Shake, p.1
Fame-Ish, page 1
Copyright © 2022 Mary Lynn Rajskub
Cover © 2022 Abrams
The names and identifying characteristics of some individuals have been changed.
Published in 2022 by Abrams Press, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021949383
ISBN: 978–1-4197–5479–1
eISBN: 978–1-64700–299–2
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INTRODUCTION
Things have really changed, I thought as I drove my parents’ Ford Explorer down Allen Road in Trenton, Michigan, in 2014. My mother had a sweatshirt made that read, I’M CHLOE O’BRIAN’S MOM!, in reference to the character I played on the wildly popular show 24. She wanted the world to know. I had been on Late Show with David Letterman and in GQ, had visited the White House, and People listed me as “One of the World’s Most Beautiful People.” I had worked with tons of famous people and been in many TV shows and movies. I had made it!
Fifteen years prior, when I first started acting on TV, I remember my sister telling the cashier at Kroger, “She’s famous!” I was mortified.
The cashier stared at us, like, What the fuck are you talking about?
“Don’t you recognize her?”
“No.”
My sister put the cashier in her place. “She’s on Veronica’s Closet on NBC!”
I wanted to disappear into an automatic trap door in the floor. This isn’t how I was supposed to feel. I should be like James Brown or Tom Jones, diamonds on all my fingers, women throwing their underwear at me, “Hi, it’s so nice for you to meet me.” I’d bow, in my cape and platform shoes, and do a superstar shimmy. “Get up off that thang! Watch out, pussycat!” I’d say. Instead, I looked down and said nothing.
“If you don’t know who she is, it’s your loss!” Then my sister Kathy cascaded out with an air of superiority as I mouthed, “I’m sorry” to the cashier.
Veronica’s Closet was Kirstie Alley’s sitcom. She was coming in hot, off her star-making turn on Cheers as the will-they-or-won’t-they love interest to Sam Malone. She played the owner of a lingerie shop. I was the androgynous love interest to her assistant, who was a closeted gay man. Progressive story line!
My family wanted to make sure that Trenton knew who I was. I signed a headshot that hangs in Del’s Pizzeria, which I have been going to since I was a baby. Everyone was extra proud because where I grew up, people don’t leave. Except my other sister who moved to Arizona, and she never heard the end of it. I got a bit of a pass because I got to be in Hollywood, baby! But still, every visit is punctuated with family members asking, “When are you visiting again?” “I’m here right now . . .” The truth is, it’s not really my home anymore. When I’m there, it is peaceful, but soon I’m ready to go again.
When I was sixteen and new to driving, I remember passing this intersection heading toward the freeway into the great big world out there (which meant downtown Detroit). I would pass Kmart, White Castle, and the truck stop. The truck stop was a place I imagined hanging out in. What if I became a trucker? I could see the world. I’d imagine myself at the counter with a coffee, grizzled and wise.
I got the courage to walk in and the actuality of it was depressing and possibly dangerous. They saw me coming from the parking lot in my long-sleeve red Coca-Cola shirt with the white collar and my permed, short hair with the Brian Setzer curl on the middle of my forehead. When I walked through the front door, two truckers, a waitress, and a short-order cook stared at me. I had breached a sacred border; I wasn’t allowed in here. I turned around and walked out. Like an American in Europe, I stuck out like a sore thumb. Those midwestern middle-age male truckers couldn’t be further removed from the tiny wish of my sixteen-year-old angst-ridden heart. Just like that, my dream of being a trucker was dashed.
Luckily, acting was another way to escape and dream. My theater class was the only thing I liked in high school. Pretending to be someone else was also a means of survival. Being other people in plays and scenes was a way for me to experience emotions, impulses, and desires that I wasn’t allowed to indulge in in my real life. If I let my true feelings out, it was just an invitation to be dismissed or hurt. I wasn’t about to take that chance. Without acting, I was invisible. I practiced keeping what I wanted and who I was a secret. I would let friends in, or sometimes try with the boys I dated. But the only time I had a sense of full expression was when I was in character. That’s when I was free to let loose and be vulnerable. Very pragmatic of me. I never imagined this coping mechanism would turn into a career. My small steps toward joy, my small wishes became dreams beyond anything I could have hoped for. I never imagined visiting California, let alone making a home and a life there.
In 2014, I was back in Trenton, wearing my dad’s fleece coat and my mom’s hat and gloves (like the queen I am) because I refused to invest in winter clothes, on my way to the new Applebee’s. A Target had replaced the Kmart, and there was now a Panera Bread and an LA Fitness—developments at my home intersection. I settled into a crowded Applebee’s, by myself.
“I’ll have a sparkling water, please.” The high school–age server scared me.
“We don’t have that.”
“OK . . .”
“Sorry, we ain’t that fancy.”
“No, that’s OK!” I said a little too brightly. “I’ll have a tonic water.”
“What?”
“A tonic water?” She made a face to show that this request disgusted her. “A plain tonic water from the bar? Is that what you’re talking about?”
“Yeah, from the gun. Just . . .” I acted out spraying the gun and made its sound. I’m really good at space work, it’s part of being an improviser.
“We have Coke and Sprite.”
“That’s OK. The tonic water will be fine.”
“You look like this actress . . .”
“Oh really? That’s cool . . .” I demure.
“There’s this actress that looks like you, do you know who I’m talking about?” She couldn’t believe the resemblance.
“Hmm, Angelina Jolie? I get that sometimes . . .”
The server laughs way too hard. “No! Of course not. You’re funny,” she said, in a way to let me know I was not funny.
“Girl Interrupted Angelina Jolie, you know, drinking tonic water, wearing her dad’s fleece?!”
She was done with me. “No. That’s not it.” She left me in peace.
A little later, when I was nearing the end of my southwestern grilled chicken quesadilla salad, employees began to pass my table, one by one, pretending not to stare. Some tried to be useful. “Are you sure you don’t want a refill on that?” They back away, giggling, and run over to a busboy and another server to huddle over a phone, google me, and compare online pictures to the real thing. By the time I paid for the check, they knew they had the real deal.
As I was leaving the host called after me. “Excuse me, can I ask you a question?”
“OK.”
“You’re not Mary Lynn Rajskub are you?”
“Yeah, I am.”
The hostess turns to her coworker. “I told you!”
I stand there.
“I knew it was you, she didn’t believe me! Why are you here?”
“Visiting my family.”
“We love Gail the Snail. Can we get a picture with you? Hold on.” She grabs a saltshaker. (My character on It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia gets salt thrown at her to try and make her go away.) “OMG, can we throw salt on you for the picture?!”
“Um . . .”
The hostess has already positioned her camera for a selfie while the other one photobombs and throws salt. “Please!”
They needed to take about fifteen pictures, to get the right look, and so you could actually see salt flying in the air. They finally start to calm down, like after a good romp in the hay.
I give a strained smile, wiping salt off my face. “You got it?”
They were already walking away from me. “Thanks! Have a good time in Michigan!”
“I’ll try! I actually have salt in my eye now.”
“I can’t believe that’s her!” said one to the other.
It happens on Twitter too. “I can’t believe she responded to me!” wrote Birdlover4lyfe42, after he tagged me in a tweet.
“I can hear you and see you, I’m right here!” I tweeted at him. I’m not J.Lo, of course I saw your comment. I see all your comments. I’m in that sweet spot of fame, where sometimes people are literally shaking when they meet me, and other times they’re heckling me at a stand-up show.
The first time I tried to write, it was a similar process. I started by writing about being on TV and making jokes about the weather, being silly and sarcastic. My inner heckler came out. This really big, scary, high guy inside me yelled, “No one cares! You’re not smart enough to write a book!” Please be quiet, I’m writing a book. “Sit down and write it th
I called my agent at the time, who sent me to the book department at my agency. His name was Tony and he was a huge fan of mine. He wanted me to know he has seen me at a club I frequently performed at, called Largo. He told me on the phone about all the music he liked and concerts he had been to. He said it was going to be great and he’d be happy to help me every step of the way with my book. We had several meetings, most of which was him talking and me listening. He told me how talented he thought my boyfriend was (I was dating a composer who worked with Paul Thomas Anderson). I would leave the meetings exhausted and go home to labor over the pages for my book proposal, all of which seemed to come up flat.
Ten years later, with more life experience, and having developed a TV script of my own, not to mention many more sets of stand-up comedy under my belt (which means performing original material), I started to write again. This time I had real confidence and a support system. I was still silly and sarcastic, but as I continued to write, something way more sinister started to emerge: my actual thoughts and feelings! It turned out I was a real person with insights and a certain perspective on the world. This is a whole new part of my life that I didn’t know about until fifty years into living. Now I can’t shut up!
In this book, you’ll find tales from my relationships, interactions with my neighbors, job triumphs and letdowns, and all the insight and humor that comes with it. It turns out, after fifty years of living, I was able to shut down my inner heckler and let the book come out. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
INTERNATIONAL SUPERSTAR
I like being recognized from your favorite movies and TV shows. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Mr. Show with Bob and David, Punch-Drunk Love, Sweet Home Alabama, and Veronica’s Closet (from the nineties, come on guys). You get it. I have a lot of credits. I am an international superstar. It’s not easy carrying that kind of glory around. No matter what people throw at me, I gotta be ready.
“Do I know you?”
“Yeah, it’s from TV.”
“No, that’s not it.
“Yes, it is! I’m an international superstar.”
“I know! It’s from carpool!”
“No, I don’t even live in this school district.”
“You look like someone who might be on Parks and Rec.”
“That’s not even a person. That’s an amalgamation of multiple people in your head. I’ll take it, I’ll take it. Thank you.” It doesn’t matter to me that they don’t know me or my work. I might as well be Jenna Fischer. (We are interchangeable, right?)
Sometimes people believe I’m Jenna Fischer. Especially if I have my glasses on. I’m not. Just to be clear I’m not the girl from The Office, although I did sign her headshot once, “All my love, Jenna.” I tweeted her after like, “Oh hey girl! Holding it down over here! Doing the good work!” She did not respond.
A lot of people recognize me from the hugely popular TV show 24. It’s a drama. It was a long time ago but it still airs in Africa. (African guys on Twitter love me.) What’s that? You’ve never heard of it? It is only one of the most influential, groundbreaking dramas to be on network TV. It single-handedly changed the landscape of television with its fast-paced plot and cliff-hangers. It was the first binged-watched show before “binge-watch” was a term.
I was on this show for six to nine years (I have a very bad memory and sense of time). I played a computer genius named Chloe O’Brian who could save the world from a terrorist attack using only her computer. I can’t really do that. I just want you to know that for the record, in case anyone out there wants me to fix their computer or disarm a nuclear bomb.
Also, I wasn’t even really typing on the show. Shit would be hitting the fan and my character would say, “I’m on it. Copy that.” and I would start typing some high-level intelligent stuff. In reality, I was just typing positive affirmations to myself. “Downloading facial recognition software now!” Mary Lynn, you are doing a great job. Don’t take Kiefer’s intensity so personally, he’s just busy acting right now. The other actors would walk by hoping to see the hacked government files and they would just see You are a divine child of God. Love and light surround you, always. Rainbows and unicorns.
The show starred Kiefer Sutherland as federal agent Jack Bauer, a guy with a moral code to save people who are in danger, even if it goes against protocol. It was not unusual to find Jack torturing terrorists and their associates in order to get information. I was his go-to gal. I guided him down many hallways, instructed him to “toggle left!” helping to dismantle bombs and of course get in and out of places where a high-security breach was involved. I always had his back. My character was a rule follower and a government employee, but I would do anything Jack needed me to. Many times, people have told me that watching 24 helped them during a hard period in their lives. Soldiers in Iraq were big fans. A few people told me they watched the show while they were recovering from surgeries. Couples, families, and friends bonded over it and have remained dedicated fans. People on both sides of politics loved the show. I miss those days. I had a paycheck and a purpose.
I walked right into the part of a lifetime. 24 was already a huge hit. I breezed on as a nerdy, caustic computer genius. The creator of the show, Joel Surnow, had seen me in a Paul Thomas Anderson movie called Punch-Drunk Love, where I played a bitchy overbearing sister to Adam Sandler’s character, and said, “I like that. I want to write a part for you.” Just that meeting could have kept me going for a couple of years. As an actor, any type of acknowledgment or positive feedback is a big cue to keep going. So it was already enough that he said he wanted to write a part for me. The fact that he did, blew the lid off. I wasn’t meant to work more than a few episodes, but something clicked. On a dry, dramatic show, my character became a source of levity. I had only done comedy and didn’t know if I could do drama. I had faith in myself, but certainly had no idea how to fit in on this show. It turns out I didn’t fit in and it worked. I learned on the job how to be a dramatic actress on television. I was trained on how to be on a red carpet and how to give interviews that represented the network and the show. I was given the kind of validation as an actor that people dream about. I got to go to awards shows, press junkets, roundtables, and fancy parties. I was driven and dressed and groomed. I grew up and became a professional actor during my time on this show. My life was defined by being on the show 24. This included a new thing, called “being famous.” People feel like they know you—that’s how you know what you’re doing is successful. What a weird way to live. And apparently it means not only that strangers feel like they know you but that they feel like they have the right to sometimes treat you like shit.
“Chloe!?” A man once yelled at me at the airport. I tried really hard to not hear him. Then he looked around to see if anyone else was seeing what he was seeing. Again, “Uh . . . Chloe!?” OK, so you’re calling me by my character’s name. I’m not Daniel Day Lewis—I don’t walk around in character every day. I guess I need to remember that I’m in your house on your TV and you are invested in what my character is going through. This means I’m doing my job but it’s not real life. You need to acclimate to me as a person. But you don’t want to. You love my fictional world and it just came to life before your eyes like magic. You want me to scoop you up and take you on an adventure.
“Yeah, it’s me, Chloe. I need a random person from the airport to help, someone like you, what’s your name?”
“Vincent.”
“OK, Vincent, you need to cancel your trip and come with me as an honorary counter-terrorist agent. Jack Bauer is incapacitated.” He stares in wonderment.
“Vincent. Can you hear me? This is your mission if you choose to accept it. Take this firearm . . .” I don’t have that kind of time. Instead, I just sigh and put on a forced smile.
“Yeah, hi.”
“You’re Chloe! Where’s Jack?”
“Yeah, I don’t know, I guess he’s still in that Russian prison . . .”
“Chloe, why are you flying coach? I thought you were set for life.”
I’m sorry, what? You can’t ask someone that. It’s part of the social code of being a person in a society. You don’t go around asking other people how much money they make. How rude! But OK, you want to know if I made a lot of money. I get it. Huge show, lead part opposite Kiefer Sutherland. Multiple years. Sold to other countries and channels, won lots of Emmys and Golden Globes, changed the face of television.
