You look like that girl-- : a child actor stops pretending and finally grows up PDF
Preview You look like that girl-- : a child actor stops pretending and finally grows up
YOU LOOK LIKE THAT GIRL… For J Every day YOU LOOK LIKE THAT GIRL… A Child Actor Stops Pretending and Finally Grows Up LISA JAKUB Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Jakub FIRST EDITION All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Jakub, Lisa, 1978— You look like that girl : A child actor stops pretending and finally grows up. / Lisa Jakub – First edition. pages cm ISBN 978-0-8253-0746-1 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Jakub, Lisa, 1978-2. Actors–United States–Biography. I. Title. PN2287.J2854A3 2015 791.4502’8092–dc23 [B] 2014035733 For inquiries about volume orders, please contact: Beaufort Books 27 West 20th Street, Suite 1102 New York, NY 10011 [email protected] Published in the United States by Beaufort Books www.beaufortbooks.com Distributed by Midpoint Trade Books www.midpointtrade.com Printed in the United States of America Interior design by Jane Perini Cover Design by Michael Short CONTENTS P ROLOGUE I NTRODUCTION C Big Eyes=Career HAPTER 1 C 5th Grade Career Building HAPTER 2 C The Show Must Go On. Really HAPTER 3 C My Love Is Blind HAPTER 4 C Life Imitates Art HAPTER 5 C I Am Not Applicable HAPTER 6 C Becoming “That Girl” HAPTER 7 C You Owe Me HAPTER 8 C Open Door Policy HAPTER 9 C Please Wait at the Bottom of the Ocean HAPTER 10 C Professional Pretender HAPTER 11 C Playing with Danger HAPTER 12 C I’m Not Your Actress HAPTER 13 C It All Comes Down to a List HAPTER 14 C Love. No Quotation Marks HAPTER 15 C When Even Work Wasn’t Working HAPTER 16 C We Do It Different Round These Parts HAPTER 17 C I Get That A Lot HAPTER 18 C La Dolce Vita HAPTER 19 C I Am, Because We Are HAPTER 20 E Namaste, Mrs. D PILOGUE A PPENDIX Composite headshot, showing my versatility as an actor. As you can see, my hair can go forwards or back. P : N S HOTO ICK EIFLOW LISA JAKUB PROLOGUE 1985. Ontario, Canada. Being a seven-year-old actor does not make you popular; it makes you fascinating, much in the way that dissecting a frog is fascinating. It’s an interest tinged with a feeling of uneasy tension. It’s a look-but-don’t-get-too-close kind of curiosity. It was a lot for potential friends in my Grade 3 class to wrap their minds around. There I was, sitting next to them during art period, dipping pipe cleaners in Elmer’s glue, when just that morning while they were eating breakfast, I had been singing the praises of Cottonelle toilette paper through their TV. It might have been normal for me, but they found it rather disconcerting. Mikki was the perfect confidant. She would set her thoughtful, chocolate- milk-colored eyes on me and suddenly the weird, sideways glances and confused whispers would fade into the background. Mikki was four years older than me but our age difference never seemed to pose a problem. She had a dirty grey muzzle and long fur that poked out from between her toes. Her tail was always matted with a collection of dirt, leaves, and the occasional dead ladybug. She was arthritic and deaf. A thyroid condition made her rather obese and she possessed very little control over her bodily functions. While my dog was indeed my best friend, it would be untruthful of me to omit the fact that she had very little human competition. That Saturday afternoon, they came on bikes. Five of them. One I knew; Karen. She was cute, tall, blonde, and the earliest known representation of everything I found intimidating about women later in life. The other four kids I had seen around. They were Older Boys. They were nine-year-olds, and anyone nearing double digits was, of course, automatically and rightfully awarded a daunting level of prestige. From the dining room window, I could see them coming. Karen’s pink streamers were waving from her handlebars, trumpeting the gang’s arrival. It was both thrilling and horrifying to realize that they must have been coming to my house to play; no other kids lived on my block. Clearly, they wanted to ride bikes with me. I had a bike, but riding it had proven challenging. My mother had kindly blamed my compete lack of balance and coordination on an ear surgery I had undergone half my life earlier, but since I still can’t ride well, the blame
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