Career change
Heather M. Pund 12/4/02
Another long night. Jerry had one huge, throbbing headache. He popped two aspirin and plunked down on the couch. That last job had been awful! He couldn't remember when he'd been called on to say such useless, prattling dialogue, or wear such outlandish clothing! He'd have to call his agent and get some kind of new contract worked out. This was really getting out of hand.
It really hadn't been that bad in the beginning. Really, honestly, the first few roles he'd been conscripted to play had been fun. They had forced him to stretch as an actor, and each of the leading ladies he'd played against had seemed to add different, unique facets to the characters they were playing. Sure, the plot got old every now and again. The "writers" never did have too much imagination. But in the beginning, he could almost have believed that he'd actually reached his audience.
But now? Same old story. Evil, mad tyrant. Young innocent girl. Enough sexual tension to let the nerves tingle a bit, but that was all. And honestly, he was relieved. Anything else at his age would have been positively indecent. And he was so tired. Why on earth couldn't the young ladies who came into the leading role have a BIT more spark? Why couldn't he play something OTHER than the tyrant? He was beginning to think he'd been typecast. A death to acting. A stagnation. A simple end to what had seemed like an endless, promising career.
Sign up; the contract seemed clear enough. He was required to play the leading man opposite a string of leading ladies. The ladies themselves would set the tempo of the play, giving an overview of the rules. It was his job to play the role given to him. And, at first, he'd relished it. If only the young ladies hadn't been so boring! Every one of them the same, too. Some magic kingdom! Some Faustian pact! Eternal life and youth for this! To endlessly play "Goblin King" for some pimply pre- adolescent girl. Or worse, post-adolescent! Every single one of them wanted to be scared. Every one of them wanted to quake in fear at the sight of him. Or kiss him. And every single time he had to explain to them that THEY were the ones who were to set the rules of the "game".
Jerry took a long sip of the beer at his elbow. He was too old for this. The last one had been horrifying. Some lanky, awkward 15-year-old, who'd set the tone for some kind of Victorian nightmare. He'd had to wear tights. Tights! At his age! Indecent! If that weren't bad enough, this little jaunt had required him to kid nap a drooling, screaming, stinky baby. Not that Jerry didn't like children normally. He did. He just didn't have the facilities for day care. And the insurance! But the contract was clear. So he'd pulled on the tights, the ridiculous 80's Glam rocker wig, and pranced about for this latest "Sarah". It was ALWAYS a "Sarah". Never a "Jenny" or "Susan" or even "Violet". No. "Sarah." He was as sick of the name as he was of the plot.
Finally, finally, the dim "lady" had figured out his screamingly simple labyrinth (the design having been long ago copied from the back of a "Froot- loops" box) and had obtained the damp, swampy baby. Reveling in her newfound "adulthood" she had taken herself off to have a make-believe party in her bedroom with her collection of neon teddy bears. Really, this was too much. It was nice being able to turn oneself into an owl, and it was nice having material control over the space of the labyrinth. The only problem really was the constant interruption of the "Sarahs". He supposed they may learn something by coming to him, but he never saw any of that. From his perspective, they never learned anything.
Jerry drank more of his beer. The aspirin were not really having much effect on the headache. Perhaps he should just go to sleep. Unfortunately, he knew that tomorrow morning just meant another assignment. He never got much down time between Sarahs. Something would have to change. Maybe he'd call the next one "Lorrie." Just for a change? Or show up to work in the wrong costume or drunk. That would have gotten him fired on a normal job. Jerry sighed. Acting was not a normal job. He'd known actors and actresses to show up for a day's shooting or rehearsal stone blind drunk and mostly naked, and not get fired. Flubbing his lines wasn't enough either.
Jerry looked around his small apartment gloomily. His beer was almost gone, his headache was moving in to stay, and he needed to vacuum the carpet. He blinked at the last thought. He'd really not taken too much time to notice his surroundings in awhile. It was your normal run of the mill bachelor's apartment. Stale pizza in the fridge, beer in the pantry (he liked his warm) and some clutter. Junk mail, laundry, and empty take out boxes. He chuckled to himself. Let the Sarahs see this! No drafty, crumbling castle for him! No bedroom filled with black satin and candlelight! He blinked again. Let any woman see this! Come to think of it, he'd not had a normal date in years. He didn't want to count how many. The owl business aside, he was supposed to be somewhat ageless. Yet he felt old.
As he finished off his beer, Jerry decided to dig up his contract again, and see what he couldn't find in the small print. It surely couldn't hurt to call his agent, either. He did have a career to think about, and this "Jareth the Goblin King" gig wasn't really living up to his expectations. He hadn't had to craft a part in years. It was always the same. Different costumes, different wigs, different accents, but the same tyrant. Or some how unobtainable pseudo-prince charming. Yes, he really had to move on. He'd miss sometimes being an owl, but that would be a small price to pay to get away from the Sarahs. He shuffled off to bed, content in planning tomorrow.
Jerry plopped down on the couch again, beer and aspirin bottle close to hand. This was really getting to be too much. He said that to himself every night, but lately the mantra was not comforting. He was feeling a bit desperate. This latest Sarah had him mincing about in leather pants, lace shirts and more eyeliner than any FEMALE teen idol habitually wore. Then she'd insisted on a lavish ball complete with 100 piece orchestra and waltzing. Of course she didn't know how to waltz. None of them did. It was always up to him to carefully shepherd them along all the while sneering, leering and trying not to simply laugh at the dialogue he had. At least this one didn't burden him with swampy babies. But she HAD read too many Regency romance novels. He doubted she knew "Regency" referred to an actual period in British history. Frankly he doubted she knew anything at all. He drank some of his beer.
Fred, his agent, had been no help. The contract was pretty clear on the duration of his tenure. As long as there were Sarahs, there had to be a Goblin King. He had signed as the most recent Goblin King, and had used the standard name "Jareth". It seemed that while the lady was always Sarah, he would always be Jareth. Jerry rubbed the bridge of his nose. As a young boy, he'd studied "magic". And the past few decades being able to turn into an owl hadn't really hurt his understanding of the concept. Names were important. He couldn't be "Bill the Goblin King" any more than the young ladies could be "Gertrude, young innocent seeker of whatever". So. The name probably set the limits of the "spell" or contract he had signed.
A half a beer later, and Jerry hadn't made much progress. Clearly the names set the tone of the thing, as much as the player named "Sarah" had the ability to set the rules for the game. As "Jareth" he got to be an owl (bonus), re-order reality in the way that the "Sarah" expected (none of them were bright) and not age. The "Sarah" got to return to her world, and he got to stay here. He couldn't just suddenly become the "Sarah" of the pair, either. Not only could he not play an ingenue, he was stuck as the Goblin King. That's what the Sarahs expected of him, and so that's what he became. Still..what kinds of things could he do when NOT limited by a Sarah?
Jerry put down his beer, and sat up on the couch. In all his years of playing "Jareth", he'd never really experimented with the limits of the character. In the beginning, he'd adhered faithfully to the role, and had left it behind him when he went home for the night. Magic was tiring, and he'd have more than enough to do the next day, with yet another Sarah. But now? Now there were no Sarahs. Now there really were no rules. He concentrated; brining to mind a crystal ball like the one "Jareth" always used. Sure enough, one appeared in his hand. He spun it, contact juggling the way he always did. No Sarah to thwart, and no limits on how to use the crystal!
Deciding he'd try something relatively simple this first time, Jerry gazed into the crystal and pictured a fresh beer. He tossed the crystal high in the air, and watched it fall. At eye level, the crystal seemed to flex. He blinked, and the next thing that met his eye was a new, unopened beer by his elbow. A slow smile spread across his face.
Sarah fumed. How unfair!! Not only did her EVIL mother want her to do the dishes, but she expected poor Sarah to SLAVE over cleaning her room and the rest of the whole house too! This was SO not what Sarah wanted to do! She had music to listen to (Those dreamy Back Street Boys!) she had toenails to paint (new, Slut Pink color!) and she absolutely HAD to call Marcie and talk about the upcoming dance. How dare her EVIL mother make her do all this hard work?? She had a life! She had things to do!
Sarah sat on her bed, eyes puffy from crying. She picked up the little red- bound book she'd found at the icky, dusty old bookstore months ago. Her stupid, EVIL, dumb parents had dragged her in, looking for their stupid history books. How lame! Still, this little book was neat. It talked about a magical land, and some hunky guy who was the King. Sarah knew what she would like to do with a King! Have lavish, dreamy parties!! Wear beautiful dresses! Stay up partying all night long!
She flopped back on the bed, and stared at the posters on her ceiling. Idly playing with the book, she chanted the rhyme that was supposed to summon the Goblin King. She'd never said it out loud before, but today it would just serve her awful parents right if he did come and take her away right now! How shocked she was when the room seemed to flex, and then grow dark..
Something was terribly, terribly wrong. There was no Goblin King. She was stuck in this horrible, icky, LAME place in these tacky clothes, and these awful little THINGS kept calling HER the Goblin QUEEN! Like Icky! Worse yet, these horrid, sniveling little pimply boys kept coming by and wishing things at her! This guy named Fred kept telling her about some kind of contract, but he was old and didn't make sense. Maybe if she just went to sleep she'd wake up at home..
Jerry smiled as he parked the car outside the office building. Acting jobs were scarce, but that was fine. He'd really had his fill of acting. These days he was content working in an office with other people. He had a job working as a real-estate broker. It wasn't much, but it did let him get out and see people and new places. For the first few days, he hadn't believed his luck. He'd practiced and practiced between Sarahs until he'd finally figured out the best trap. The Labyrnth had to have a Goblin King..or Queen. The fine print of his contract wasn't clear. If King it was, then Sarahs would come. If Queen ruled, then Bobs would come to the maze to learn something. Setting the trap had been simple. He missed being an owl, sometimes, but he did dream about it every now and then. The finest reward, really, was being able to call a name that wasn't "Sarah".
The comfortable clothes, gray in his hair and new wrinkles were just icing on the cake. He whistled as he walked up to his small office. Maybe he'd get himself a dog.
Another long night. Jerry had one huge, throbbing headache. He popped two aspirin and plunked down on the couch. That last job had been awful! He couldn't remember when he'd been called on to say such useless, prattling dialogue, or wear such outlandish clothing! He'd have to call his agent and get some kind of new contract worked out. This was really getting out of hand.
It really hadn't been that bad in the beginning. Really, honestly, the first few roles he'd been conscripted to play had been fun. They had forced him to stretch as an actor, and each of the leading ladies he'd played against had seemed to add different, unique facets to the characters they were playing. Sure, the plot got old every now and again. The "writers" never did have too much imagination. But in the beginning, he could almost have believed that he'd actually reached his audience.
But now? Same old story. Evil, mad tyrant. Young innocent girl. Enough sexual tension to let the nerves tingle a bit, but that was all. And honestly, he was relieved. Anything else at his age would have been positively indecent. And he was so tired. Why on earth couldn't the young ladies who came into the leading role have a BIT more spark? Why couldn't he play something OTHER than the tyrant? He was beginning to think he'd been typecast. A death to acting. A stagnation. A simple end to what had seemed like an endless, promising career.
Sign up; the contract seemed clear enough. He was required to play the leading man opposite a string of leading ladies. The ladies themselves would set the tempo of the play, giving an overview of the rules. It was his job to play the role given to him. And, at first, he'd relished it. If only the young ladies hadn't been so boring! Every one of them the same, too. Some magic kingdom! Some Faustian pact! Eternal life and youth for this! To endlessly play "Goblin King" for some pimply pre- adolescent girl. Or worse, post-adolescent! Every single one of them wanted to be scared. Every one of them wanted to quake in fear at the sight of him. Or kiss him. And every single time he had to explain to them that THEY were the ones who were to set the rules of the "game".
Jerry took a long sip of the beer at his elbow. He was too old for this. The last one had been horrifying. Some lanky, awkward 15-year-old, who'd set the tone for some kind of Victorian nightmare. He'd had to wear tights. Tights! At his age! Indecent! If that weren't bad enough, this little jaunt had required him to kid nap a drooling, screaming, stinky baby. Not that Jerry didn't like children normally. He did. He just didn't have the facilities for day care. And the insurance! But the contract was clear. So he'd pulled on the tights, the ridiculous 80's Glam rocker wig, and pranced about for this latest "Sarah". It was ALWAYS a "Sarah". Never a "Jenny" or "Susan" or even "Violet". No. "Sarah." He was as sick of the name as he was of the plot.
Finally, finally, the dim "lady" had figured out his screamingly simple labyrinth (the design having been long ago copied from the back of a "Froot- loops" box) and had obtained the damp, swampy baby. Reveling in her newfound "adulthood" she had taken herself off to have a make-believe party in her bedroom with her collection of neon teddy bears. Really, this was too much. It was nice being able to turn oneself into an owl, and it was nice having material control over the space of the labyrinth. The only problem really was the constant interruption of the "Sarahs". He supposed they may learn something by coming to him, but he never saw any of that. From his perspective, they never learned anything.
Jerry drank more of his beer. The aspirin were not really having much effect on the headache. Perhaps he should just go to sleep. Unfortunately, he knew that tomorrow morning just meant another assignment. He never got much down time between Sarahs. Something would have to change. Maybe he'd call the next one "Lorrie." Just for a change? Or show up to work in the wrong costume or drunk. That would have gotten him fired on a normal job. Jerry sighed. Acting was not a normal job. He'd known actors and actresses to show up for a day's shooting or rehearsal stone blind drunk and mostly naked, and not get fired. Flubbing his lines wasn't enough either.
Jerry looked around his small apartment gloomily. His beer was almost gone, his headache was moving in to stay, and he needed to vacuum the carpet. He blinked at the last thought. He'd really not taken too much time to notice his surroundings in awhile. It was your normal run of the mill bachelor's apartment. Stale pizza in the fridge, beer in the pantry (he liked his warm) and some clutter. Junk mail, laundry, and empty take out boxes. He chuckled to himself. Let the Sarahs see this! No drafty, crumbling castle for him! No bedroom filled with black satin and candlelight! He blinked again. Let any woman see this! Come to think of it, he'd not had a normal date in years. He didn't want to count how many. The owl business aside, he was supposed to be somewhat ageless. Yet he felt old.
As he finished off his beer, Jerry decided to dig up his contract again, and see what he couldn't find in the small print. It surely couldn't hurt to call his agent, either. He did have a career to think about, and this "Jareth the Goblin King" gig wasn't really living up to his expectations. He hadn't had to craft a part in years. It was always the same. Different costumes, different wigs, different accents, but the same tyrant. Or some how unobtainable pseudo-prince charming. Yes, he really had to move on. He'd miss sometimes being an owl, but that would be a small price to pay to get away from the Sarahs. He shuffled off to bed, content in planning tomorrow.
Jerry plopped down on the couch again, beer and aspirin bottle close to hand. This was really getting to be too much. He said that to himself every night, but lately the mantra was not comforting. He was feeling a bit desperate. This latest Sarah had him mincing about in leather pants, lace shirts and more eyeliner than any FEMALE teen idol habitually wore. Then she'd insisted on a lavish ball complete with 100 piece orchestra and waltzing. Of course she didn't know how to waltz. None of them did. It was always up to him to carefully shepherd them along all the while sneering, leering and trying not to simply laugh at the dialogue he had. At least this one didn't burden him with swampy babies. But she HAD read too many Regency romance novels. He doubted she knew "Regency" referred to an actual period in British history. Frankly he doubted she knew anything at all. He drank some of his beer.
Fred, his agent, had been no help. The contract was pretty clear on the duration of his tenure. As long as there were Sarahs, there had to be a Goblin King. He had signed as the most recent Goblin King, and had used the standard name "Jareth". It seemed that while the lady was always Sarah, he would always be Jareth. Jerry rubbed the bridge of his nose. As a young boy, he'd studied "magic". And the past few decades being able to turn into an owl hadn't really hurt his understanding of the concept. Names were important. He couldn't be "Bill the Goblin King" any more than the young ladies could be "Gertrude, young innocent seeker of whatever". So. The name probably set the limits of the "spell" or contract he had signed.
A half a beer later, and Jerry hadn't made much progress. Clearly the names set the tone of the thing, as much as the player named "Sarah" had the ability to set the rules for the game. As "Jareth" he got to be an owl (bonus), re-order reality in the way that the "Sarah" expected (none of them were bright) and not age. The "Sarah" got to return to her world, and he got to stay here. He couldn't just suddenly become the "Sarah" of the pair, either. Not only could he not play an ingenue, he was stuck as the Goblin King. That's what the Sarahs expected of him, and so that's what he became. Still..what kinds of things could he do when NOT limited by a Sarah?
Jerry put down his beer, and sat up on the couch. In all his years of playing "Jareth", he'd never really experimented with the limits of the character. In the beginning, he'd adhered faithfully to the role, and had left it behind him when he went home for the night. Magic was tiring, and he'd have more than enough to do the next day, with yet another Sarah. But now? Now there were no Sarahs. Now there really were no rules. He concentrated; brining to mind a crystal ball like the one "Jareth" always used. Sure enough, one appeared in his hand. He spun it, contact juggling the way he always did. No Sarah to thwart, and no limits on how to use the crystal!
Deciding he'd try something relatively simple this first time, Jerry gazed into the crystal and pictured a fresh beer. He tossed the crystal high in the air, and watched it fall. At eye level, the crystal seemed to flex. He blinked, and the next thing that met his eye was a new, unopened beer by his elbow. A slow smile spread across his face.
Sarah fumed. How unfair!! Not only did her EVIL mother want her to do the dishes, but she expected poor Sarah to SLAVE over cleaning her room and the rest of the whole house too! This was SO not what Sarah wanted to do! She had music to listen to (Those dreamy Back Street Boys!) she had toenails to paint (new, Slut Pink color!) and she absolutely HAD to call Marcie and talk about the upcoming dance. How dare her EVIL mother make her do all this hard work?? She had a life! She had things to do!
Sarah sat on her bed, eyes puffy from crying. She picked up the little red- bound book she'd found at the icky, dusty old bookstore months ago. Her stupid, EVIL, dumb parents had dragged her in, looking for their stupid history books. How lame! Still, this little book was neat. It talked about a magical land, and some hunky guy who was the King. Sarah knew what she would like to do with a King! Have lavish, dreamy parties!! Wear beautiful dresses! Stay up partying all night long!
She flopped back on the bed, and stared at the posters on her ceiling. Idly playing with the book, she chanted the rhyme that was supposed to summon the Goblin King. She'd never said it out loud before, but today it would just serve her awful parents right if he did come and take her away right now! How shocked she was when the room seemed to flex, and then grow dark..
Something was terribly, terribly wrong. There was no Goblin King. She was stuck in this horrible, icky, LAME place in these tacky clothes, and these awful little THINGS kept calling HER the Goblin QUEEN! Like Icky! Worse yet, these horrid, sniveling little pimply boys kept coming by and wishing things at her! This guy named Fred kept telling her about some kind of contract, but he was old and didn't make sense. Maybe if she just went to sleep she'd wake up at home..
Jerry smiled as he parked the car outside the office building. Acting jobs were scarce, but that was fine. He'd really had his fill of acting. These days he was content working in an office with other people. He had a job working as a real-estate broker. It wasn't much, but it did let him get out and see people and new places. For the first few days, he hadn't believed his luck. He'd practiced and practiced between Sarahs until he'd finally figured out the best trap. The Labyrnth had to have a Goblin King..or Queen. The fine print of his contract wasn't clear. If King it was, then Sarahs would come. If Queen ruled, then Bobs would come to the maze to learn something. Setting the trap had been simple. He missed being an owl, sometimes, but he did dream about it every now and then. The finest reward, really, was being able to call a name that wasn't "Sarah".
The comfortable clothes, gray in his hair and new wrinkles were just icing on the cake. He whistled as he walked up to his small office. Maybe he'd get himself a dog.