A Legend is Hatched! A Halloween Parable!

The treat is making me famous. The trick is how we do it.

A madcap romp. A caviar dispatch. A nuisance in the lobby. Sophisticated boom-boom. A cult and occult favorite. Falbalas et Fanfreluches. In Technicolor. With special guest appearances by an illustrious cat. Read past editions here.

One of my earliest career ambitions was “witch.”  And, some might say, being a witch is the only career goal I have accomplished.

In kindergarten, I told my friends that we were witches based on the fact that I said so.  I spent hours trying to move objects with my mind.  As I always say, why move when things can be moved for you.  

Years ago, I asked my grandmother how to hard-boil an egg. She informed me that you place the egg in boiling water and you know it’s done when it rises to the top. This is not how you hard-boil an egg, but it is how you tell if someone is a witch.  As you can see, there’s a real family history here.

So it should come as no surprise that Halloween is a holiday I have always appreciated. It involves so many things I enjoy like witches, candy, and a spirit of vengeance against one’s enemies. Yes, I am a big fan of Halloween. But this year I decided to see if Halloween was of fan of me!

After years of living in a building that didn’t celebrate Halloween, I am finally in a building that does trick-or-treating. Naturally, I decided to participate.  What better way to introduce myself to my new neighbors! What better what way to see if there were any (other) famous people in the building!  What better way to find producers to pitch my television show to!

For my first Halloween in my new building, I wanted to come up with a costume that would make a good first impression. So I decided to dress as an icon: myself.  (For those who would also like to dress as me, all you need is a pair of large sunglasses and a Bergdorf’s bag.)

Due to a shipping mix up in Vienna, I happen to currently have a giant chandelier on a rolling rack sitting in my dining room. So I brought that along too, since, “you’re either the type of person who can make an entrance on a giant chandelier or you’re not” is one of my most well known bon motes.

After practicing the pitch for my TV show in the mirror, I grabbed my sunglasses, Bergdorf’s bag, and chandelier and off to trick or treat I went! The treat is making me famous. The trick is how we do it.

(The cat refused to participate as seeing so many graven images is confusing for her as she is both a megalomaniac and chooses to self-identify as God.)

I ventured out into my building’s hallway. There were a lot of children around, which is good because it meant that I stood out.

I enlarged my hair and knocked on a door. It opened. And then shut very quickly. Odd.

I moved on to a different door and tried again. It opened to reveal a middle-aged couple in Zabar’s sweatshirts and devil horns. Clearly, they were dressed as “the evolution of the Christian gaze.”  

“Trick-or-treat,” said I.

There was an awkward pause. I realized that they appeared to be looking for something. It was almost as if they were surprised to see a [redacted] years old famous (in her own mind) person alone in the hallway trick-or-treating. The awkward pause continued awkwardly as the couple looked around. And then I realized what they must be looking for! I told them to hold on, I’d be back later with my tap shoes.

I moved on to another floor. I enlarged my hair, put on some lipstick, and knocked on a door.

An older woman answered.

“Trick-or-treat,” said I.

“What are you dressed as?” said she.

“An icon of our time: myself,” said I.

She shut the door.

After this happened for the fifth time and/or I was mistaken for Helena Bonham Carter in Fight Club and/or Helena Bonham Carter at the grocery store, I began to suspect that maybe I was not as famous as I thought…yet.

Next, I figured I’d try any door that had a mezuzah on it, since everyone knows that Jews control Hollywood and the media.  Yet, strangely, all of these people said they could not help me get my television show made. None of them had Hollywood connections! Hmm. These must be the Jews that control the banks!

Luckily, I remain impervious to rejection. I went to another floor. I enlarged my hair, put on some lipstick, polished my chandelier, and knocked on the door.

At the next apartment, the woman who opened the door was wearing a festive and flowing kaftan. Obviously, her costume was “the ghost of Sue Mengers.” I thought maybe she might be able to help me find the producers in the building. She gave me her card and said I should definitely give her a call. Ah, the thrill of progress! Stardom here I come! However, when I shut the door, I discovered that the card listed the number for her psychotherapy practice.

At the next apartment, the people had forgotten to buy candy, so they were handing out cash.

Then I had to take a brief break to solve a murder.

Next, I found an apartment had an image of a witch glued to the door. I liked these people already. What can I say: I am a sucker for flattery! I enlarged my hair, put on some lipstick, polished my chandelier, did three shuffle-ball-changes, and knocked on the door. It opened. This time I tried a new tactic.

“Hello, friends. I’m your AppleNetflixHuluHBOMax girl. Are you tired? Run down? Listless? Do you poop out at parties? Are you unpopular? If so, the answer to all of your problems is in this little TV pitch.”

The door slammed.  And yet they always say to show not tell...

It occurred to me that perhaps all of the producers in the building were not participating in trick-or-treating. Maybe they had encountered one too many aspiring child actors dressed as their headshot and resume.  Luckily, the building currently has scaffolding up and what could be more in the Halloween spirit than appearing at someone’s window. Also luckily, some of the units have balconies.  And, once more, luckily, I have my lawyer’s phone number saved in the speed dial on my phone both as “Lawyer” and “Treatment, Unfair.” Unluckily, Lawyer has told me I should not discuss what ensued next publicly as it might have “legal ramifications.”

After ending my call with Lawyer and picking a few leaves out of my hair, I went up to the penthouse. Surely, a Hollywood producer would live in a penthouse!

The only other trick-or-treater up there was a kid dressed as a ghost. I might not be a ghost, but I sure do know how to haunt my enemies!

After scaring away the child interloper, I enlarged my hair, put on some lipstick, polished my chandelier, did three shuffle-ball-changes, did my vocal warm-up, and knocked on the door.

The door opened.

“Hi, I’m David Zaslav, but you can call me Zaz,” the man behind the door said.

I was crestfallen. He clearly was not a Hollywood executive. Zaz. It sounded too much like one of those horrible theatre games, and theatre is not my medium! Everyone knows that real Hollywood executives have names like Dore Schary.

I took a handful of candy and left.

And so, once again, another holiday passed without me becoming any closer to taking my rightful place in the Hollywood pantheon.  All I ended up with was some candy and the names and numbers of a wide variety of therapists.

You might be thinking, “but, Victoria, Halloween hasn’t happened yet.” To which I say: remember, Meet Me in St. Louis is also a Halloween movie.

I put a spell on you and now you’re mine,

Victoria

Footnotes

My sixth grade autobiography recounts how in kindergarten I told my friends we were not witches on my order.

This is an accurate representation of my grandmother’s hardboiled egg recipe.

I do enjoy haunting my enemies and it is taking every ounce of restraint that money can buy for therapy for me to use this as a platform for that.

I did actually introduce myself to my building by having a chandelier rolled through the lobby on its own rolling rack. The chandelier is now hanging in my dining room.

Sue Mengers was a larger than life Hollywood agent who enjoyed a good kaftan.

“Are you tired, run down…” is the Vitameatavegamin speech from the I Love Lucy episode “Lucy Does a TV Commercial.”

David Zaslav is the CEO of Discovery, which owns HBOMax. The entertainment press refers to him as Zaz, and he’s in the entertainment press a lot.  He does not live in my building.

Dore Schary was, among other things, a producer and was head of MGM in the early ‘50s. He was the producer of the (fictional) movie that Ricky went to LA to film on I Love Lucy.

If anyone knows of any producers or Hollywood executives in my building, please let me know! You can all have the treat of helping to make me famous.