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โItโs always been like thisโ sighs Anya โ โshit coffee in here, gourmet shit out there. I mean you can go out there and help yourself if you like, in theory. But you better believe all those fuckers are gonna stare at you, like โwho the fuck does she think she is?โ Thereโs this invisible line and clearly weโre on this side of it. I mean sometimes I would love a nice fucking coffee yโknow? But itโs not fucking worth it, Iโve got enough shit to deal with. Besides at least this stuff is quick โ I donโt need to to stand there doing barista shit, waiting around like a fucking idiot.โ
I take a sip of my lukewarm coffee and nod attentively. Sheโs right, itโs weak and tastes more like filter paper and plastic than it does like coffee.
โYou want a top up?โ she asks, waving the nearly-empty jug.
โYeah sure, why notโ.
She empties the last of the pale brown liquid into my mug, tipping it completely upside down and shakling the dregs out.
โYou see that guy out there?โ she points the jug at the star of the production. The guy must be in his 50โs by now but heโs still looking pretty good, heโs a household name. Rogueish, bit of a silver fox, you know the guy. Obviously I canโt say his name because of the circumstances but you know him.
โYeah I see him, of course I see him, heโs the star of the showโ
โExactly! And you and I, and probably everyone else here knows heโs a grade A cunt. So how come he gets to parade around out there earning the big bucks and drinking the good coffee? Iโm not mad about my job, I like my job. I just think itโs fucking bullshit that thereโs this collossal divide between me and you, and him. Like, he canโt ever be working that much harder, or be that much more talented, to possibly deserve that much more than the average person, itโs just not realistic. Sure he might be a great actor, personally I think heโs fine, not great. But Iโm great at makeup, Iโm good with people yโknow, I can put people at ease for hours on end while Iโm doing some pretty uncomfortable shit to themโ
I snort at little at this and she narrows her eyes.
โYeah, okay, grow up you fucker. What I mean is โ who decides which jobs get paid the most. Why is a Hollywood makeup artist not paid the same as a Hollywood actor? Both skilled trades, both necessary for the production, but here I am drinking this shit and heโs probably got a fucking fancy machine in his trailer or something. Fuck it, itโs bullshitโ.
โWell yeahโ I say โcould be worse though, youโre still getting paid decent bucks to stand around talking shit and drinking coffee, maybe just donโt worry about it, read a book or something, play some games on your phone instead, just enjoy the perks of late-stage capitalismโ
Anya sighs again and stares up at the ceiling, fixing on the flourescent light fittings.
โYeah I know. Sometimes I wish I didnโt care about it, but I do though. Itโs as though somewhere, deep down, I might actually have some morals or a sense of right and wrongโ
โWeird, why would you do that?โ
โWho knows, terrible idea, never did me any goodโ
โExactly. Anyway, Iโd rather be back here with you than out thereโ
She stops, screws up her face, turns and squints at me incredulously
โWhat? Why?โ
โI donโt know, I think itโs better to be out here, unseen. I think if you spend your life constantly being watched, then how can you ever really be sure youโre not just performing for the audience? If everything about you, including your private life is in the papers, and everyone you meet is constantly comparing you to the fantasy version of you theyโve made up in their heads, or watching you for something they can report later to TMZ. Everything about your life is a performance then โ youโre a character in the world. Also, youโre a character in everyone elseโs lives, not just your own. Think about it. You and I are aware of him, everyone is aware of him. But heโs not aware of everyone. Thatโs a power imbalance, thereโs something cosmically fucking dangerous about that as a concept. I canโt explain it, but you know it as well as I do. Itโs like his whole self is dispersed among all these other people that are aware of him, and the expectations they have. Imagine how confusing that must be, what effectโโ
She raises her finger to interrupt โ โYeah maybe, but you donโt know that. Youโre assuming that he thinks about all this in the same way you do. For all you know, his internal monologue could just be โhurr durr I love being famous, I love money and fucking, burr hurr durrโโ
โYeah thatโs right, Iโm making assumptions, youโre making assumptions. Weโre all making assumptions about that guy, but heโs not making assumptions about us. Donโt you think thatโs weird? Like, the psychic energy or something of that, all that fucking awareness and attention must have an effect somehow. I think weโre all connected in some way, and being seen like that just seems like an anomaly. I mean back in the old days before the internet or the press or whatever, nobody would ever have that much attention focussed on them. Weโre not built for it.
โUh-huh but weโre not built for any of this really, I wasnโt built to drive a car that does 100 miles per hour on the freeway, you think Iโm supposed to be flying down the freeway in metal tin every day? No! Iโm probably supposed to be picking berries off of trees or some shit. But it doesnโt affect me in some spiritual way. Itโs not against god or the natural order or somethingโ
โIsnโt it? I mean, doesnโt it feel like something is a bit off with the modern world? Doesnโt all this relentless progress just feel a bit manic and fucked up?โ
โI feel a bit manic and fucked upโ
I cock my head at her impatiently.
โI know youโre joking but I also know you know what I meanโ.
Anya smiles patiently and sets her coffee down in a clean spot between the used baby wipes, brushes and dirty Q-tips.
โEither way, Iโd still rather be out there than in hereโ.
We both turn to watch. Her; perched on the edge of the table, leaning for a better view. Me; legs folded over each other uncomfortably on the slightly-too-low stool. The director calls for quiet on the set, thereโs a thick silence as the camera dollies in to focus on the star, his big speech begins.
โCan you hear anything?โ
Any turns her head, straining to pick anything out.
โFrom here, fuck all, something about how we all need to stick together maybe? My fellow Americans, looks like that kind of thingโ.
From our position in makeup it looks like sheโs right, his suit is immaculate, he looks concerned, but firm and steadfast. The look of someone attempting to acknowledge just how serious and dangerous the situation is. While at the same time reassuring us that everything is under control and thereโs nothing to worry about. The impossible paradox of politics resolved into a dependable square jaw and loosely-clenched fist.
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