So, do I have a valid drivers license yet?
Heh. Nope, not yet. No license. Not at all. Not really. Come to think of it. No.
Some of you know the beginning of the story - my driver's license disappeared, along with a couple of credit cards, in February. Don't have any explanation as to how; they were just gone one day. Unluckily was a few days before I was about to embark on a relaxing vacation to Florida.
Here's a story with a lesson: if you travel ANYwhere, get an alternate form of I.D. and bring it with you! If I had been a visitor in NYC, without a passport, with money for a hotel for maybe just a few days - not uncommon- I would have been SCREWED!
Because I had a passport, I could fly. But this was Thursday. On Saturday I was supposed to pick up a rental car in Ft. Lauderdale and drive it across the State to where we were staying, near Naples. (The place where we usually stay in Ft. Lauderdale was uninhabitable due to one of those hurricanes that went through this past year. By the way my mom was there when it hit, but that's her story.)
I decided the quickest end to this was to apply for NY State drivers license. I went to drivers License Express, a well kept secret on 34th street where it typically takes less than 30 minutes to get your driver's license!
But since I was replacing a missing out of state license, first I had to get my Driving Record from Colorado.
You'd think that'd be a cinch - you know, send a FAX, get a FAX. Well, turns out the DMV folks in Colorado won't receive a FAX unless it's from a State DMV, and the DMV in NY won't send a FAX. There's also some skee-doodle about it having to be an original document. Go figure. I decide to give up and do ti when I come home. I call my mom and give her the news - like it or not, she's going to have to drive the rental car in Florida.
Enter my mom's friend's daughter's husband - I kid you not - Joe, who lives in Denver, and who I've never met. Turns out he was at home, and, incidentally, unemployed that day. At my mom's encouragement, I actually asked him to perform for me a task worse than death for any American citizen - go to the DMV.
Luckily Denver is two hours behind new York. In cell phone contact with me every 15 minutes or so, Joe drove the 45 minutes to the DMV in Denver and followed instructions I made up for him by sitting at my desk in Brooklyn, googling, FAXing and making phone calls. He sweet-talked himself to the front of the line, where he was able to pick up a FAX I had waiting for him. (I'd FAXed it to my friend Jessica in Red Hook and had her FAX it, since my machine - well, we don't have long distance service on our phone, i'm used to putting in my calling card and - it's a long story made shorter by saying it was of course freaking out that day. And so was theirs- several phone calls to the DMV and FAXes sent by jessica finally got it through on an alternate machine.)
I brought a map up on my computer and managed to get Joe to the nearest fed-Ex facility, where he called me, i gave my credit card number to the lady, and we got it in the overnight mail with 20 minutes to spare. Now my only hope was to get that in and get a license the next day.
The "original document" - nothing but a bubble-printer black and white office-fed piece of paper - arrived before 10am. (At the Mailboxes place down the street, of course - i can't get mail delivered here lest it be stolen.) I got back on the subway and went back to the Driver's License Express Place in Manhattan.
I'd been there 20 minutes - my eyes were checked, my picture was taken, the lady was sitting with my papers in her hand and they were stamped and stapled, and suddenly she said, "there's a problem."
I called the DMV in Colorado. Turns out I had to clear my record of a speeding ticket I got in Indiana in 2002. I don't remember the incident in particular, but i can entirely see myself speeding. And I can certainly see myself saying, "gee, i don't plan to be driving in INDIANA, of all places, any time soon. I don't have 125 bucks laying around today. I think I'll just ignore this." And so i did.
This "cleansing" of my driving record entailed: send a cashier's check to Indiana, then when the receipt arrives, send it to colorado, along with a request for a cleared record. i later discovered that if I requested, also, a duplicate license, it would prevent me from having to take the written and driver's test all over again in NYC. Ok, Who wants to take their road test in NYC??? Oh, and a couple more checks (that's over 200 bucks and counting...) By now we were well beyond the point where I'd have a driver's license before my trip. Mom would have to rent the car and we would deal with her anxiety about driving on criss-crossy highways - well, when we had to.
I found a bank and sent the cashier's check. I went on my trip, had a good time, I did the old switcheroo into the driver's seat when the rental car folks weren't looking, then freaked out about how if I had an accident in this car I was not officially allowed to drive my current problems would seem miniscule.) and did all that was asked of me regarding the receipt and all. Then I waited.
Apparently the cleared driver record and the license were sent April 14. (Picture yourself a tourist stranded in NYC for 6, 8 weeks. Where would you sleep? How could you afford to eat? Where would you find the bank, the post office, the FAX machine, necessary to accomplish these tasks???)
I got the Cleared Driver's Record yesterday (could have done without that), after it was apparently delivered to the wrong address, first. The license is another thing entirely, I've found out. I almost gave it up for lost, today, figuring it should have come with the other document and was probably pilfered by a mail carrier with a relative in need of a legal U.S. Document. But the nice folks in CO (who you actually CAN get on the phone, unlike NY where every line rings busy all the time) tell me it actually has to come through Washington State. Go figure. So it may take another couple weeks.
Meanwhile...
When I had the accident in January, (I had an accident in January) I got a ticket for not having registration in the car. (I suspect it was stolen when it was broken into last year and i didn't notice.)
The officer told me to send in a copy of my registration with the ticket and it would be cleared. Like a good girl, I did that the very next day.
A few weeks later a notice arrived to my mom's house which threatened all sorts of nasty things if i didn't come right down to the DMV in NYC and show them my registration right away! (What if I'd gone back to Wisconsin, as would be expected of someone with Wisconsin plates?)
So I did, just to spite them, yesterday. I stood in the wrong line for 20 minutes, then got set up in front of a judge. He cleared the ticket. But since I'd been assigned a court date and missed it (notification was sent to 514 jefferson St. in Rayne, WI - mom lives at 1514 jefferson St. in racine, WI) my driving privileges have been SUSPENDED in NY state. That means, I get pulled over for something i could be chucked in JAIL.
Unless, of course, I paid a $35 fine.
35 bucks is a lot to me these days. I just bought a house, I'm financed to my ears, and I'm paying a monologue coach so I can get an agent so I can get work as an actor. Actors are not known for their financial fruitfulness. I'm not even really exactly a working actor right now. I explained as much to the man behind the desk. He was sympathetic, saw the craziness of it, and even went back to a supervisor - or so he said- to try and get it cleared.
No dice. And so i paid the $35, with tears in my eyes. I handed my credit card to the man behind the machine.
"I have one question," I said. He was all ears.
"WHAT motivation is there, what motivation at ALL, for me to obey the law?"
He did not have an answer.
So that's my tale. i expect you'll hear from me again when i get my License to Drive!
My First Equity Gig
5-17-06
"Hello."
"Hi, Shirley?"
"Yes..."
"Shirley, this is Niki Naeve. You called me yesterday evening to offer me the role of Mrs. Linton in Wuthering heights."
"Yes, Niki. You didn't call me back."
'Well, I got your message late last night and I left you an email; then I called you this morning."
"Yes, and you had some questions?" She sounds very annoyed.
"Well, I wanted to say I'm very interested, and where can I get a script and a score to take a look at at the role?"
"Oh, we don't give those out in a workshop. No, no, you get those on the first day of rehearsal."
"It's not available electronically? Or I'm happy to pick up a copy somewhere?'
"No. No we don't give that out." She sounds like I'm the KGB hoping to get her to divulge cold war secrets. "You'll get it the first day of rehearsal."
Long pause.
"OK...I'm sorry, it's just very unusual to not be able to look at a script and score before accepting a role."
"No, that's the way it always is." (maybe with HER company. But "It" is not; that I can say with certainty.)
"Uh, well," I guess we'll get back to that. "Can you give me some details about the rehearsal schedule?"
"What's there to know, dear? It's six days a week 4 hours per day, 10-2 for three weeks. We'll let you know when you have your days off." As if I'd known that before. as if it had been posted anywhere at either audition.
And...We'll let you know? Has this woman never held a job?
well, speaking of money... "And the stipend?"
"What?"
"The stipend?"
"Oh, there's no stipend. This is a workshop" (Later I learned there is a REIMBURSEMENT in the order of 200 bucks, but I get ahead of myself.)
"And how many performances? On what dates?"
Now she's convinced I'm a cold war spy. And a communist. "It sounds like you have doubts, dear. You shouldn't get involved with the company if you have doubts...."
Now that I've joined the Actors' Union I'm filled with trepidation and hope. Trepidation, because for so many getting their equity Card seems to be the kiss of death to previously booming careers - suddenly, they are never cast in anything again. Hope, because from now on, in theory, every job I take will have a regimented and sane rehearsal schedule, minimum rest times, maximum travel miles per day, relatively clean and safe conditions, more visibility, higher quality, and better pay. And more upward mobility.
Not to mention much more civilized auditions. I'm in.
So I've been auditioning for several months now, for companies all over the map. I was considered for Irene Malloy in Hello Dolly for a company in Maine (Irene Malloy! I thought. Can it be possible I'm old enough to play Irene Malloy? oh well i'll do anything for a summer in Maine!) and also considered for the elder Andrews sister in a musical about their lives. (Note: Elder.) I auditioned for Fontine in Les Mis... aware that I am, alas, no no longer eligible for the innocent Cosette, but managed instead, I hope, to belt out a convincing downtrodden, older, heroine.
As it turned out, other choices were made, and I continued my life as a professional auditioner.
Thus it is that as I make my transition into Unionized life, it it also true that I have perhaps officially outgrown my ingenueity. Ingenueism? The role of the ingenue. Some people would be saddened; I'm relieved. I can't WAIT to play somebody with some brains, and somebody with something else to say besides, "oh, dear me! If I don't get this man to marry me I'll simply DIE!!!" Like tonight I'm performing in a reading where I get to play a nurse at a women's health clinic where protesters get violent over the issue of abortion rights. Now, THAT'S a role! Whew!
But I get ahead of myself. My first Equity gig. I showed up to the audition at the Equity office bright and early one morning. The notice read, "a musical version of Wuthering Heights." A workshop production to be held in the old Mint theater in NYC. I thought that might make nice use of my legit singing skills. An educated guess. I mean, would it be a rhythm and blues version? As I made my appointment with the monitor, a by-stander asked her a question.
"I don't know," she answered, "I've worked for this company a couple of times, and they've always been a little strange." Around nine thirty we saw an older woman, short hair died red, seeming a little lost but determined, wander about the entrance to the room. Eventually she popped in, along with a half dozen other people, of varying shapes and sizes. Then auditions began.
I sang my song, they asked me for another, I sang it, the director asked me how I knew Harry Silverstein and said he know him, too, and that was that. The monitor seemed surprised they were running on time. Always a good sign, and noted. I went home.
A few days later I got a phone call - it could only have been the older lady speaking. "Niki, I left you a message once already. We want to call you back for Wuthering Heights. Tuesday morning, 11am." I had received no previous message, but chalked it up to Verizon's stellar voicemail service. And nice to know I had no choice of audition times.
People milled about at the callback. No holding room had been arranged, (though in truth one down the hall was secured somehow for a couple hours) and they were running an hour behind when I arrived. Reading the list of characters, I figured I was a shoe in for Nellie, the maid who tells the story. I'm too old for the younger and too young for the older characters. After I sang, (and was cut off near the end of my cut,) I was surprised when they called me back into the room to read a bit of music. No, dialogue. Dialogue which looked like music, because it was printed in little poetic stanzas and in capital letters. And the character? Isabella. (A girl in her teens.) Go figure. Maybe I'm NOT too old! Ha-ha! I feel my inner ingenue humming.
"Niki and Dominick, in the room NOW!" demanded the older lady as she struggled to find us among the remaining bodies in the hallway. I knew they must be serious about Dominick, because I'd seen him reading the same scene with a few other women. They would eventually cast him as Heathcliff. (The women were generally acting horribly, I thought snarkily.) We read the scene twice for the group in the room - an interesting cast, themselves: The batty old lady - Shirley - now clearly the producer, her equally elderly husband - the composer, a middle aged, plump man with a jolly sense of irony who was giggling when we walked in the room - the director, and a thin young woman with blonde hair swinging about the piano keys - music director. Where oh where had the stage manager gone, who handled the original auditions so smoothly? Alas, she was gone, and as Isabella I put on my best, sincere imitation of a female being flattered at being proposed to. I thought I did well.
"YOU'RE ANGELINA, RIGHT???" the old lady said much too loudly as I left the room. The director was still discussing things with Dominick.
"No, I'm Niki."
"OHHHH." She looked confused, and not entirely convinced.
"Niki NAEVE." I spoke as directly into her ear as I could politely.
She looked down at her notes. "OK." She put down her pen. I felt believed. And so I left.
I actually rode the elevator down with the REAL Angelina - a heavily accented Brazilian woman with long, flowing dark hair. Understandable, I look JUST like her. (?!?) Clearly they called me in by mistake. This wan an interesting waste of time.
So imagine my surprise when a few days later I get a voice message from the same woman who called me before. "NIKI. THIS IS SHIRLEY. We WANT TO OFFER YOU THE ROLE OF...uhhh. MRS. LINTON." Mrs. Linton. Isabella's MOTHER. Character description 45-50 years old, and proper. Ah well. "You'll have one song, and -ah- sing with the CHOrus. I'M WAITING FOR YOUR CALL *TONIGHT* TO ACCEPT THE ROLE. GOODBYE."
I got the message at 11:30pm. Now, you don't call anybody over 80 back after 9 o'clock, everyone knows that, so I crawled around on the web and tried to find an email address for the company. In so doing I learned that the musical had been workshopped before, in 1999, and the reviewer, though not liking any of the composer's other works, did like this one. Encouraging. But I will not accept a role until I've seen a script and a score.
Made that mistake once. Colin sat in the back row of the worst show I have EVER had the misfortune to get involved with, his hand in his head, trying desperately to make it go, go away. The same man wrote, choreographed, directed, produced and starred in his show. Tap dancing, and this man who was a judge who wanted to be a dancer, and then he gets called up for the supreme court. Then more self-indulgent singing and dancing for the worst sort. he cast his mother, who had never acted before, as his mother in the show, and didn't rehearse her until the day before we opened.
Meanwhile I was compelled to do some of my first "serious" straight acting of my life, trying desperately to produce an honest depiction of a woman who has lost her only child. In the context of a script so absurdly bad it was like a carousel gone tilted - funny and sad and so horrible you almost had to watch it go down - this was not my best performance. Then I was called into the cast of the Music Man (who would try to fire me for my health conditions a week later, but that's another tale) and some poor, poor wretch had to take my place.
No one picked up the press packages at the door. But Colin did pick up his head every once and a while when the poor, young, inexperienced but talented and very cute dancers came out for a number.
No I do not wish a repeat performance. So I have set standards. I must see a script.
Then again, I review my cast of characters. Everyone in the room EXCEPT the producer seemed relatively competent and sane. It's not unheard of for the crazy lady to have the money, and could she also have insisted she make the phone calls? Could it be that if I accept, this experience could be a good one? The director has some decent credits. And, well, a life without risk...
"All right, I'll accept the role."
"What?"
"I'll play Mrs. Linton. Sure. Thanks. That's great."
"Are you sure? We can't have you showing up for the first rehearsal, deciding you don't like it, and walking out on us, you know! You PROMISE to do this." Well, they could go a long way toward preventing that if they'd give me a script and a score today. And what, does she think I'm 8 years old? "And it's sixteen performances. Did I mention that?" Now, is she trying to talk me out of it?
"Yes, I'm committed. I understand. Thank you. Will I be getting a call from the stage manager? Can I get an email address?" I can only hope I'll talk to someone reasonable before the first rehearsal. Maybe I can even get a script from them.
"No, you just show up for rehearsal on the 17th at 10am."
So much for standards.
Niki
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