conveyor

It is the moment that I grab Factory Worker 2’s hair net and stuff it seductively into my mouth that I realize I am running on pure adrenalin. I can’t divulge much, but suffice it to say I am on set today with sixty eyes on me, an assembly line, a conveyer belt three feet in the air that I am encouraged to hop up onto, and a command to “bust loose”. There is no stunt man, there is no spotter, there is no choreography, there is no rehearsal to my surprise. There is “ROLLING!”

Holy shit. So I go.

The things you do when thousands and thousands of dollars are resting on you. I wiggle, I strut, I twerk (I think, I think I know what that means) I do a breakdance spinny thing with a box on my head. I slap two fragile stickers onto my chest and do the rhumba with poor Factory Worker 1 and I juggle my Floor Manager’s breasts.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the client actually bend over in half with laughter.

Thank God.

In-between takes a little make up lady comes over with a tiny hand held fan and flutters around me, burring all hummingbird. It’s really damn hot, especially in full costume with big heavy boots. My safety glasses are so fogged up I can’t see my own gloved hand. The director is still laughing when he approaches me, “I love it when you used the fan belt like a tambourine.”

At one point I am on the conveyer belt on my knees doing a Flashdance head thrown back sort of thing and my director yells out, “don’t catch your hair in the conveyer belt, but keep going!” Right! And when I come to what I suspect is the end of the conveyer belt (I am backwards waving my loose hair around like a rockstar) the director yells out, “Don’t stop, someone will catch you!”

And thank God they do.

This may be the craziest funnest most dangerous profitable two hours of my entire life.

“That’s a wrap!”

Everyone rushes in to congratulate each other. The European client rushes up to me, all fresh, in white, and lovely. With an Italian accent she purrs, “oh, we LOVE you, we LOVE you, Dorothy!”

I change into my normal clothes, dripping, absolutely dripping with sweat. It’s hard to pull the shirt off my body and my hair is plastered to my skin and caught, tugging under my arm pit, it’s so long. The whole trailer wobbles like a ship as I hop to get my boots off. I am still giggling away at all of our antics. As I walk down the stairs with a sundress, wild wet ringlets and high heels, the AD greets me, surprised. He hardly recognizes me. He walks me to my car, asks me a bit about my life, tells me a little about L.A. He says, “What’s next for you?”

“Theatre. I get a lovely Liz Taylor sort of role.”

He is surprised.

“Yes, in theatre I get cast as the aging beauty queen and in film I get cast as the crazy.”

“Nice to have a range.” He says with a wink.

Indeed!

I drive off set so very pleased I’ve earned enough today to pay my mortgage this month. Relief. All in a day’s work in the entertainment industry.