Fortune And Misfortune

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Asimov's - Fortune and Misfortune

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Lisa Goldstein: Fortune and Misfortune

First appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, May 1997.

Nominated for Best Short Story.

This is my story, but first I have to tell you about Jessie.

Jessie and I met at an audition. My agent had told me they

were looking for someone to play a contemporary high school

kid so I dressed the part–torn baggy jeans, white T-shirt, red

flannel shirt tied around my waist.

I’d been waiting for about five minutes when Jessie walked in

and gave her name to the receptionist. She wore one of those

dress-for-success costumes that make women look like

clowns–skirt and jacket of bright primary colors (hers were

red), big buttons down the front, hugely padded shoulders.

She looked at me and then down at herself and laughed and

grimaced at the same time. It was an oddly endearing

expression, the gesture of someone who knows how to poke

fun at herself.

"You’re so clever," she said. She glanced at her outfit again.

"I’ve probably blown it already."

She looked as if she wanted to talk further, but just then the

receptionist called her name. I felt annoyed–I’d been waiting

longer than she had, though I knew that that had nothing to do

with Hollywood’s pecking order. She was closeted with the

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Asimov's - Fortune and Misfortune

casting people for about ten minutes. When she came out she

looked at me, held her palms up and shrugged elaborately.

Her gesture said, clearly as words, I have no idea whether I

made it or not.

I didn’t think about her until the next cattle call, when I saw her

again. She was wearing the same clothes–I wondered if it was

the only decent outfit she owned. I was reading a magazine,

but she sat down next to me anyway.

"Did you get called back for that high school thing?" she

asked.

"No," I said.

"Neither did I. I’m Jessie."

"I’m Pam."

The receptionist called my name then. I felt a rush of pleasure

at being called first–this woman wasn’t all that far above me

after all. "Listen," she said as I stood up. "If I get called next,

wait for me and we’ll go to lunch. I don’t know too many

people in this town."

"Okay," I said.

She did get called next. I waited, and when she came out she

offered to drive us to a coffee shop in Westwood.

I had already pegged her as someone very much like myself,

just barely getting by on bit parts and commercials and

waitressing jobs. So I was surprised to see her walk up to a

white BMW and turn off the car alarm. She must have noticed

my expression, because she laughed. "Oh, it’s not mine," she

said. "I rent it for casting calls. You have to play the game,

make them think you’re worth it."

I’d heard this before, of course. In an image-conscious town

like Hollywood every little bit helps. A fancy car isn’t enough to

land you a part, though, and I wondered if she had any acting

ability to back it up.

I got in the car and she drove us to the restaurant. When we

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"Fortune and

Misfortune" by

Lisa Goldstein,

1997 by Lisa

Goldstein,

used by

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Asimov's - Fortune and Misfortune

were seated she looked directly at me and said, "So. Where

would I have seen you?"

I told her about my few commercials and the made-for-cable

movie I’d done. "I was Iras in Antony and Cleopatra at the San

Diego Shakespeare festival," I said. "I was also the

understudy for Rosalind in As You Like It, but the damned

woman refused to get sick."

She seemed a little puzzled at this. Wondering why I bothered

with Shakespeare, maybe. "What about you?" I asked.

"I had a bit part on a soap," she said. "It was a great gig, until

they killed my character off."

"I’m sorry," I said, and she laughed.

Los Angeles, they say, is where the best-looking boy and the

prettiest girl from every high school in the country end up. You

can’t sneeze in this town without infecting a former high

school beauty queen or football quarterback. Even so, I

thought this woman astonishingly beautiful. She had deep sea-

blue eyes, dark lashes, and a mass of dark hair. More than

that, though, she had some subtle arrangement of bone

structure that compelled you to look at her. She might just

make it, I thought, and felt the envy that had dogged me ever

since I had come to town. Next to her all my faults stood out in

sharp relief–I was too short, too plain, my mouth too thin. I

hate myself when I feel this petty, I struggle against it, but I

don’t seem to be able to help it.

As penance I made an effort to like her. And really, it wasn’t

that difficult. She had probably been told that she was

beautiful since before she could understand the words, but for

some reason she didn’t seem to believe it. She ridiculed

herself, her ambitions, the idea that she could make it in

Hollywood where so many others had failed.

"My parents are sure I’ll come crawling home within the year,"

she said. "You wouldn’t believe the arguments I had before I

left. Well, it’s the old story, isn’t it–young girl from the country

goes to Hollywood."

"Where are you from?"

permission of

the author

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Asimov's - Fortune and Misfortune

"A farming town in Wisconsin. You’ve never heard of it. What

about you?"

"Chicago."

"And how did your parents take it?"

"Actually, they’ve been pretty supportive," I said. "Especially

my father. He did amateur theatricals in college. He said, ‘I

think you’re good enough, but unfortunately what I think

doesn’t count for much. You have my blessing.’ And then he

laughed–he’d never said anything so old-fashioned in his life."

"That’s great." She was silent for a while, no doubt thinking

about the differences between us. "Listen, Pam," she said.

"I’m going to an audition next week. It’s another high school

student. Ask your agent about it."

"Sure," I said, surprised. I would never tell a rival about an

audition. Jessie was someone to keep, a caring, genuine

person in a town full of hypocrites. "Thanks."

"See you there," she said.

We saw each other a lot after that. We went to plays and

movies and critiqued the performances, took the white BMW

to cattle calls, made cheap dinners for each other and

shopped at outlet clothing stores. We took tap-dancing

lessons together, from a woman who looked about as old as

Hollywood itself. Jessie told me about auditions coming up

and I began to tell her if I’d heard anything, though each time

it was an effort for me.

She got called back to her soap–they wanted her to do a

dream sequence with the man who’d played her lover. We

rehearsed the scene together, with me taking the lover’s part.

It was the first time I’d seen her act. She was good, there was

no question of that, but there was something she lacked, that

spark that true geniuses have. The envious part of me

rejoiced–this woman, I thought, would not be a threat. But

there was another side of me that regretted she wasn’t better.

I liked Jessie, I wanted to see her succeed. I felt almost

protective toward her, like a mother toward a child. She was

so innocent–I didn’t want her to get hurt.

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Asimov's - Fortune and Misfortune

I was offered several parts at the Berkeley Shakespeare

Festival and began to make arrangements to go up north.

Jessie was pleased for me, but by this time she knew me well

enough to speak her mind. "There aren’t going to be any

casting directors up there, Pam," she said. "Those parts aren’t

going to lead to anything. It’s an honor, I know that, but it

might be better to stay in town, see what you can get here."

"I need to stretch myself, see what I can do," I said. And when

she seemed unconvinced I added, "It’ll look good on my

résumé."

We rehearsed together again. I had gotten the part of Emilia,

Iago’s wife, in Othello, and I had her take the other roles. As

we rehearsed I was amazed to realize that she didn’t have

any idea what the play was about, that she stumbled speaking

the old Elizabethan cadences. I had thought, naïvely I guess,

that anyone who wanted to act had had at least some

grounding in the classics.

"So this Iago guy, he wants Othello to suspect his wife

Desdemona," she said. "He’s really evil, isn’t he? Do that bit

again, the one that starts ‘Villainy, villainy, villainy . . .’ "

I did. "Hey, you’re good," she said. There was nothing but

pure pleasure in her voice. "You’re really good. I bet you’ll

make it. Don’t forget your old friends."

She had an audition the day I was to leave, so she rented the

BMW and drove me to the airport in the morning. We hugged

at the curb in front of the terminal, careful not to wish each

other good luck, smiling a little at our superstitions.

I had fun in Berkeley. I liked some of the cast, disliked others,

felt indifferent to the rest, the way it usually goes. We were

busy first with rehearsals and then with the performances

themselves, and I didn’t have time to get lonely. Every week,

though, I’d call Jessie or she’d call me and we’d exchange

news.

Finally we settled into a routine and I had time to catch my

breath. The man playing Iago told me about an audition in

San Francisco, a company that was going to do Sophocles’

Oedipus. "Almost no money, of course," he said. "But all the

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Fortune And Misfortune

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