscutters, and got into the van also. Virginia drove over to the 5 Freeway and went south. They rode all the way to Mexico, then continued on to Ensenada, where they rented two rooms at the Sunset Motel.
Dianne and Ron began home schooling, Ron on Math, Dianne on English, and Virginia, the high school drop out and aspiring writer, gave Creative Writing assignments that the kids took too. Science and Foreign Language were left on hold for now, until they actually figured out what the hell they were doing.
Dianne and Virginia took a liking for each other that Ron found disturbing given his very different relationships with both of them, and that they were excluding him.
He didn’t think anything carnal was happening, because it was always Virginia visiting their room when he or the kids were there, and never (that he knew) Dianne in Virginia’s. But because of the experiences with each, it was difficult to have a conversation with either if the other was present. He ended up talking to them like people he once sort of knew and met up with after a long absence—the weather (always hot), the lessons, what to order for food delivery.
They were all wearing silly disguises—sunglasses, floppy hats on the women, a fake bushy moustache and cap on Ron. They got American TV, and EYES AND EARS was mysteriously on hiatus out of season. News reports told that the National Enquirer had reports of sightings in Barstow of Ron at a Burger King, Virginia in a Vegas casino, and Dianne teaching in Cincinnati. There was an “Elvis Syndrome” implied: They were dead, but people kept seeing them alive.
The sensationalism they could talk about. Virginia was nonchalant, maybe had seen enough of life’s surprises already. Don was unnerved to be considered a ghost, but liked the fandom. Dianne thought it was all just silly, her position closer to Virginia’s. They thought the Mexican motel staff didn’t watch TV in English, but maintained their camo concealment.
Donovan made a public plea for them to contact him.
They were running out of cash. Ron bought a throw away phone, and called Donovan..
Donovan asked, “Where are you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I’m showing Mexico.”
“It’s a big country.”
“Northern Mexico. Just come back. What do you want?”
“We have to live like normal people. Free to go out.”
“We’ll drop that part of the illusion. Maybe like other celebrities you can disguise a little. We’re all jut losing money like this”
“E-mail a contract to me stating that.”
Virginia moved into the duplex with them as Dianne’s girlfriend.
Ron protested to Dianne, “How could you do this”
“When I said I wished I’d done what you did. I was being specific.”
The show continued and they were free to move about.
Don, feeling emasculated, no longer cruised Hollywood for hookers, but couldn’t stop being a voyeur on wheels. There were still the police who noticed a vehicle continually traversing the same streets, and he was getting stopped. One night it was by Gorsky, who knew him well. She was sympathetic, even kind, and said “Get some help.”
Donovan had an idea to help him. With a video camera, Ron could become THE EYES AND EARS on the street, to augment the continuing family life show that now included Virginia in the cast.
Ron realized he was being followed. He was inadvertently getting the pics the paparazzi wanted, so they’d keep one on him, who’d feed the others information, The tracker was giving it to competitors who of course wanted the best shots for themselves, but a little cooperation was sometimes needed. That ended when the picture taking started.
Ron, aware of this with a little tech aid from Donovan, was monitoring their transmissions. He heard a heavily accented male voice, with the texture of boots scuffing gravel, gargle “East from Highland on Hollywood Boulevard. I missed the light. Can anybody pick up?”
A voice that sounded from a smooth young woman said, “I’m at Vine. If he passes, I’ll take the tag.”
Ron saw Maybelline ahead. Maybelline was a billboard She’d never done anything, but drove a gold Austin Healy, and had a billboard with a photo of herself that was forty years old, listing her first and only known name. She frequented the bar at the Renaissance Hotel and was their sole regular, being that a hotel bar is usually a venue for temporary guests.
He wouldn’t recognize her. She was still a bleached blonde but didn’t match the billboard photo from when she was a poster model for Clairol hair coloring decades ago, but he recognized her car, especially as it bumped into the back of a UPS truck parked for delivery in a curb loading zone.
Ron filmed from his car, as Maybelline got out with a bloody nose. He wanted to help her, but she screamed at the truck driver,
“Your parking lights don’t work.”
The UPS driver had fortunately been beside the truck not behind it, and said, “I’m parked and my flashers ae on.”
She litigated on the scene. “Your flasher indicated you were moving toward an emergency. and I slowed down, but you weren’t moving at all, so I ran into the back of your truck.” She summarized her case with, “It’s your fault.”
The driver examined the back of his truck, and seeing no damage, ignored her and continued taking packages off. Ron had pictures and audio of the verbal encounter and knew Maybe should be breathalyzed. A pretty pap, no doubt she with the golden larynx who’d been waiting for Ron at Vine, drove west when she saw the accident and was out of her car snapping. A dozen more pap raced down Hollywood Boulevard, parked in the middle of the street, jumped out and took pictures. of a…celebrity? Then one of the pap deliberately rear ended Ron’s car. He got out. No, it wasn’t a pap. It was Johnny Forrest, newest bad boy rocker. Johnny F said, calmly, “Look, I’m going to camera punch you. I won’t hit. Just snap your head back like you got hit. We’ll make it look real with camera angles, One grand you let me whoosh air in front of your face.!0 G if you press charges. Whaddaya say?”
““Show me the money.”
“Harry.”
Harry, a biker, materialized and pressed ten hundreds into Ron’s hand.
Johnny F said, “Now get mad. Curse me out.”
“Can’t you watch where you’re driving, you moron”
“Hey, fuck you. You watch where I’m driving.”
“You schmuck.”
Johnny whispered “Now” and swung. It was close, but didn’t make contact, and Ron pitched his head backwards, thinking, a good take.
The UPS driver, with no doubt a lot of deliveries still to make, and surmising Maybeline’s role as part of a publicity stunt, got back into his truck and drove away.
Mayabeline cried, “What about my bumper?”
Sirens were heard. They were three blocks from the Wilcox Ave police station. Ron handed her a just -wiped- a–little napkin from his Carl’s Jr. coffee. For her nose. And he said, “Best thing to do is go. They’ll arrest you for DUI.”
“Won’t leaving be hit and run?.”
“Not if the other vehicle left.”
“It was his fault.”
“Okay, stay and tell the police. I smell alcohol.””
She pondered that, then got into the Austin. But her fan belt was broken. Ron and a couple of kinder pap who got their pictures already pushed her car to the curb.
She put coins in the meter, and, if not too steadily, walked away back in the direction of the Renaissance, just as several police cars arrived. With them were tow trucks that began hooking up pap cars blocking traffic while pap who could, moved their cars. It was a contest of Can you find room tp get out, or will you get towed?
That was part of the police mission. The other was the reckless driving and assault by Johnny F. And a woman from a dress shop pointed to the Austin Healy and said “That’s Maybelline’s car.”
A rookie asked, “Who’s Maybelline.?”
A seasoned sergeant said, “She’s like the Easter Bunny. She doesn’t really exist.”
Harry whispered to Ron, “Press charge, then go somewhere and make a bruise that showed up later and call our law guy.” He put a business card into Ron’s hand.
The sergeant asked “WHAT is with that Austin?”
He’d asked no one in particular, but a chorus replied, “It was here.”
The dress shop matron insisted, “It was not. She rear ended a truck”
Somebody said, “What truck?”
Well, what truck.?
They took Ron’s report, cuffed Johnny— with many many clicks and videos—then freed Hollywood Boulevard to continue its touristy absence of any other purpose.
Donovan liked this when Ron called him. ”I’ll send a PI to watch the car until she comes back with a mechanic or tow truck.”
Maybelline walked to where she was appreciated, the Renaissance’s bar, where Shorty quipped, “You don’t need tomato juice for the Bloody Mary.” even as he lovingly set her in a booth with a cushion to lay her head back on, and provided a damp towel.
The nose bleed was not severe, and when it stopped she called sugar daddy Mel, with whom she lived. Mel was 90, and paid her billboard rent and regular tickets for overtime parking in the Renaissance’s passenger loading zone. The hotel objected to their star getting tickets, but the ticket writers were civic workers not hotel employees, and their mandate was to fill quotas by citing all violators, regardless of.
.Mel agree to meet her at her car with a fan belt and mechanic. She cried again thinking of the dent in the bumper, and Mel promised to take care of that too.
If only Maybelline knew she was close to a comebac…. a first arrival.
Donovan’s P.I. Danny, whose cover was being himself, a latter day hippie, at first just stood near Maybe’s car. After he was asked three times for spare change, asked if he sold crack, was offered crack, and propositioned by a guy who craved a spanking, he decided to sit in his car and keep the meter fed on both cars.
Until the dress shop woman told him she called the police to report a stroker or lurker. The police came before he could leave, checked him out, confirmed his fly was zipped, and pointed out the two hour parking limit even if he was feeding the meter. She from the shop protested, “He’s been here longer than that, was just loitering in the street for an hour”
The female officer asked Danny, “What was that about?”
“More like fifteen minutes.”
“I mean….”
Donovan arrived when Mel, Maybelline, the police, the dress shop clerk, the P.I.and Ron, whom he’d called back, were all on the scene, The LAPD uniforms knew who Donovan was, he was a legend in law enforcement, one of theirs’ who became a producer. Everybody in L.A. knew who he was.
The dress shop clerk’s evaluation of P.I.. Danny changed. She said “He wasn’t here so long, didn’t bother anybody”
She asked Donovan for his autograph, then asked for Ron’s. She told Donovan she was available for extra work,
Donovan told Maybe. “You’re going to be famous.”
“I’m already famous.”
“Again. More. For yourself
“What do you think I’m famous for now if not myself?”
Mel, who paid for her advertising, gently advised, “Just hear the man out.”
Donovan wanted Ron to be at the bail hearing the next day, wait outside the court for Johnny F to come out, and punch him for real.
“Does he know about this stunt?”
“He’ll find out.”
“I don’t know if I could beat him in a fight.”
“ He’d probably be more forgiving if you didn’t. but okay, I’ll get a body double stuntman to do it. But you’ll get arrested. Our defense will be, the Hollywood Boulevard fight was fake but this was a stunt that went wrong. You’ll just be charged with Malicious Mischief. some such bullshit like that, whole thing dropped.”
After the bail hearing and the bureaucratic formality of paying, only Ron and Donavan were outside.
Donovan said, “The stuntman flaked out. You have to do it.”
He’d got the 10k for last time. It was up to 20 now.
“How much if I do?”
“Thirty.”
“What if he beats the shit out of me?”
“He doesn’t know, so hit him hard.”
Ron hit Johnny with all he had, and he collapsed unconscious.
Ron screamed, crying tears. “I broke my fuckin’ hand. I’m a film editor.”
Donovan incorporated Maybelline into the family. She moved into the duplex with them. The kids loved her, and America loved her too.
While the kids grew, they stayed famous in reality TV, but in time the original show dropped ratings. The novelty of a dysfunctional family seemed to wear off, had become too much like everybody’s life, if not specifically.
Virginia ran for L.A. City Council in their district, won, then went her own way When the kids reached adulthood, Ron, Dianne and Maybe stayed in the duplex, had their memories, and all the reruns to watch, that somehow seemed better than the actual events because they left out the unpleasant details and made everything seem better than the actual events.
It was sugar daddy Mel who got the last word on Maybe and the rest of them, in an oft replayed CNN interview, when he said, “Maybelline never did anything. None of them did except Virginia, but Maybe’s a really nice person, and from what I know of Ron and Dianne, they are too. Just a couple of people who were minding their own, doing nothing but living their quiet lives of desperation.”
Patrick Breheny is an American ESL teacher and fiction writer in Bangkok and has had stories published by Running Wild Press, Straylight, Koan (imprint of Paragon), Havik (twice), and LVP Press.