Unfrozen: Vicki’s Cuts

Let’s not pretend I didn’t know what I was getting into. Before I went under, as they say, I signed the contract – 45 years – and that sounded pretty good. They were late. Over twenty years late. But my mother always said better late than never. And I’m not dense. That’s what seems to shock everyone, like they’d packed me away in 1852 not 1952. It’s an adjustment. A matter of shaking out my frozen legs. Not complete shock. I’ve used these legs before. So let’s not pretend that I’m an alien or that the scientists standing in front of me are aliens. They look the same as they did when I went under. More women. More color. But still in their white lab coats and glasses. “Hello, Victoria,” the woman attempts to ease me back into existence with a calming voice, “welcome back.”

“Fabulous,” I lifted my eyebrow, “but please, darling, call me Vicki.” She nods and then holds out a pile of clothing toward me. I raised my eyebrow, “I’ve been sitting there naked for what,” I pause as I take the clothing, “fifty years?” I hold for confirmation, but they all just stare at me. One of the male scientists attempting not to look at my body. I smile, “what I’d really like is a cigarette. Could you be a dear and get me one?” The woman, now holding a clipboard over her chest, looked at me and studied my demeanor. I later learned that I was the last one to be unfrozen and the only one who hadn’t screamed or cried. I suppose it’s quite rare to come into the world, even if it’s a coming back into the world, without so much as whimper. And they asked if I had questions. I had one.

“Cigarette?”

And that was a wrap.

___

Confessional:

How did it feel waking up? (takes a drag) Well, I’ve never been opposed to waking up. It’s only rough until you’ve had a cigarette. And this cigarette is rough, darling. Nothing like it was before. I used to feel it in my chest when I inhaled.

Yes. I’m aware. They prepped me alright. Sat me in a room for a few days straight watching The Bachelor, the Kardashians, and several Housewives and I have to say I found it all quite marvelous. Why, the first thing I did was ask for a book. I received a few. Donny says I’m going to be a star and really, after almost 70 years of sleep, what else can I be? Have you heard of Real People? (laughing) Oh darling, you don’t even understand where you come from. You see, my fascination always gets the best of me and I just have to absorb everything I can about it. This phenomena (taking a drag) it’s not novel or a symptom of the twenty-first century to crave something everyday and it happened in the 70s. That’s not so far from my time really. And believe me we had our own Kardashians. Have you heard of Helen Hope. You might call her … (snapping) what is that term I kept hearing – oh right – a hot mess (takes a drag). And it all seems very much a response to Lefebvre’s critique don’t you think? (puts out cigarette) You’re unfamiliar? Why … I doubt I could … I suppose it matters very little, what I mean is that this reality television, it develops the everyday. If it weren’t for profit, I’d say it’s almost antithetical to production – in the economic sense, not the Hollywood sense. Don’t you think?

(laughing) What did I do before I was frozen? Darling, would you really want me to give away that material so early in the show. No, I didn’t think so.

___

“Well.” I looked around the room. It was the contemporary interior that I had seen in the many shows that I consumed before being driven here. “It looks as if I’m slightly underdressed.” All the other unfrozen turned to me. They were holding wine glasses, listening to Bing, and now staring at me. The women were synched, dressed to the nines in their cocktail dresses. And the men looked as if they'd been plucked straight out of a black-and-white talkie. One of the girls who sat on the counter in her full silhouette dress, plaid cape, gloves, her ankles crossed and toes pointed toward the fourth rate Bogart in front of her, looked like Marilyn Monroe herself if Marilyn had been a brunette. The others were in their taffeta sheath dresses – hugging every inch of them – and the men looked bland, compared to Donny and the men I’d seen on the vivid television of the tcontemporary. “Don’t just stand there, darling,” I moved toward the Bogart, “fetch me a drink.”

I watched as he moved toward another room. “I thought we’d seen the last of us,” I turned to face the woman on the counter. She put her hand out, “I’m Darby, 1956, and you are …”

“Vicki. 1952.”

“Oh.” She said looking at the outfit. My high-waist pants and a tucked shirt.

“Darling,” I smiled, “haven’t you heard, it’s the twenty-first century, they dressed me like this for good television.”

She looked intrigued, “so you didn’t …”

I laughed, “I absolutely did. But that shouldn’t mean anything.”

___

Confessional:

Darby? What do I think about Darby? I think the name Darby says it all –it means free from envy – and darling, I don’t envy Darby at all. (laughing) She looks very young. Seems bland. And she’s obviously never been a computer.

A computer? During the war, I sat at a table cross from a girl named Audre, we made calculations. They called us computers. What I’m really saying is she looks as if she’s never worked.

___

“I feel like I know you.” I took a long sip of my drink as he approached. I’d been talking with Leonard and Rita. “Anthony,” he held out his hand and it looked as greased as his hair, “1954.”

“1952,” I took it, “and I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure.”

___

Confessional:

Oh, I knew we ran with different people. He strikes me as a Reagan.

___

“No,” Anthony placed his drink down on the table beside me and I swear I bit the inside of my cheek. If there were ever a time for a cigarette. “I’d swear we’ve met, I never forget a face. Did you go to Yale?”

“Darling,” I almost laughed, “do I look like I went to college?” He stared. “I’m self educated and far too obstinate to suffer the collegiate, but I did once date a Yale man – it was short-lived and thank god for that.” I let out a slight breath, noticing that I had been offensive, “nothing intended, really, it’s just the men I met were so sure that they were god, which is ridiculous considering how easily they seemed to shake.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m talking about the scare,” I smiled into my drink as I took a sip, “you know the Red Planet Mars.”

He nodded, “I see.”

I raised an eyebrow, “oh, don’t tell me you fell for the ramblings of that little midwestern boy.”

___

Confessional:

I knew very well that he subscribed to the loon. Who's the loon? McCarthy, of course. (takes a drag). He was just a dumb scared little man, but a dumb scared man can do a lot of harm … but you know that. It seems to me the world has changed very little. I think I’d be depressed. Luckily I was never an optimist.

___

“Were you,” Rita asked.

“I was,” I said. And Anthony gave us the side-eye, one that would have been dangerous 65 years ago. One that was the reason I’d decided on freezing myself - well, that and my big mouth. It was also the side-eye that I might gamble had a lot to do with Rita's presence here. I’d love to know what had possessed the rest to surrender their bodies to time. I turned to Anthony, “you were not?”

“No.” He said it simply.

“I figured as much,” I took a long sip. “Maybe we did meet, darling. Did you ever associate with that Buckley fellow?” I put my hand on Rita’s, “he had a ghastly face, an overbite that is especially prominent when confronted by an opinion that does not match his own,” I looked back to Anthony, “and he had just published a book, God and Man at Yale.” I took another drink, “I threw it across the room.”

“Buckley was a friend,” he said and I could tell by the way he put his hand in his pocket that I was infuriating him, “a brilliant mind.”

“Yes, a brilliant mind indeed,” I said, “but so fragile. And he liked me very much.” I saw the skepticism and I laughed, “well, of course not with company. In front of an audience he called me a communist c*** but as soon as the boys left. ” I finished with a sip.

___

Confessional:

I can’t say c*** on television. (laughs) I’m sorry darling, you’re going to be censoring me often, I can be quite crass. (takes a drag) If it helps, my c*** made him see god.

Heavens no. I was never afraid to speak my mind before. It got me in a world of trouble, but why should I be afraid to speak it now, when it makes such good content. I think, at least from my interaction with the other unfrozen, that I was more prepared that first day. Even before Donny came in – I already had an idea of what was expected – and I knew, a good show needs a good antagonist. (takes a drag) Here I am.

___

Donny walked in – he’s the host. “I hope we’re having a good evening.” He was a stupid looking man child with charming clothing, very colorful. And thank god he arrived when he did. I can only be shocking for so long. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why we’ve brought you here.” And he explained the premise of the show: “We thought the kindest way to reintroduce you to the world was on NBC’s dime,” he said, “so we took you, eight individuals who were cryogenically frozen between the 50s and 60s, and we’ll follow you as you adjust to the 20th century. Some of you have been frozen for 65 years. We’ll take you shopping, follow you as you interview for job, document this moment of history and in return we provide you with a place to stay and any resources you need. You can contact me whenever you need using these.” He handed us the hand-held telephones. The same I’d seen on all the shows. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning for our first day, we’ve unfrozen you right in time for summer in Los Angeles.”

I took a sip of my drink, looking around at my fellow unfrozen. No doubt they'd chosen a bunch that could sell - a Marylin, a couple Bogarts and a Grant, Velez, and, of course, if I may flatter myself, a Deitrich. “Fabulous darling.”

___

Confession:

I’m appalled, offended. I mean, we’re talking exploitation to the nines. And yet, I’m intrigued, a little turned on, and excited. It is simply brilliant and, darling, I find it grossly delectable.

[Tune in Next Time]