“Ah ah ah! Ooh la la!” They sang to us smartly. I smiled courteously at them, instead of rolling my eyes, and they waved back. I could tell, perhaps from their bad posture and bent cigarettes, that they were The Inappropriate, a trendy group of LA writers that had taken control of several major tabloids and made a lifestyle of mocking celebrities by using a passive complimentary style and calculated, performative honesty. The Inappropriate were supposedly, though secretly, interested in bringing down Big Hollywood by casually pretending to buy into it. So they sang “Ooh la la” to us as we walked by the cafe where they were seated, as an attempt to make us self-conscious for looking great. I really couldn’t figure out what behavior they expected from us as response to this strange treatment.
Last week, The Inappropriate put me on the cover of People Magazine with the headline, “He’s on the Cover of This Popular Magazine Because He’s Really Cute in Most People’s Opinion,” and what was I supposed to react to that with? Obviously, that was meant to be a huge insult, belittling my success, and belittling the importance of being good-looking. But literally, it was a compliment that I strived for. In fact, in my younger years, when I was just entering Big Hollywood, I sometimes worried about whether or not I would be told how good I looked. Could I really oppose the compliment now, just because it was delivered in such a straightforward and ironic way? Of course I couldn’t. So I autographed some copies of the magazine and hoped that my fans would see through the bullshit.
April wasn’t bothered by the taunting we received. Her success in the business was pretty new, and she was twelve years younger than I was, so she accepted any attention offered to her. She barely understood the reasons for the mood I displayed the week before, over the awkward People magazine headline.
“They called you cute, “ she had said, “and you’re cute, what’s your problem? Do you want them to call you uglier?”
So she winked at The Inappropriate and turned to kick a heel as we walked past them. One of them yelled, in a flat deep voice, “That was really hot, probably.” April flashed her gorgeous smile, gaping and genuine, but nobody took her picture. The Inappropriate were not paparazzi; for their magazines and entertainment programs, and they used stock photo, bought cell phone images from the starstruck or, if they were really desperate, just called whichever celebrity and asked them if they would send a photo of themselves through e-mail.
April and I walked into Burnt Toast, an exclusive restaurant created and owned by director Michel Gondry, and were seated immediately. The entire interior of the restaurant sat upon a revolvable platform, with the kitchen in the center and the back half completely cut off to patrons. The concept, and what made the restaurant instantly famous, was that while the front half was in service, the back half of the restaurant would be being conceived and decorated by Michel. Biweekly, the restaurant platform would be rotated, and the newly remodeled back half would become the front and be put in service, and the former front would be cut off from patrons and completely reconceived, remodeled and redecorated. In theory, it would be a completely different restaurant every two weeks, whose menu would change, whose cooks and wait staff would most likely be replaced, and whose interior would be completely different.
Michel happened to be there and, hearing of our arrival, brought menus to us in person and had a quick hello. The menu was thick, hard and translucent, and, as it stated on the back, was made of humanely gathered, powdered and pressed, higher ape toenail clippings. ‘Perfectly Sanitary, Okay?’ it assured.
“Looks like it is a donut shop this week, huh” I said.
April and I had been dating publicly for seventeen months, a record for me, and her ticket into Big Hollywood. I met her, in fact, on the set of “Time For Us”, which had not yet been released. In the movie, April played my love interest’s daughter, a minor role. But we got into a fantastic conversation one day (inspired by an unapologetically vain coworker) about the importance of modesty, and publicly declared our relationship three months later.
On the way home from Burnt Toast, we stopped at a drug store to buy mints, and picked up a pregnancy test just to tease the traditional tabloids. While standing in line at the counter, April hurriedly flipped through Star and Celebrity Digest, trying to find her own image. She found one, in an article entitled “They Weren’t Required to Look Good That Day” in which she was wearing overalls and choosing pears, or some other organic produce, and dropping them into a plastic bag. She, still excitable by this kind of proof of her celebrity, bought the magazine and looked through it in the car on the way home.
“They’re making fun of you, you know,” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” She shrugged, and the strap of her dress fell off of her shoulder.
“And not in a classic way. You don’t even look bad in that picture. They’re making fun that people still bother to take pictures of you when you’re dressed in overalls and doing something that everyone does. They’re saying that you shouldn't’ve been a celebrity that day.”
“But I was a celebrity that day. I am a celebrity every day. This is proof. And I so do look good still, so the joke is on them.” She slouched in her seat and crossed her feet on the dashboard, her dress falling around her lap, as she continued to flip through the magazine in hopes of finding another photograph of herself, or one of her celebrity friends.
“Baby, that magazine is written by The Inappropriate, and I can assure you that their readers aren’t looking through it to find fault in someone they think is perfect. They don’t think you’re perfect, that’s the point. Their readers are going to be thinking, ‘This is funny, that person thinks they’re a celebrity when they are buying grapes.’ You are not getting positive attention. You’re being sold out. You’re being treated as if you were a nobody who thinks they’re somebody. As if you’re the only one who doesn’t know you’re being faked out. Read the article to me.” April flipped back to her page.
“ ‘April Andrews, buying produce. This is a normal thing that even a celebrity can do. Can you find the clue that this is a celebrity? Lipstick and big glasses. We know that this is April Andrews because we saw her buying these overalls in Macy's one time. They were sixty dollars. Can you make sixty dollars in half of one hour, while saying predetermined things? April Andrews can, because she is soo beautiful,’ Its fine, I don’t see what you’re freaking out about.”
“You just can’t judge accurately because it’s about you. Read another and you’ll see.”
“Ugh, ‘Britney Spears is pre-,’ ”
“You know I was talking to Tom the other day and he was saying that The Inappropriate called his house and wanted to talk to him about the political situation in Mexico City. They didn’t even want his opinion, they just wanted to see if he’d heard about it yet. They just called him up, as if they were friends or something.”
“What?”
“I’m saying they’re tricky.” I stopped at a light, “Never mind, just read the Britney thing to me,”
“ ‘Britney Spear-’ ”
“Listen to the tone,”
“ ‘Britney Spears is pregnant and yet buying tampons. Is this a wonder? The wonder might be in why she is buying cardboard applicators. That probably doesn’t make a lady feel fresh. But we don’t know, we’re not Britney Spears, we don’t know what that freaky kind of fresh feels like. Maybe she is buying tampons for Reese Witherspoon, who might in fact be her lesbian pal these days.’
Its just generic rumors and gossip, Aaron, you are just so paranoid,” She let her mouth hang open, her bottom lip red and wet; freshly glossed, “It’s funny, too, since Britney told me like three days ago she might be pregnant.”
The Inappropriate were on the television the next day, interpreting viewer’s celebrity-based dreams. “Oh, Bill Murray was in your dream, Viewer? That may signify that you have insecurities about appearing to be boring, or are disapproving of your wife because she might be getting fat,“ a famous Inappropriate was saying. I watched the show in the kitchen, while halfheartedly scrambling some eggs. I was not surprised to hear my own name come up, in a dream some viewer described as ‘quite realistic’ and involving anal beads.
“A dream about Aaron Fletcher could be suggesting a number of things,” the Inappropriate said, “It may be a sign that you have been using a trademark style or behavior for so long that it no longer holds the meaning that it once did. In your dream, Viewer, did you make conscious note of the style of Aaron’s hair? If it was in his trademark bouffant-with-side-part, then the sexual overtones of your dream could imply a desire to have a sexual trademark, possibly suggesting that you would like to make a name for yourself amongst your innumerable sexual partners.”
The Inappropriate were skillfully two-faced. They simultaneously appealed to the starstruck, who in this case thought they were getting honest interpretations of their dreams, and also other Inappropriate, who understood the logic of their calculated sentences, and interpreted their words in much different, lighter, crueler ways. And on top of that they were talking directly to me, and every other celebrity they mentioned, pointing out their awareness of our supposed self-love and transparent motives in their pretentious, accepting, nonjudgmental way. Assholes. Everyone has a trademark look. That’s how people recognize other people.
I sprinkled some grated cheese onto my eggs, which I didn’t really want anymore. I wished I had gone out for a breakfast burrito. I sat down in front of the television.
“If in your dream you yourself are Aaron Fletcher, this may suggest that you are uncomfortable with the idea of appearing unkempt. Why does your appearance matter so, Viewer? Are you convinced, perhaps, that your true personality is not as desirable or likable than the one that is created by your image? Do you maybe get teeth-whitening treatments in your waking life? Or spend a lot of money on designer hairspray?” The Inappropriate’s greasy face displayed a look of exaggerated concern. I imagined her on the set of this show, leaning in to the cameras to enhance the sense of immediacy with her viewers.
“If April Andrews was in your dream in any form, it may indicate an unresolved insecurity issue in waking life. Is it possible that you feel responsible for another’s success? Or perhaps you do not feel responsible for that success, but is it that you continue to get credit for it? Is it that someone else is somehow getting credit for your success? Are you ashamed of your own success and blame it on another? Do you find your own success to be unfulfilling and by helping progress another’s success the feeling of your own success is multiplied? Are you emotionally and monetarily successful but are unsuccessful at portraying your success to others? Do others consider you a suck-ass for success? Are you a successful suck-ass but unsuccessful in other areas?
If April Andrews showed up in your dream, that is a strong indication that you have some kind of self doubt along these lines, Viewer, for sure. For more help in finding dream indicators, and for suggestions about how to resolve any of the insecurities or weaknesses that we’ve mentioned on the show today, visit us today in an internet cafe at WeLikeYouButWeAlsoLikeFlavoredCondomsdotdotdotALot.com.”
“Didn’t I just hear my name on the television?” April asked, walking into the kitchen, “I was drying my hair and couldn’t hear, what did the television say about me?”
“It said you were successful.”
I parked my car outside of my stylist Janie’s studio, and text messaged her from the parking lot; she could never hear the bell. I had an appointment with her to talk about the look I wanted to have for the premier of “Time For Us.” I mostly went to her for advice and direction in how to make subtle changes to my style. It was important, she had taught me, to change my look to follow fashion trends, but it shouldn’t be too noticeable of a change to the public. This time, though, I was considering changing my look drastically for the event, as it might draw more publicity to the movie. On the other hand, I didn’t know exactly what it was that I wanted to change.
Janie was already standing outside, smoking a cigarette and talking to some filthy rocker-type, by the time I got to the door.
“Hey Janie,” I said, and she introduced me to the rocker guy, Ray something, who was apparently her new boyfriend. We shook hands and made friendly eye contact.
“Oh, Aaron Fletcher, I’ve heard so much about you,” he said flatly.
It was an odd, or at least unnecessary, thing for him to say. Of course he’s ‘heard a lot about me.’ There isn’t an hour during the day or night that one can’t find me on cable television in some form, either in my old movies, a discontinued television series, or on entertainment news programming. Twenty-million people tuned into my televised wedding ceremony five years ago, when I married my second wife, Matilda. There was constantly a group of people at the end of my driveway, right outside my gate, hoping to catch a glimpse of April or I walking by an open window. Saying that you’ve heard about me is like saying you’ve heard about soap. I couldn’t tell if Ray’s comment was made out of ignorance, inattentiveness to recognizing inapplicable social cues, or Inappropriateness.
I wondered about Ray’s motive for being there that day. Would he have known that Janie had an appointment with me? As a stylist, Janie should have been sensitive to the needs of her high-profile clients. It was part of her job to carefully choose who she associated with, and make a point of not dating those who potentially had plans to break the stride in my, her most important client’s, career. Why would she put me in this vulnerable position? Could I even trust her anymore? Maybe she was Inappropriate herself.
“Well hey, Aaron,” she said, “I’m not going to finish this disgusting cigarette, so let’s go inside and talk about some shit.” I rethought her requirement that I call or text her when I arrive. Did it make her feel powerful that she could make me do such things? Did she show my text messages to her friends on later days? “IM HERE” is all that the messages say. Did she laugh about them with these filthy people? Between laughs, did she say, “Aaron Fletcher needs constant affirmation that he’s doing the right thing. He’s so insecure about standing in front of my door for any length of time that I’ve just told him to text me from his car and I’d be at the door by the time he got through the parking lot,” ? Was that how she turned it around? Did they really think they could play me?
The three of us walked into Janie’s studio. I sat on her leather couch, rested my right ankle on my left knee, and crossed my arms. Janie reached into her purse and handed something, some paper, to Ray, who casually said goodbye to me and left.
“Did you hear that The Inappropriate might be hosting the Academy Awards?” She asked.
“Oh, that is incredible. I won’t go if they host. Are you serious?” Janie sat across from me in a swivel chair, holding a notebook in her lap. She gathered her dark, unbrushed hair to the nape of her neck and tied it together there, using a twist tie.
“Yeah, well I don’t know, yeah. And I think it’s exciting. Really, you wouldn’t go? It’s fucking great that people like them, that they’re being taken seriously. Its unexpected.“
“But they’re awful. They discredit the value in celebrity pursuits. My life and my goals and my family are their comedic material. And they don’t even have the balls to say anything outright. They have to use subtlety and layers of sarcasm so that no one knows how to call them out for being assholes.” I thought of the Ooh la la’s from the street the day before. The Inappropriate could always claim sincerity if directly challenged.
“I don’t think they are that malicious. It’s just for play. They look at celebrity life as frivolous and trivial, and I guess they suggest that it shouldn’t be taken seriously, but at the same time, their careers rest on the success of yours, and, c’mon, they’re actually making celebrities out of themselves. And they know. It is just meant to be funny. I really can’t believe you’re so appalled by them, Aaron.” I couldn’t believe her. This Inappropriate talk was not something I wanted to be hearing from the person responsible for my public appearance.
“Plus,” she said, repositioning a green bra strap that had fallen over the edge of her shoulder, “they make fun of your fans, too, the starstruck, and even people who aren’t interested in celebrity life at all, and magazine editors and television executives. It really isn’t a personal attack, I don’t think.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Look, okay, just forget it, let’s think about your look for the premier,”
“No, you forget it,” I said, standing up, “forget the crap out of it.”
I woke up on the couch, hung-over. Without touching them, I could feel that my eyes were moist and hot, a signifier for the swollen, puffed up eyelids I always got after drinking heavily. A day for sunglasses, if I had to go out. I couldn’t remember what day it was, or what I needed to be doing. I reached for a nearby glass and pressed it against one eye, but it wasn’t cold at all, so I put it back down on the coffee table. I pulled my cell phone out of the pocket of my jacket, which I was still wearing. One forty three p.m. I rolled from the couch onto the authentic bearskin rug lying beneath it. I checked my voicemail.
“Aaron, this is Janie Walter. I am so, so sorry, I feel so responsible. Please call me back. Let me take you out or something. I don’t know. Just, call me. Please.”
I hadn’t seen or talked to Janie for weeks. I didn’t understand why she would be apologizing to me now. She probably just realized what a mistake it was to date The Inappropriate. Well, it was too late to make it up to me. If I started being lenient with people, they were very likely to take advantage of me or hurt me in some way later on.
“Jesus, Aaron, ok?. Don’t expect to see me at home anytime soon. You cannot even imagine how embarrassed I am right now. You know how important every single career move is for me. Maybe you’re established in this business, and can do whatever, but I can’t take any kind of negative publicity. My career is fragile and you are an asshole. I’m staying at my mother’s, and don’t call there. I need time to think. I seriously can’t even believe you.”
The premier. I remembered. April’s hair styling appointment took longer than she expected, so we arrived to the premier separately. I didn’t remember seeing her at all, though. What had I done to embarrass her? I guessed it had something to do with my hangover. I had probably gotten really drunk at the after party and publicly proposed to her, or called her by the wrong name, or something. I walked, with my cell phone still at my ear, into the kitchen, and poured a glass of water. There were still more messages.
“Aaron,” it said. I sat on the floor in the kitchen because I noticed that my legs felt tired and weak. “Don’t you worry about anything. Call me as soon as you get this, and we’ll work everything out,” It was my publicist. She was constantly leaving me really long messages full of unnecessary information. “You’re going to get through this. I’ve seen celebrities as big as you get through much tougher times. This was only one night. Everyone loved the movie. Don’t worry about a thing, Darling. Call me or just stop by. I’m going to be in my office all day today, preparing your statement. If you want to talk about anything...” I erased the message. Her messages were like newspaper articles; the important information, if there was any, was all in the beginning.
“Oh man you are a genius, people are going to be talking about this premier for weeks. It is really brave of you to attract that kind of attention for the sake of publicity. We should write a book about the crazy things we do for success. I’ll talk to you later, bro.” I couldn’t tell at all who that was. His voice was deep and familiar, but his tone was hyper. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to have any length of conversation with him, whoever he was.
“Hi. I’ve reached Aaron Fletcher, star of “Time For Us,” and I was just wondering if you would give me a call back, maybe. I was hoping you could tell me how and where and why to get a haircut such as yours, so I can put the information you give me in a magazine I write for. Thanks.” Oh good, I thought, my telephone number has been leaked again. I scooted over to the refrigerator and pulled out a couple of bottles of premium water.
“Aaron, this is your mother. I talked to April this morning. She called me crying and is very concerned about you. Please call me back.” Not likely to happen. ‘End of new messages.’
The kitchen television was on, though I had just noticed, and was showing a commercial for cardboard breast enhancers. I used the counter to pull myself up to a standing position, and sat again at a barstool. An Inappropriate talk show came on, and I tried to remember what food there was in the refrigerator while they discussed which two celebrities should breed, if the most important factor to consider were how beautiful the child’s feet would turn out. I ripped pieces from a baguette that was sitting on the counter, and stuffed them into my mouth. I wished someone else were around to start a pot of coffee for me.
A recognizable Inappropriate was brought out onto the talk show, introduced by another Inappropriate as having ‘stunningly brilliant fashion perception’. He was wearing a vertically striped earth-tone turtleneck under a black suit jacket, with cargo shorts, and a haircut similar to the one I gave myself a few days ago, in attempt to throw away my ‘trademark’ hairstyle. My heart felt hot and low. I could tell immediately that I was being made fun of. The Inappropriate stood at a separate part of the set than the hosts of the show, and gave a kind of monologue to the audience members:
“Aaron Fletcher is apparently a style inspiration. How much did everyone notice his new look for the premier of “Time For Us” last night? He did have a choppy sideways mohawk and femininely plucked eyebrows, which is why I am doing that today, also. My current outfit is also trying to be very Aaron-Fletcheresque. I know I am not as talented or popular as Aaron is, but I think I pull this look off just as well as he did. Is this fashion or what? I love it when a celebrity does something really cool and unique like this and I can copy them, because it makes fashion so much easier that way. I just like imitating the celebrities when they do cool things because then I look cool for doing the same thing soon after they did, and then I’m partly responsible when it becomes a trend. But I won’t take credit here, because that’s not fair. This new look of mine is definitely inspired by Aaron Fletcher, since he came up with this look and did it first.”
Weeks later, it seemed that the entire city had become Inappropriate. Men and women alike had given themselves uneven sideways mohawks, an ironic gesture meant to show that they were not fooled by the ridiculous antics that celebrities pulled to get attention. A large number of people were apparently buying tickets to see “Time For Us” multiple times in one day, just for the sake of behaving unexpectedly and humorously. An Inappropriate entertainment news program aired a feature about the success of the movie, and interviewed people who were just walking out of the theater. A teenager, a wannabe Inappropriate, had said, “I’m attracted to the movie because of its exaggerated love story. At first it seems so unbelievable, a man falling in love with a woman because her name begins with ‘R’ and the man is obsessed with things that begin with ‘R’? But then you think, well how many things do we actually do in life that don’t make any sense? And Aaron Fletcher is perfect for the role of this crazy, indecipherable, pathetic, middle-aged man. I think the movie is genius. A modern masterpiece. I’m actually going to see it again right now with a different date.”
My older movies were re-released, and included bonus materials such as footage of me crossing streets in Europe, and interviews with my first kiss, high school P.E. teacher, and second cousins. Midnight showings of my first feature film, “Stranded,” began at this time. The showings became a craze among teenagers and immature adults, who would dress up as the characters and reenact the scenes under different, celebrity-themed pretenses. They would act out the scene in which my character eats a freshly deceased human to keep from starving, for instance, as if my character were also being interviewed by several reporters for winning an Academy Award.
April notoriously dumped me, saying privately that she wasn’t going to let me “get all the attention” and soon started dating an actor as young as herself. He got a huge role in a new sitcom that April was already a part of, which successfully brought him to the forefront of Big Hollywood. The breakup between her and I was dramatized in the media, of course. But it subsided after she ironically (though I believe the irony was unintentional) donated hundreds of her eggs to private charities, publicly stating, “I am not just a selfish idiot celeb. I think everyone should have the opportunity to have a child as beautiful as I am,” though it might have been out of context. It was impossible to distinguish Inappropriate magazines from the sincere ones, if there were even any sincere magazines at all. Even the well-established, big-name gossipers were beginning to sound pretty Inappropriate. And even if there were sincere articles, they were read as if they were Inappropriate, since the public was already so accustomed to it, and expected that attitude from everything they read about celebrities. The Inappropriate were even accepting major roles in movies.
©Chelsea Martin 2007
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read Dream Date read I $ You read The Inappropriateread Introductions |