Carrie Fisher - Postcards from the Edge

“Wait! I just want to play you this message,” said Suzanne.

“We’re going,” Lucy said. “We have to be there at five thirty. They’re sending a car.”

“All right, we’ll be there. Let me just play you this.” She rewound the tape. “Remember I told you about the drug clinic and all that?”

“Remember the drug clinic?” said Lucy. “No. No, were you in a drug clinic? It wasn’t something you like talked about for a while, was it?”

“Just shut up for a second,” Suzanne said. “Did I tell you about the guy… There was this guy who left, and he went out to some hotel room in the valley and literally exploded, and then he came back. Alex? Did I tell you about Alex?”

“I remember stuff about the black guy,” said Lucy. “The disc jockey from hell. And the fat one I met at that Italian restaurant that night. Who’s Alex?”

“All right, all right,” Suzanne said. “I told you about this guy. You forgot, you have too much of a life. Listen to this.” She played back Alex’s message.

“He’s a total jerk, right?” Lucy said when it ended. “I do remember hearing about him.”

“I have to say, he sounds better,” said Suzanne. “You cannot believe what this guy was like.” She held up the package. “We’ll read it in the car.”

“Who else is on the show?” Suzanne asked, as their limo headed north on the Hollywood Freeway toward Burbank.

“There’s Larry Walker, and some author, and somebody else, I don’t know who,” Lucy said. “I shouldn’t be so nervous, right? I mean, this isn’t the Carson show.”

Suzanne pulled the Rehab! script out of her bag and opened to a random page. “Sam says, ‘Did you see the new guy?’” she read, “and Joe says, ‘I think he’s still high on something.’ Sam says, ‘He says he knows Manson,’ and Joe says, ‘Shoot! It’s safer out there doing drugs than—’”

“Do I look nervous?” Lucy said. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Here’s a Katie scene,” Suzanne said, flipping through the script. “She’s sitting on a big floral sofa, and she’s yelling at somebody… She’s yelling at her father . ‘I’m afraid to tell you how I feel! Feelings are weak, and weakness isn’t allowed, is it?’ I’ve seen this! This was in that antidrug training film they kept showing us, Hooked on a Line . ‘You patronize me for having feelings. You’re so superior to your own feelings.’ He must have taken a tape recorder in with him. Is this legal?”

“Let’s not talk about this yet, okay?” Lucy said. “Let’s talk about Larry Walker and do I look okay? Is this lipstick too dark for television?”

“Let me see,” said Suzanne. “No, it’s not, but blot it down. That’s way too much gloss. The light will hit it and no one will be able to see your face.”

“I always see people with lip gloss on television, and I never like how it looks,” Lucy said. “But they’re always wearing it, so I figure maybe I should. Maybe it’s lucky.”

“The famous lucky lip gloss,” said Suzanne. “That’s brilliant.”

“I’m really glad you’re coming with me,” Lucy said. “This is real buddy work. Maybe you’ll like Larry Walker.”

“He’s an artist, and artists… This is going to sound like a generalization, but artists suffer for their craft,” said Suzanne. “That makes me very tense.”

“You might think he’s cute,” Lucy said. “Keep your mind open, unless I like him. If I like Larry Walker, then don’t keep your mind open. Close it like a clam. But there are some other people on the show, maybe somebody else’ll be cute.”

“My dream is not to meet someone on a talk show,” Suzanne said.

“What are you, above the talk show?” Lucy said. “I think talk shows are the singles bars for celebrities. Where do you think I met Andrew Keyes? I met him on a talk show in Chicago when I was promoting Hot Countries .”

“Really? I didn’t know that. I thought you met him at a party, and here I’ve been going to all these parties looking for my Andrew Keyes.”

“You’re funny, though,” Lucy said. “You’d be good on talk shows.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid I’d be good, and I’d end up the Joanne Worley of my generation.”

“I think you should forget all these ideas you have that stop you from doing things,” Lucy said. “That’s why you’re in bed all the time, because unfortunately you made that one movie where they paid you a little bit too much, and now you can afford to stay in bed.”

“I don’t see why we’re having an argument.”

“We’re not. All I’m saying is you should go on a talk show every so often. Because you’re funny.”

“What, everyone has to know I’m funny?” said Suzanne. “Or I’m not funny anymore?”

“No, you should keep it a big bad secret,” Lucy said, “so that only you and your bedclothes know. And your clicker.”

“My clicker,” said Suzanne, “thinks I’m incredibly amusing. It asked me out the other day. I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Okay,” said Lucy, lighting yet another cigarette. “So what should I talk about? Help me.”

“Well, don’t get pretentious. You know how when you get nervous you get pretentious to protect yourself?”

“Is that true?” said Lucy. “That’s weird. You’re kidding. You’ve always thought that? I feel bad now.”

“No, I don’t mean it bad,” said Suzanne. “I think it’s good pretentious. Everybody’s got their quirks. You just quote William Somerset Maugham when you’re nervous. Some people sweat.”

“Should I talk about No Survivors? I mean, it’s not coming out until November, but I can say what it was like to work with Rolf Eduard, and that it isn’t a remake of Freedom Train like everyone thinks. What else?”

“Why don’t you say the thing about singles bars for celebrities?” Suzanne suggested. “Say that’s why you’re on.”

“But can I do that without sounding slutty?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Suzanne said. “I mean, don’t flirt with the guy on the air, okay?”

“What do you think I am, a putz or something?” Lucy said. “I’m not going to flirt with him on the air. I don’t even flirt with them, I let them flirt with me .”

“Why do I feel like I’m the practical one of the two of us?” Suzanne said. “I’m like a ditz in my own life, but as soon as I’m in yours, I have something to do. Cleaning up the mess as you go.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m good for you that way,” Lucy said. “I make you feel like you’re stable, when you’re completely not.”

“This is really revealing about our relationship,” said Suzanne. “Who knew we would find out all this stuff on the way to Burbank to do a talk show? Does this thing have an audience?”

“No,” said Lucy, “which is why I’m doing it. Otherwise I’d really be sick now. But I can always do these. For Hot Countries they had me doing early-morning shows and there was no audience and I was brilliant.”

“I saw you on some of those, remember?” Suzanne said. “You were very good, very relaxed. It was like watching Hal the computer.”

“That’s when I talked about tunneling out of show business.”

“That was very funny,” said Suzanne. “Why don’t you say that?”

“I can’t do it again. That was two years ago.”

“Who saw it?” said Suzanne. “It was a morning show.”

“I can’t do it again,” Lucy repeated. “Maybe if I get stressed out I’ll make fun of my weight.”

“I know,” said Suzanne. “Tell them you’re retaining water for Whitney Houston.”