Exquisite corpse by Kerry E.B. Black and C.A. Black
Conveyance of Stars
Midnight blue, it beckoned, the first car Chuck ever earned. One hundred ninety-nine dollars for a used Vega. In it, he hoped to taxi his friends, but they turned up their noses. A little, used car could not compete with Sherry’s brand new, garnet Mercedes. Chuck puttered along under a sky through which stars never shone, obscured by Hollywood’s glare.
His buddy Kurt called, desperate, in need of a ride to an audition. Every kid in LA aspired to the screen, be it big or little. Not Chuck, though. As he waited, Chuck perused a magazine, squinting at an ad for his car. Was the model in the driver’s seat Suzanne Somers of "Three’s Company" fame? The clock ticked a noisy progression as disgruntled hopefuls followed disillusioned aspirants from the back room.
"Where’s Kurt?" Andy wondered as dusk disguised smog. He’d need to feed the meter soon. He approached the gate-keeper’s desk and cleared his throat. The silicone bleach-blond shared a look of annoyance. "Any idea how long until I see my friend? He went back several hours ago."
Her dismissive wave annoyed him. He peered around the corner where film crews milled about. "You!" a man in a brown fedora pointed at Chuck. "Come over here, now."
After glances to assure the man meant him, Chuck approached. "Yes?"
The man scrutinized Chuck’s face. "You’ll do. Have your Equity card?"
Chuck snorted. "No, man, all I’ve got is a parking meter in need of a coin and a car to get that guy and me home."
The man squinted into Chuck’s eyes. "Pity." He slapped a folder of headshots on a desk. "We’re done here. Everyone go home."
Kurt glared out Chuck’s side window the entire trip home. He slammed the door without a thank you and never asked Chuck for a ride again.
However, Sherry lost her license for underage drinking the next weekend, and until she earned it back, Chuck’s Vega became the conveyance of his other budding star friends.
Midnight blue, it beckoned, the first car Chuck ever earned. One hundred ninety-nine dollars for a used Vega. In it, he hoped to taxi his friends, but they turned up their noses. A little, used car could not compete with Sherry’s brand new, garnet Mercedes. Chuck puttered along under a sky through which stars never shone, obscured by Hollywood’s glare.
His buddy Kurt called, desperate, in need of a ride to an audition. Every kid in LA aspired to the screen, be it big or little. Not Chuck, though. As he waited, Chuck perused a magazine, squinting at an ad for his car. Was the model in the driver’s seat Suzanne Somers of "Three’s Company" fame? The clock ticked a noisy progression as disgruntled hopefuls followed disillusioned aspirants from the back room.
"Where’s Kurt?" Andy wondered as dusk disguised smog. He’d need to feed the meter soon. He approached the gate-keeper’s desk and cleared his throat. The silicone bleach-blond shared a look of annoyance. "Any idea how long until I see my friend? He went back several hours ago."
Her dismissive wave annoyed him. He peered around the corner where film crews milled about. "You!" a man in a brown fedora pointed at Chuck. "Come over here, now."
After glances to assure the man meant him, Chuck approached. "Yes?"
The man scrutinized Chuck’s face. "You’ll do. Have your Equity card?"
Chuck snorted. "No, man, all I’ve got is a parking meter in need of a coin and a car to get that guy and me home."
The man squinted into Chuck’s eyes. "Pity." He slapped a folder of headshots on a desk. "We’re done here. Everyone go home."
Kurt glared out Chuck’s side window the entire trip home. He slammed the door without a thank you and never asked Chuck for a ride again.
However, Sherry lost her license for underage drinking the next weekend, and until she earned it back, Chuck’s Vega became the conveyance of his other budding star friends.
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Kerry E.B. Black points to a list of movies and television shows filmed in and around the Pittsburgh, PA, area, but C.A. Black shakes a disbelieving head. He taps the window pane crusted with ice. Pittsburgh is nothing like Los Angeles where he spent his formative years. She mentions the great local sports teams, and he counters with teams from the golden bear state for whom he cheers. She glowers, but he remains unflappable. She pouts, tosses her hands in the air, and asks why he sticks around then, since he loves LA so much. He cups her chin, kisses her pout, and touches her nose. She flips her hair and mutters, "yeah, right," so he taps her cheek until she knows and believes. Perhaps someday when their five children are grown, the couple will return to his beloved West Coast.
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