Just North of Whoville Read online

  “That’s a good thing,” he said as he gave me an actor-y hug. “I’m envious. You would get called for comedy roles. I never get called for comedy. And I’m a funny guy! You think I’m funny, right?”

  So I just walked away.

  “Aw…come on. I’m funny!”

  That night, as the rain poured down outside and my ceiling dripped inside, I went online and looked for a shrink. I pulled out my insurance card, typed in my particulars, and within seconds had a list of psychiatrists in my area. A small list. My insurance wasn’t that great.

  My best bet seemed to be Dr. Emily Prince off Fifth Avenue. First of all, she was a woman; and second, she was right off Fifth Avenue. Good address. Very posh. As long as I was going to see a shrink, I might as well feel like an upscale character in a Woody Allen film.

  Dr. Emily Prince. It had a yin-yang sort of feel. Emily: sensitive, observant, understanding. Prince: powerful, noble, enigmatic. This was the woman for me.

  I made an appointment online.

  In one fifty minute session, I just knew I would change my entire life.

  4

  Despite my initial misgivings, the moment I made an appointment with a psychiatrist, I immediately felt relief. No longer would I be all alone with my thoughts. The warm and kindly Dr. Emily Prince would be there to guide me thru the mess of my life. Within a few weeks, I would have the tools I needed to move onto a wonderful new existence.

  The world just seemed brighter. I wasn’t even particularly disturbed when I looked up from my desk one morning and saw an elf.

  “Hi, Dorrie,” Timmy squealed as if his green tights were in a bunch. Between his costume and his big head, he looked almost exactly like that misfit elf who wants to be a dentist.

  “Halloween was five days ago,” I clued him in.

  “I know. It’s Christmas now! News flash!---I just got my dream job as an elf-in-training at Macy’s! Yay! I just have to get thru this week. Hell Week. Like the marines.”

  “They let you wear that out of the store?”

  “No. This one’s mine,” he said casually, as if everyone had an elf suit hanging in their closet. “Is Deb here?”

  She wasn’t. Neither was Jamie. I’d been holding down the fort all morning without a word from either of them. This was not unusual. Jamie and Deb made their own schedules; their job performance based less on face-time in the office than how many pockets they could pick.

  On his previous visit, Deb had pointed Little Timmy in the direction of our newest “staff photographer”, Mitchell Waring. The “staff” part meant that we gave Mitchell the use of our photo sweep for sessions, led unsuspecting models into his web, and got a fifty percent cut of the deal.

  Not that Mitchell wasn’t a wonderful photographer. His book was full of beautifully shot photos---models with gorgeous hair and make-up, beautiful high-fashion clothes, and loads of style. Aspiring models were eager to shoot with the man who made everyone look so beautiful. What Deb or Jamie failed to mention was that the professional models in the book looked gorgeous before Mitchell snapped a single shot. That’s the thing about beautiful people; they have a tendency to photograph well.

  Timmy’s previous photos had been done with Natasha Sims. Her work was fairly bland and corporate, but few who walked thru the portals of ABC knew the difference. She was sweet, but normally photographed food for chain restaurant menus and magazine ads. When it came to people, she lacked that photographer’s eye. Her suggested poses were either stiff and daguerreotype or just plain ridiculous. Mostly, she just let the models do whatever they wanted to do. And in her sessions with Timmy----oh, he was just full of ideas.

  His portfolio-in-progress was an example of “Model Don’ts”.

  Page one. His headshot. Moody, dark backlighting and then this GIANT PALE HEAD coming right at you. Like you’re being mooned by a face. A face with lip gloss. WAY too much lip gloss.

  The next photo. Timmy wearing a black, skin-tight catsuit and leaning against a white wall with a blasé look on his face that was less sophisticated model and more Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

  Photo number three. Timmy in The Thinker pose. Acne not airbrushed and a look on his face that makes him look constipated and colicky. In the background, you can see the shoulder of the UPS delivery guy----but Deb convinced him that it was too good of a shot to lose.

  Number four. Timmy with enough weird Goth make-up to make him look like a cross between Ziggy Stardust and a melon. For some reason, he wanted his pet hamster in the shot. Hamster droppings clearly visible.

  And finally. Timmy gazing upwards as if he’s in an ad for an Italian designer. Hair slicked off his face, which makes his skinny neck look like it can barely support his Charlie Brown head. And worst of all, curled up in the fetal position wearing only a pair of Calvin Kline briefs. Hamster droppings clearly visible.

  But apparently it was the half-inch trim that was costing him work.

  Timmy sat quietly on the sofa, but his fidgety feet caused the bells on his pointy-toed elf shoes to jingle incessantly.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Timmy leaned in with a sing-song voice.

  Oh no. That’s always what the models said right before they asked, “Is this place legit?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just the temp,” the words just came out of my mouth before he’d even asked the question.

  “Today’s temp is tomorrow’s agent,” Timmy said hopefully.

  “No. Really. I’m not.”

  “It’ll only take a minute,” he declared as he opened a small suitcase and started pulling clothes out like Gatsby throwing designer shirts around.

  “Okay,” he said as he presented a see-thru mesh shirt, “’This one says ‘You can look but you cannot touch. No, no!’ And this one says, “Fly me to Milan and I’ll fly you to the moon!”

  He pranced around the lobby area like a runway model on too much sugar.

  “Um…” I tried to be helpful, “it’s hard to tell with the clothes still on the hangers.”

  “Okay. That’s good. Good advice. I need honestly. I CRAVE honesty.”

  With no one else around, I felt like it might be my one shot at helping one of these poor suckers. But I couldn’t be a Dream Killer. It just wasn’t in me.

  “Timmy,” I began, “what do you want out of these new photos?”

  “Well,” Timmy took the thought very seriously. “I want to get work as a print model. I know I’m not tall enough for runway. But if there’s a show where height isn’t a requirement…”

  “Okay, forget about runway for a moment. Let’s talk print. I’ve seen your photos…and all this stuff. But it seems like you’re hiding behind your clothes. You’re not showing the real you.”

  “I thought this was the real me,” Timmy sucked in his cheeks and posed as he held a cut-off t-shirt with the words “Too Sexy” in front of his elf suit.

  “Look---the Timmy I see is not some pouty, stuck-up model. He’s sweet and kind and a little silly----but fun! You’re a funny guy!”

  “Awwww…” Timmy put his hand to his chest as if he were about to cry at a wedding. “That’s so sweet of you to say!”

  I was on a roll. I made someone feel good. It’d been a while since I’d done that. So I kept going.

  “You’ve got…”

  Well, maybe I should’ve left well enough alone. But he was waiting with baited breath, so I gave it my best shot. “You’ve got character. What you need are some simple photos that show your personality. A model is a salesperson. It could be clothes or cell phones or dog food---but what they’re looking for is a personality that sells. Why do you want to hide your most marketable features? Just be yourself.”

  Timmy just stood there. An elf in the headlights.

  “Oh. My. God,” he finally spoke, in three completely separate words. “I have taken soooo many modeling classes and yet, just talking to you for a few minutes has changed my life. I’m putting myself completely in your hands.”

  “Deb’s your age
nt. I’m just the temp.”

  “You should be an agent. Will you help me? Please? Pretty please?”

  In some strange way, I guess I understood little Timmy. Nice kid. Sweet. Trusting. And I did believe in giving back.

  “Oh god,” I still sighed though. “Well…okay.”

  He flung his skinny elf arms around me and gave me a hug. “Dorrie! I adore you! Ohmygod. That should be a song.”

  And then, he began to sing his made-up tune.

  “Dorrie, I adore you…”

  Oh no. That had to stop.

  “Okay, rule number one---no singing.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just all a-tinkle!”

  “I think the word is ‘tingle’.”

  “Oh,” he said as he crossed his legs. “Now I have to use the little boys room. I drank eight glasses of water today.”

  “Down the hall and make a left.”

  Just as he was going towards the door, it opened and Jamie and Deb pushed their way thru with bags and boxes marked with the words “X-MAS” in thick black ink.

  “Well hello, my little buttercup!” Deb put on her fake smile for Timmy. But he was practically holding his pants as they did the kiss-kiss hug-hug.

  “I’m so excited! I can’t talk right now. I’ll be back,” he sped off and ran down the hall and to the left.

  “Why are the ugly ones so fucking eager?” Deb groaned as she dropped her boxes to the floor and pulled up her bra strap.

  “He’s not ugly,” I said quietly from my high horse. “He’s got character. I really think he could get work as a character model, you know?”

  “That’s a good idea, Dorrie,” Jamie said encouragingly. But I could tell that Deb was none-too-pleased with the temp having a good idea.

  “I was thinking about that just this afternoon,” Deb added. “Maybe we could sell a class on character work?”

  “Oooo---let’s talk,” Jamie said as dollar signs rolled back in her eyeballs. “Here, Dorrie,” she added as she tossed a wad of garland and Christmas lights on my desk. “Untangle these lights and let’s get started. I need this place turned into a Winter Wonderland by tomorrow. A little Christmas is good for business.”

  “Here you go,” Deb added with a bit of snark as she plopped a CD player next to my desk. “I brought some Christmas music. This will get you in the mood.”

  She even turned it on. Bitch. And there I was. In a Winter Wonderland.

  To be fair, I’d been warned about “ABC Their Eyes All Aglow”, the annual holiday promotion. “It’s a huge money-maker for us,” Jamie explained a month ago as she handed me the previous year’s brochure:

  “The holiday season is a special time of year. Not only a time to spend with loved ones, but also the biggest shopping season. More advertising is done during the holiday season than at any other time of year. The demand for quality child models is so great that our phones are often ringing off the hook! Why not improve your possibilities by showing casting directors, malls, and department stores PROOF that your child has what it takes?

  Our Children’s Division knows exactly what they’re looking for----and we can give you the photos they want to see! No more second guessing how your child looks all bundled up in this season’s winter wear! No more wondering if your child will be able to play with the latest toy AND make it look fun! No more doubting that your child can get covered in sticky candy and STILL look adorable!

  ABC You Shine will supply you with the best quality photos showing your child in a variety of standard holiday poses guaranteed to ensure marketability, personality and charm.

  Photos will be printed onto a special holiday comp card proven to get the attention of casting agents, art directors and anyone else looking for that special child this holiday season.

  As an added bonus, special holiday envelopes will be provided so you can share your child’s modeling talents with friends and family this holiday season.

  Don’t delay! ABC Their Eyes All Aglow Photo Shoot will fill up soon!”

  The day they handed me the brochure, I asked Deb what the lesson titled “Gift Opening” entailed.

  “Well, basically we teach kids the three different ways to open a present. Rip the wrapping off, peel the tape off slowly, or if it’s in a wrapped box, you just open the lid. Kids aren’t too smart. Sometimes they block their face with the lid. It’s a whole thing we do.”

  To be honest, by the time parents booked the session, did the shoot, got the photos back, chose the photos, and the comp cards came back from the printer… The holiday season was over. They could certainly use the comp cards as last-minute Christmas cards to send to family and friends. But the holiday ads were already in the can. Not that we got any calls, anyway.

  Oh god. I had to get out of this job.

  As a child, I loved Christmas. I couldn’t wait to decorate the tree, bake Christmas cookies, sing Christmas carols, and, of course, make my annual visit to Santa at Kendall’s Department Store.

  I never questioned why Santa chose to spend the holiday season every year in Milwaukee. I completely believed the signs at Kendall’s justifying Santa’s lunchtime absence with the explanation that he was “Feeding the Reindeer.” So much so that one year, while my mother was busy looking at the latest holiday sweaters, I squeezed myself between the clothes racks and snuck away. I had a secret plan. To go to the roof. That’s where the reindeer were undoubtedly parked.

  I went up the escalator until I reached the top floor of the store, which specialized in home furnishings, prescription eyeglasses, customer service and gift wrapping. I remember getting distracted playing in the hanging oriental rugs for a few minutes, before I remembered my task. I was determined to meet Rudolph. After all, reindeer were practically horses. Only they had antlers and could fly. I would show Santa how good I was with the reindeer. How well we got along. The reindeer would like me. I was sure of that. I was a nice person, and had watched the TV show about Rudolph several times. I knew all their names. If I was lucky, I might even be allowed to play their reindeer games.

  I managed to find a hidden elevator with a sign that read “Staff Only”----this was my ticket. I pushed the button and up I went to the secret ninth floor. The door opened, and there I was---with the eyes of about a dozen grown-ups all trained on me as I stepped out of the elevator. I decided to just try to blend in. Pretend like I worked there. I had just turned six, so it could happen.

  As I strolled past cubicles and office doors, I knew this was the place. I just knew it. Within seconds, I would be nose to red-nose with Rudolph. We would quickly become best friends. In fact, as leader of the team of reindeers, and Santa’s right-hand man, it was likely that Rudolph had a certain pull with Santa. Of course, not that I didn’t like Rudolph simply for who he was, but it never hurt to have a friend in high places when it came to getting a horse. After all, not every child was good enough to get a horse. But I knew I was. I felt it in my bones.

  Cindy Robinson had gotten a puppy the year before from Santa---and everyone knew that she hadn’t been that good. In fact, it created a bit of a scandal when Cindy came to school after Christmas break with pictures of her new puppy, Kibbles. After all, the memory of Cindy’s violent outburst at the Halloween party when she tore the crown off of Melinda Harmon’s head, stomped it to the ground and proclaimed herself to be the Prettiest Princess Of Them All was still fresh in our minds. How did Cindy manage to convince Santa she deserved a puppy? That was something we all wanted to know and heatedly discussed over fish sticks that day.