You look like that girl-- : a child actor stops pretending and finally grows up

206 Pages·2015·1.93 MB·English

by  Jakub

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