studio, daily, about the ever rising height of her pedestal.At the end of June, Mike asked me to come in a little earlier than the rest of the cast and crew to discuss my unsportsmanlike behavior, as he called it.
We sat in the large conference room sipping coffee.
“Holly, what is going on with you?” said Mike.“You’re a different person when we’re taping. And not a very nice one.”
I closed my eyes and sighed.
“Listen, we are under a lot of pressure to get the fall episodes in the can.Your, uh, how shall I say it . . . sense of entitlement”—he paused and I smiled weakly—“will get less notice once we secure ratings. I believe in you and this show. We’re going to get those ratings.We just need to get there.”
I looked down at my fingernails.
“How can I help you?” Mike leaned forward. The concern in his eyes was so genuine, I wanted to spill all the beans right there on the spot. “How, Holly?”
How indeed? Even if I told him about Betty Jane, it wouldn’t do anything to adjust her attitude. I sat arms akimbo and looked out the window at the thick humidity pulsating over the Hudson.
“Okay, I have an idea,” said Mike. I turned and looked him in the eye. “Are you up for more work? I can tell Walter you might be a pain, but you’re doing your part to become more recognizable.” Inside my head, Betty Jane smiled.
“Sure,” I said. “We can do that.”
“I’ll talk to Brenda.” Even though Mike let the we pass, I knew he hadn’t missed it.
Brenda used all her contacts to find me off-hours work using Betty Jane’s voice. But Betty Jane did not go willingly into that good night, as it were. When we were on our way to the first
commercial booking, she said, “I will do this work on only one condition.”
“Condition?” I said. “We are booked for this job, and negotiations have to take place with Milton.” I didn’t bother to hide the panic in my voice. The Committee had their hands on my pulse anyway.
“Holly, dear, when will you ever learn?”
I wanted to strangle her. I wanted to scream at her, Stop pushing the envelope . I wanted to remind her that we were racing to this booking and then the next because she couldn’t play well with others.
“Holly?” Betty Jane smoothed her hair.
“Yes, Betty Jane,” I said, “what is your condition?” I sat back and waited.
“I would like a domicile improvement.”
Oh.
The Boy gasped. Sarge and Ruffles looked at each other, while the Silent One dropped to his knees to pray.
The Committee had been living in cramped quarters ever since I’d moved from my parents’ home in Palo Alto. I’d have to move for them to get a bigger house.
“Is that easy enough?” she said spitefully. The driver’s glance in the rearview mirror stalled my intended retort.
Betty Jane, of course, wanted a change of neighborhood along with a new apartment. I wouldn’t leave the EastVillage, and the other four supported me.
Two weeks after she made the request, we moved to a compromise large top-floor flat on Second Street and Avenue A with a view, more than enough space to allow the Committee’s matching apartment to include a separate room for Betty Jane, and, best of all, four closets and a storage locker in the basement for all the stuff Betty Jane made me buy.
The next three months passed in a blur of taping The Neighborhood in the mornings, running from one recording studio to another on most afternoons, reviewing scripts at night, and, on the weekends in between, the occasional social obligation. By the time The Neighborhood aired in the fall, Betty Jane’s Southern lilt was recognizable to millions.
At the studio Christmas party,Walter raised his glass in a toast and said, “Everyone, we’ve had the highest Nielsen rating each week since The Neighborhood aired. To the hottest new show on television and our Little Waitress as the voice of Violet Dupree.”
“I told you that your antics would become annoying
We sat in the large conference room sipping coffee.
“Holly, what is going on with you?” said Mike.“You’re a different person when we’re taping. And not a very nice one.”
I closed my eyes and sighed.
“Listen, we are under a lot of pressure to get the fall episodes in the can.Your, uh, how shall I say it . . . sense of entitlement”—he paused and I smiled weakly—“will get less notice once we secure ratings. I believe in you and this show. We’re going to get those ratings.We just need to get there.”
I looked down at my fingernails.
“How can I help you?” Mike leaned forward. The concern in his eyes was so genuine, I wanted to spill all the beans right there on the spot. “How, Holly?”
How indeed? Even if I told him about Betty Jane, it wouldn’t do anything to adjust her attitude. I sat arms akimbo and looked out the window at the thick humidity pulsating over the Hudson.
“Okay, I have an idea,” said Mike. I turned and looked him in the eye. “Are you up for more work? I can tell Walter you might be a pain, but you’re doing your part to become more recognizable.” Inside my head, Betty Jane smiled.
“Sure,” I said. “We can do that.”
“I’ll talk to Brenda.” Even though Mike let the we pass, I knew he hadn’t missed it.
Brenda used all her contacts to find me off-hours work using Betty Jane’s voice. But Betty Jane did not go willingly into that good night, as it were. When we were on our way to the first
commercial booking, she said, “I will do this work on only one condition.”
“Condition?” I said. “We are booked for this job, and negotiations have to take place with Milton.” I didn’t bother to hide the panic in my voice. The Committee had their hands on my pulse anyway.
“Holly, dear, when will you ever learn?”
I wanted to strangle her. I wanted to scream at her, Stop pushing the envelope . I wanted to remind her that we were racing to this booking and then the next because she couldn’t play well with others.
“Holly?” Betty Jane smoothed her hair.
“Yes, Betty Jane,” I said, “what is your condition?” I sat back and waited.
“I would like a domicile improvement.”
Oh.
The Boy gasped. Sarge and Ruffles looked at each other, while the Silent One dropped to his knees to pray.
The Committee had been living in cramped quarters ever since I’d moved from my parents’ home in Palo Alto. I’d have to move for them to get a bigger house.
“Is that easy enough?” she said spitefully. The driver’s glance in the rearview mirror stalled my intended retort.
Betty Jane, of course, wanted a change of neighborhood along with a new apartment. I wouldn’t leave the EastVillage, and the other four supported me.
Two weeks after she made the request, we moved to a compromise large top-floor flat on Second Street and Avenue A with a view, more than enough space to allow the Committee’s matching apartment to include a separate room for Betty Jane, and, best of all, four closets and a storage locker in the basement for all the stuff Betty Jane made me buy.
The next three months passed in a blur of taping The Neighborhood in the mornings, running from one recording studio to another on most afternoons, reviewing scripts at night, and, on the weekends in between, the occasional social obligation. By the time The Neighborhood aired in the fall, Betty Jane’s Southern lilt was recognizable to millions.
At the studio Christmas party,Walter raised his glass in a toast and said, “Everyone, we’ve had the highest Nielsen rating each week since The Neighborhood aired. To the hottest new show on television and our Little Waitress as the voice of Violet Dupree.”
“I told you that your antics would become annoying
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