Here I am back in Hollywood with practical experience under my belt. Working with seasoned character actors this past summer has given me a newly discovered confidence. I’m beginning to get parts in little theaters around Hollywood, a good showcase for agents, producers and directors to scout for new talent. One morning, I get a call from my agent who tells me that last week, Lucille Ball sent someone to check me out in a play I’m in called Blue Denim. Apparently, she wants me to join the new repertory company she’s assembling at Desilu Studios. What a break! Just imagine. Lucille Ball wants to meet me.
On the day of my appointment, I’m more than a little nervous about meeting her as I vividly recall the Lucy of my childhood. A week never passed that I didn’t watch I love Lucy on our newly acquired television set Uncle Zack won in a poker game. I remember spending the first week just trying to figure out how people could move and talk inside that little box. Meeting a memory in the flesh is no small thing. Waiting here, my thoughts retrogress to the time when Joan Crawford, Aunt Lowee’s pet red hen, sat on Uncle Zack’s shoulder and never missed an episode of I Love Lucy. That hen was Lucille Ball’s biggest fan. I’d love to tell her about Joan Crawford but she’d think I’m stupid, that I’m making up such a crazy story.
I’m so nervous waiting here outside her dressing room for my interview, hives are starting to break out on my face. I try reading Daily Variety to calm my nerves. It’s hard to believe I’m about to meet Lucille Ball … my Lucy. Suddenly, I hear a loud, strident voice coming from her dressing room. I’ve no idea what my expectations are but this couldn’t be Lucy screaming. I’m trying hard to convince myself that no way is this shrill voice coming from the Lucy of my childhood. I’m startled to hear a rough voice scream, “Well, don’t stand there like a bump on a log. Get in here!”
Is she talking to me? She must be, there’s no one here but me. I cautiously walk into her dressing room and stare, not knowing what to say or what not to say. I didn’t ask to be here; she invited me. I begin to go back and forth with myself, thinking that surely this voice belongs to someone wearing a Lucy mask. No such luck. She cuts right to the chase, beginning her pitch in a hard voice, that if I sign the contract with Desilu, I’ll get more theatre experience. The carrot she’s dangling is the promise of putting her repertory actors in the many sitcoms she and Desi are grinding out at Desilu. This is no big turn on for me, even though she’s already hand picked and signed up quite a few actors. I’m loyal to my heroines but this one is going down fast. My trusting nature, or whatever naivety is left in me, has its heels put to the fire with this encounter. I watch her ultra red lips moving against a mop of freshly dyed fire red hair, eye lashes I could trip on, and realize she isn’t the wonderful Lucy I remember and loved.
Once reality sets in, clearly her offer will knock out future opportunities that might come my way. Fact of the matter, binding myself to a long term contract, for an iffy project that only pays scale, doesn’t make sense. She is promising the moon but does she think I just got off a banana boat? Truth is, I don’t like her. Sensing my hesitation, she begins to rant about my agent who either was, or, I suspect, still is her agent. She looks directly in my eyes and screams, “You’re so damn stupid, you don’t understand he doesn’t want you involved in our project because his commission would be shit! I know him like the back of my hand.”
I’m stunned she talks like this to someone she doesn’t even know. The Lucy I loved would never say “shit.” After this tirade, she dismisses me stating with utmost confidence, “Think about it and get back to me!” To insure her word is the last spoken, she screams, “Soon!
I leave her office fast as my legs will take me, thinking all the while that it will be a cold day in hell when I ever get back to her, as I take deep breaths of fresh air, and chew seven throat lozenges at once; I’m trying hard to overcome my devastation at losing the Lucy of my childhood. It’s hard facing the truth when a dream is shattered, the realization that someone I thought one way is quite the opposite. I call my agent from a pay phone to let him know I’d rather have my hooters shot out of cannon than sign a contract with someone I don’t trust! If I sign with Desilu, I’ll be stuck there forever. I’m startled to hear a rough voice scream, “Well, don’t stand there like a bump on a log. Get in here!”
Is she talking to me? She must be, there’s no one here but me. I cautiously walk into her dressing room and stare, not knowing what to say or what not to say. I didn’t ask to be here; she invited me. I begin to go back and forth with myself, thinking that surely this voice belongs to someone wearing a Lucy mask. No such luck. She cuts right to the chase, beginning her pitch in a hard voice, that if I sign the contract with Desilu, I’ll get more theatre experience. The carrot she’s dangling is the promise of putting her repertory actors in the many sitcoms she and Desi are grinding out at Desilu. This is no big turn on for me, even though she’s already hand picked and signed up quite a few actors. I’m loyal to my heroines but this one is going down fast. My trusting nature, or whatever naivety is left in me, has its heels put to the fire with this encounter. I watch her ultra red lips moving against a mop of freshly dyed fire red hair, eye lashes I could trip on, and realize she isn’t the wonderful Lucy I remember and loved.
Once reality sets in, clearly her offer will knock out future opportunities that might come my way. Fact of the matter, binding myself to a long term contract, for an iffy project that only pays scale, doesn’t make sense. She is promising the moon but does she think I just got off a banana boat? Truth is, I don’t like her. Sensing my hesitation, she begins to rant about my agent who either was, or, I suspect, still is her agent. She looks directly in my eyes and screams, “You’re so damn stupid, you don’t understand he doesn’t want you involved in our project because his commission would be shit! I know him like the back of my hand.”
I’m stunned she talks like this to someone she doesn’t even know. The Lucy I loved would never say “shit.” After this tirade, she dismisses me stating with utmost confidence, “Think about it and get back to me!” To insure her word is the last spoken, she screams, “Soon!
I leave her office fast as my legs will take me, thinking all the while that it will be a cold day in hell when I ever get back to her, as I take deep breaths of fresh air, and chew seven throat lozenges at once; I’m trying hard to overcome my devastation at losing the Lucy of my childhood. It’s hard facing the truth when a dream is shattered, the realization that someone I thought one way is quite the opposite. I call my agent from a pay phone to let him know I’d rather have my hooters shot out of cannon than sign a contract with someone I don’t trust! If I sign with Desilu, I’ll be stuck there forever. Lucille Ball is a great comedienne. I’ll give her that. I love Lucy ran from 1951 – 1957, one of the most watched shows on television. This afternoon, she spoke to me at length about how hard she worked getting to the top, how she saved her money from every paycheck, and how she never stopped trying to better herself. I take my hat off to her for that. I admire her grit because she’s married to someone who can’t keep his pants up. Maybe loving him made her so hard.
Once I recover from the shock of losing my childhood sweetheart, I drive straight home, crawl into bed with my clothes on, pull the covers up over my head and cry.
An excerpt from Tharon Ann