So Mark took me to see La Cage Aux Folles at the Pantages Theater last week. As we were eating dinner before the show, Mark threw down a knife and fork in front of me and said, in what I’m assuming was a compliment, “You could take that and write a story about it.” I kind of stared down at the table and thought “I could?” in a not so positive way, but by the end of the meal, I was feeling better about the whole thing so I told Mark to take a photo and I would come up with something. Sadly, all the forks were gone by then, so the story is about a spoon.
Deal with it.
The Wandering Spoon: A Love Story in Half a Dozen Acts
Life can be rough here at the corner of Hollywood and Vine. Oh, sure, there’s the glamorous Pantages Theater nearby, but all the stage-struck dreams in the world won’t help you if you’re a spoon. And Kayla was a spoon, a dessert spoon to be exact, but she wasn’t happy just to dish out bread pudding to the customers. No, she wanted to be an actress.
Which is tough when you’re silverware.
But she practiced every day at the Irish pub, flirting with the diners, being coy with the busboys, hoping someone, somewhere would take her out of this joint and make her a star.
Her boyfriend Kevin thought she was wonderful just the way she was, but what did he know? He was happy being a utensil. He didn’t share her dreams.
And he was also a little short.
But they did have some fun times, dipping into the bread pudding together, cutting through the virgin whipped cream, curving through the cold hard ice cream into the hot steamy bread pudding beneath. Sometimes they would be on either side of the dessert, too far to touch, but sometimes, they would meet in the middle, just clipping edges on a downward swing, diving in over and over until they lay exhausted in the cool puddle of liquid at the bottom of the plate.
It should have been enough.
But it wasn’t.
One day she noticed someone new at the far end of the table, a knife left over from the dinner service, tall and glistening. She slid over to take a closer look. The knife took one glance at her curves and swept her into his arms.
Well, where his arms would have been anyway.
He told her things, things no one had ever said to her before, about how talented she was and how he could get her a job in the pictures. And how could he be lying? He was so tall and thin. He had to be an actor himself.
“You leave her alone.” Kevin reached out, trying to pull Kayla from the interloper’s nonexistent arms, but it was no use. Mack just held her up out of reach.
Kayla pressed herself against Mack’s smooth shiny…uh..chest. “Go away, Kevin.”
“No more bread pudding for me. I’m going to be a star.”
And Mack carried her away, off across the table to the empty dessert plate with no preliminaries, no swooping and soaring and almost touching. Just plunk into the cold remnants of someone else’s joy.
She lay in the stinging remains of the whiskey sauce, shamed and alone. There were no movies, no stardom. It was all just a lie. She cried silver tears into the melted ice cream.
And there was Kevin, poor loyal Kevin, waiting for her on the far side of the plate. She staggered through the slop to him, mumbling apologies as she went.
He pulled her close. “You’re such a great actress, I almost believed that you didn’t care about me.”
Kayla snuggled against him. “I almost believed it too.”