Carrie Fisher - Postcards from the Edge

“That sounds reasonable,” said Suzanne, nodding.

“Don’t think you’re not going to argue with them,” her grandmother said. “You can’t spend a lot of time with somebody and not have them get on your nerves, or vice versa. If you expect to not argue, don’t have a relationship.”

“Well, I haven’t,” said Suzanne.

“Oh, you have,” her grandmother said. “You’ve had a couple. I met Jonathan, I met that fellow Albert…”

“Yeah,” said Suzanne.

“Well, what happened with those? You split up with them.”

“We didn’t get along anymore.”

“See, I don’t understand that,” said her grandmother. “This is what I don’t understand about your generation. You just stop getting along? You’ve got to work at getting along. It has to be something you care about, a priority.”

“Gran, you should put out a relationship video. There’s Doctor Ruth for sex, and then, once they’ve had the sex, you could tell people how to stay together.”

“Go ahead, make fun of me,” her grandmother said, getting up from the bed. “And don’t take this movie thing so seriously. Don’t they always say, ‘It’s only a movie’?”

“Yeah, Gran, that’s what they say.”

“Now, how do you want your eggs in the morning?”

“You don’t have to get up,” Suzanne said. “I’ve got a very early call.”

“I’m up anyway,” she said. “Your grandfather has to have his heart medicine.”

“Poached,” said Suzanne.

“All right. Good night, darling. Sweet dreams. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“You were right there when they handed out clichés, weren’t you?” said Suzanne. “Good night, Gran. I love you.”

She was calmer when she arrived on the set the next morning. The first scene was being shot in a car, which was placed on a platform with the crew and all the equipment on it, all of which would be dragged along by a pickup truck. Rita had just finished connecting Suzanne’s body mike when Simon walked by with Rocky, the first A.D., who was explaining how many extras they needed to do drive-bys in the car scene.

Suzanne followed behind them until Simon and Rocky were through. Then she said, “Excuse me, Simon. Could I talk to you?”

“Certainly, love,” he said. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” she said sternly, “is that four people, including my agent, had conversations with me yesterday concerning my low enjoyment level, and it bothered me. I would prefer to receive direction solely from you.”

Simon looked concerned, and the wind almost blew off his hat. “Really?” he said, in an affronted English tone. “That shouldn’t be. I’ll have to have a word with them. Your agent called you about this?”

“My agent,” Suzanne repeated indignantly. “As if I were a child . As if I were difficult to communicate with,” she said, rising to some inner occasion. “I mean, why don’t I give them my mother’s number! Or better yet, call my grandmother! She’s down here, she can stand by and make sure I’m relaxed!”

“That’s it!” Simon said excitedly, snapping his fingers. “This is her! This is the quality I want for your character. Right there, what you’re doing now . See?”

“But Simon,” Suzanne said, trying now not to give him the quality he wanted in her character, “this is not relaxed. This is incredibly upset. If this is the quality, then maybe—”

“Darling,” he soothed her, putting his arm around her and walking her toward the car on the platform, where the crew was waiting to do a rehearsal. “Just be yourself and you’ll be fine. I know it sounds trite, but trust me. I’ll talk to the producers and make sure that what occurred yesterday is not repeated. Now, try to calm down.” He kissed the top of her head.

Rocky came up to Simon. “They need you behind camera,” he said.

“Oh, surely, surely,” said Simon, going around to the other side of the truck. Suzanne made her way to the passenger side of the platform, where Ted helped her up into the car. Bobby Munch came in a few minutes later, and Suzanne filled him in on the entire enjoyment/relaxation saga as the platform was dragged out to a lonely stretch of desert highway where they would spend the next few hours.

When she finished her story, Bobby smiled gleefully. “Telephone call for Suzanne Vale,” he said. “Brrring! ‘Hello,’ you say. ‘Hello, sweetheart, this is your Aunt Lillian in Tucson,’” Bobby said in a high little voice. “‘Listen, honey, George Lazan called today and mentioned that you didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself. Well, now, I know that it’s harder nowadays to have fun than it was when I was a girl. You know what we used to do for enjoyment, we would go down to the swimming hole and swing in one by one from a tire tied to a rope. Anyway, seems to me that if you want to do this dang fool thing for a living, you might as well try to enjoy it while you’re at it. Well, bye-bye, dear.’”

Suzanne was as happy as she’d been in months. “Brrring!” she intoned gaily. “Hello,” she said as herself, then went on, “Suzanne, it’s me, Mary. Now, listen, girl, I been lookin’ after you since you was tiny, and I’m worried about you. This Mr. George Lazan called me, uh huh, he shore did. Says you’re not relaxin’ enough. Suzanne? What are you eatin’? I bet you’re gettin’ too much sugar and not enough proteins and things like that. You know, my Pete, what he do to enjoy himself—now, I know he’s not an actor but he has a lot of tension—often he will take a very hot bath and a cold shower right afterward, and then he’ll… Well, you can’t drink, so that might not work for you, uh-uh. All right now, honey, stay warm. Bye-bye.’”

“Brrring! Brrring!” Bobby said excitedly. “‘Hello?’ ‘Hi, Suzanne? You may not remember me, but I was in kindergarten with you. Louis Bodenfelden? We were in Mrs. Webber’s class together. I threw up scrambled eggs out of my nose one day on the way to the library. On the stairs? Anyway, this guy George Lazan called me. He thought maybe I could talk to you about relaxing in your performance. I don’t know why he called me. He said he tried to reach Mrs. Webber, but she was dead. Anyway, nice to talk to you again. I’ve enjoyed your work over the years. Good luck.’”

Suzanne noticed that Simon and Rocky and all the sound guys were laughing, and she remembered she and Bobby were body-miked. Anyone with a headset was in their audience. She tapped insistently on her window. “‘Miss Vale?’” she said in a low male voice. “‘Miss Vale! It’s your pool man, Jeff. Sorry to wake you, but this dude George somethin’ or other called and said you weren’t owning your performance. I told him you always seem pretty relaxed to me, but then you’re usually asleep when I get here. Maybe there’s too much chlorine in the pool. Well, take it easy. I say, shine the old guy on. Later.’”

It went on for hours. Between every take there were new calls from people George Lazan had contacted. Suzanne’s dry cleaner, her exercise coach, her gynecologist, an old water-skiing instructor, a camp counselor, both her parents and all of her stepparents, Jack Burroughs, and, finally, the New York critic who had once suggested that Suzanne leave show business, and who now restated his position more vehemently.

“You were wonderful all morning,” said Simon enthusiastically on the way back to the set. “Just a delight, on camera and off.”

Suzanne smiled and blushed. Her entire body ached from laughing. She had to admit she felt pretty relaxed.

A week later, on her thirtieth birthday, Suzanne sat in an unmarked police car, soaked to the skin and waiting for Simon to call, “Action!” She looked over at Bobby. “If this is any indication of how my thirties are going to go—” she began.