I Hate Everyone, Except You(29)
MINNIE It’s a depilatory. It’s for people who don’t like plucking. You apply the gel to unwanted hairs and they just fall right out.
FIONA I thought it was for taming brows, like all brow gels.
MINNIE Not this stuff. Don’t tell me you . . .
INT. TELEVISION STUDIO – DAY CUT TO: Sharnay, Chetley, and Juan Carlos are still on set waiting for the action cue.
FLOOR MANAGER Minnie! We need you on set now!
Minnie runs in and takes her place.
MINNIE Well, it was nice working with you guys.
SHARNAY What happened?
MINNIE I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.
JUAN CARLOS It was . . . Sharnay.
SHARNAY (stifled excitement) I knew it! (speaking out the side of her mouth to Juan Carlos) It was good, right?
JUAN CARLOS Excellent.
CHETLEY I’m confused.
MINNIE Me too. Who is Hector?
JUAN CARLOS My twin brother.
MINNIE Yeah, right.
JUAN CARLOS I’m serious. (takes out phone and begins to scroll through photos) Look, I have a million pictures of him and me. Here we are in matching sailor suits as a kid. Here we are with mustaches. He’s a gay.
MINNIE Cute.
JUAN CARLOS Sorry, Chet. I remembered that about two years ago he told me he fooled around with some guy from a TV show. I figured it must be you.
CHETLEY Great. I’m just some guy from a TV show.
JUAN CARLOS He also told me you— (whispers in Chetley’s ear)
CHETLEY Well, that makes me feel a little better.
MINNIE I’m glad we figured this all out, ya big bunch of hose-bags.
FLOOR MANAGER We’re coming to you, Sharnay, in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .
SHARNAY OK, Angie, it’s time to come out!
CHETLEY Show us your new look!
Angie comes out from behind a curtain. She looks happy and beautiful, with her orange dress, moderate heels, sassy haircut, and perfect makeup. The camera pans to Fiona who scowls—without eyebrows.
CHETLEY, SHARNAY, MINNIE, AND JUAN CARLOS You look fabulous!
CUT TO BLACK.
END OF ACT THREE.
ACT FOUR (TAG)
Fiona sits, back to camera. Minnie is repairing Fiona’s eyebrows.
FIONA I’m sorry I used your products without permission.
MINNIE I forgive you. I’m sorry your eyebrows fell out.
FIONA Nice work on Angie today.
MINNIE Thank you. So I’m not fired?
FIONA No. Not yet.
MINNIE OK, I’m done drawing them back on. I think they look very natural.
Fiona picks up a hand-mirror. Minnie has drawn on exaggerated Joan Crawford–style brows.
FIONA Minnie!
MINNIE No more wire hangers!
FIONA Not funny!
MINNIE It was a joke! I’ll do them right this time!
CUT TO BLACK.
So, there you have it. One of my many ideas that will never come to fruition, and I’m OK with that. As I mentioned, I prefer these characters live in my head than on a television screen anyway. My head’s nice and safe. And most important of all, I’m in control of it. At least I think I am. Anyway, gotta run. PowerBall is up to 300 million bucks and I am gonna win it this time! That is, if I ever scan the damn ticket.
THE SWITCH
The second time I met Damon was the first time I felt the switch, one of those moments when someone, or perhaps something, bigger, in the cosmic sense, pulls a little lever and—click—the track you’ve been traveling on is no longer your track. The old track just disappears behind you, as irrelevant as yesterday’s train schedule. Click. You’re going somewhere else now. Click. There’s no reverse. Click. Your reality will never be the same.
This switch was different from all the previous switches in my life because I didn’t see it coming (maybe I could have, but I’m thankful not to have), and to this day I don’t know who or what flipped it, not that it matters much.
Talking to people about switches, I’ve learned we all have them but most of us can’t pinpoint the exact moment they occur. That’s because, I believe, when you see a switch in the distance, you can emotionally prepare for it; the adjustment, sometimes subtle, sometimes not, is cushioned by the emotions you’ve spread out before you as you chug steadily, relentlessly, toward it. Let me give you an example: When I was a child, my biological parents, who at one point—I assume—were enough in love to marry and create a family, “grew apart,” and in the process failed to keep secret their utter contempt for each other. I knew on some level their union would not last, but I was consumed, naturally, with sadness and fear. They divorced, and soon I was the new kid in a new school.
My track had changed. My parents changed it, obviously, but when? I can’t pinpoint the precise moment—and the moment had to be precise because one person can’t ride on two tracks simultaneously. At one point, I was a ten-year-old boy in a two-parent family. At another point, I was not. The switch occurred, but I missed it. Perhaps if I had been a little older, more attuned, less sad, less frightened, I would have felt it. But I didn’t. I had felt no switch, but I knew I was headed in a different direction.
That’s the way life happens. Most of the time.
*
“Does anyone really want to be at this party?” I wondered while chewing a cube of vaguely Swiss cheese and watching a dozen or so female editors and reporters mill around the What Not to Wear studio. The series producer, a British woman named Sarah Jane, was urging two of them to step into “the dreaded three-hundred-and-sixty-degree mirror,” one of the show’s signature gimmicks, so they could see themselves from all angles. “I’ve been in once,” she said. “I thought I might die.” The event had been arranged by the publicity department to announce that the show had been picked up for another season. Good news for the cast and crew, of course, but I didn’t really see the point. Why throw a half-assed party when a half-assed press release would suffice?