I am done with all the tasks the agency gave me for my first day, I have to go back to the agency to get a new list of castings for tomorrow. I need to buy a Sim card too, and food cans, my little dinners for the future.
I enter the agency, and it is the same situation. No one is paying attention. But this time I don’t want to wait. I go straight to the desk where the bookers are. Loudly I say Hello, and I ask for tomorrow’s list.
I just want to get done with this. I am deadly tired. With a smile, one of my booker tells me that tonight I am moving to another apartment.
“Well… the girls are complaining, so we think it is best to move you out. The other place is better for you too, only one roommate. She is an older girl. She has been in Paris quite a long time. It is better for everyone, you will see, blah, blah, blah?”
Wait a second! They complained to the agency about me? Of course. Hey imagine, some girl came and she wants to live like a person, and pigs like us cannot handle that. Let’s throw her out. Great.
“Fine, I don’t care. Where is the new apartment? I want a driver to be paid by them or you. I don t want to pay for it, because it is not my decision.”
She just stares at me, shocked at my request. Well, that is her problem.
I don’t know which is so odd, my request for a driver or my demand that they pay for it. I don’t give a damn what is odd to her, I just want to get to the apartment. Now I have to pack again, scrub a new place, then unpack, and finally bathe and do the rest of my regular routines before bed. And tomorrow there’s a long and hard day again.
I will have to put myself into the fifth gear.
The driver leaves me in front of a building that looks like a museum. The receptionist helps me with my luggage, gives me a key, says “Good Night” and leaves. Now it is my turn to stare with no words. He is the second polite person today.
My roommate is not here. The apartment is a small studio with two beds, a small kitchen and a small bathroom. But clean and tidy. Great. I can just wipe the dust to be sure that it’s clean. I turn the bed to look towards the window. From my pillow I can see the Eiffel tower. It glows for ten minutes every hour in the evening. It is beautiful.
I have no strength to unpack tonight. After the bathroom, I just jump into the bed and fall asleep right away. Maybe I am snoring, I have no idea, I am deadly tired.
Bon nuit et au revoir.
The second, third, fifth, seventh, and eighth days were more or less like the first one. I still haven’t seen the roomie, but I can tell she was in the studio at some point, because I have seen her things. It has become very hard to be alone at night-I even cried a few times while The Tower was shining. I don’t know why. I think it was a nostalgia attack. Then I fell asleep like I was knocked down and the next day I was ready again for the new castings, to be liked by important people and to book some jobs. And again the next day, like in a circle. My shoulder hurts, calluses have exploded, and new ones have come out. I have found stores with cheap food. I have calculated that with one phone card I can call home only two times per week without chit-chat speech, only short and concise. I even read the first of the three books that I have brought with me. I have seen beautiful places in the city, like Trocadero, L’Opera, Montmartre. Terrible parts of the city, too: when I have to go for a casting somewhere around station Nation, I feel it’s a punishment for something wrong I have done. All in all it’s been a very intense period, sweet and sour.