Dizzy: A Fictional Memoir

By Arthur Wooten

On December 15, 2005, my life as I knew it changed forever. Diagnosed with bilateral vestibulopathy with oscillopsia, this is the same illness that Angie Styles, the lead character in Dizzy, develops. All symptoms, causes, diagnoses, treatments, and time lines mentioned are true.

My hope with this book is not only to entertain but also educate; bring awareness to this disease that affects hundreds of thousands of people worldwide. And if just one person suffering from these same symptoms reads Dizzy and realizes they are not alone, then my job is done.

With much gratitude I thank Dr. Neera Kapoor, Dr. Sujana S. Chandrasekhar, and James Gurley, my physical therapist. Each one of you helped to save my life and then taught me how to survive in my new one.

“Dizzy is an entertaining and realistic portrayal of the unique challenges faced by people suffering from inner ear balance
disorders. Mr. Wooten has captured the fear and frustration common among vestibular patients through his uplifting and often humorous story of Broadway actress, Angie Styles.”
– Veda, Vestibular Disorders Association

“Dizzy is a wonderfully told story with such great heart and humor.” – Peter Gregus, Broadway actor, writer, director, currently starring in Jersey Boys

Inspired by Arthur Wooten's life, Dizzy is a unique read in that it’s a fictional memoir that marries two genres: an exciting backstage show business tale coupled with a frightening
medical drama.

Angie Styles, a beloved Broadway star, is struck down at the height of her career by a mysterious disease and is forced to reexamine her life and the people in it as she fights to survive.

“As a therapist, I believe books like Dizzy are important. They introduce complex medical concepts in story form, allowing the reader to learn, grow and enjoy the process. This fictional memoir will give you belly laughs, inspire compassion and enrich your life.” – Pamela Milam, Therapist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arthur Wooten
• Release date: Dec 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985052959

Arthur Wooten

Arthur Wooten is the author of the critically acclaimed novels Dizzy, Leftovers, On Picking Fruit, Fruit Cocktail and Birthday Pie as well as the children's book Wise Bear William: A New Beginning illustrated by Bud Santora. He's also penned Arthur Wooten's Shorts: A Stroke Of Luck and The "Dear Henry" Letters. Also a playwright, his works include the award winning Birthday Pie, which had its world premiere at the Waterfront Playhouse, Key West, FL. His one act plays, Lily and The Lunch, have been produced in New York City and most recently Te Anau, New Zealand. For two years he was the humorist for the London based magazine, reFRESH. Arthur grew up in Andover, MA, and now resides in New York City.

Book preview

ONE

DIZZY

April 28th

7:13 p.m.

After thirty years of being in show business, if I’ve learned anything, it’s how and when to make an entrance. I looked at my watch as we drove down Ninth Avenue.

Jake, slow down a bit, please. I want to time this just right.

Yes, Ms. Styles.

Jake: my trusted driver. I only used him for special occasions and industry events. I could always count on him and if I ever needed a bodyguard I’d hire him in a heartbeat. Big, bald, buff, and beautiful, that’s Jake MacKenna. All I really knew about him was that he was an army vet and lived out in an Irish section of Queens. How many times had I fantasized climbing all over his chiseled body like a jungle gym? Too many to count. But when I sleep with a man, more often than not, they disappear from my life. And I couldn’t afford to lose Jake.

And I loved his Lincoln Town Car. With soft leather trim and satin nickel accents it was classy but understated. And the tinted backseat windows were dark enough so I could see out, but the world couldn’t see in.

As we turned east on Forty-Forth Street, I caught a glimpse of the searchlights waving across the clouded sky bragging to New Yorkers that something special was going on. And it was. Another Best of Broadway charity event to help raise money for a host of different programs to benefit the Actor’s Equity Association. And as always, I was scheduled to perform.

If over the years it’s timing I’ve mastered, then computers and all things Internet, I was still struggling with. Although I have someone who has created and runs my website, I am proud to say I’ve figured out how to take pictures with my cell phone and tweet them. I know it’s not as many as a lot of Hollywood stars have, but I was superficially pleased that 49,985 people were following me on Twitter. Maybe I should offer my 50,000th fan tickets to my next show?

I aimed my cell at my feet and captured my black satin Louboutin shoes, I hope, and then tweeted:

On way 2 Best Of Broadway - will sing & dance 2nite - stars galore #payitforward - pic.twitter.com/y7sfv2ad

As we crossed Eighth Avenue, I glanced at what was airing on the flat-panel TV in the back of the car and touched Jake’s shoulder.

Hang back a moment.

He pulled the car over to the curb and waited till I gave him the signal. A live broadcast of the red carpet for the event was being covered by No Biz Like Show Biz. I not only hated the insipid show, I hated saying the name of the insipid show. Limousines inched their way forward to the front of the Shubert Theatre as I turned up the volume.

Fans and paparazzi flanked the red carpet and screamed at celebrities as they entered the theatre. Then some run-of-the-mill male entertainment anchor straight out of central casting appeared in front of the camera and smiled a mouthful of overly whitened teeth.

"I’m your co-host Julian Miles and you’re watching No Biz Like Show Biz and the red carpet event for the Best of Broadway. Now let’s go over to my beautiful colleague in Shubert Alley."

The stage door was located alongside the theatre in this wide passageway that connected Forty-Fourth to Forty-Fifth Street. The camera cut to a painfully thin, overly made-up and always ill-prepared reporter whose name I never could remember.

Jake? What’s her name?

He paused for a moment. I think it’s … Angora?

She spoke to the camera. Hi there, again, everybody. This is Cashmere Rice.

Cashmere! I repeated.

And she’s Asian. I read in an article once that her birth name was Beatrice-Rose. Beatrice-Rose Rice. Now that’s a mouthful. Wouldn’t Basmati or Jasmine have been more sensible if not appetizing? She changed her name because she felt it suited her personality better. It was softer. Ironically, like a pit bull, she was an aggressive and tenacious reporter. If there were a story or an interview she wanted, she wouldn’t let go of it till she had it in her tiny little mitts.

Hey Jake, I know of a better name than Cashmere. Let’s call her … Sticky.

Sticky?

Sticky Rice!

Jake burst out with one of his signature belly laughs that always made me giggle, it was so infectious.

I bowed my head in shame. I know. I’m going to hell for playing the … rice card.

Jake laughed even harder.

That’s another thing I loved about him, he got my sense of humor. I didn’t waste any good material on him.

You’re such a … ricest, Ms. Styles.

Now that made me laugh.

Jake, you can slowly pull up and get in line for the theatre.

I squinted at the television screen and noticed two friends of mine getting out of their limo and heading towards the stage door.

Cashmere pressed her earpiece with her fingertip as someone scrambled to feed her the names of the two actors.

Oh … everyone … I think it’s … yes, Stephen Carlton. Someone obviously screamed into her earpiece and she fell back a step. I mean … Carter. Cashmere waved them over to her. Steve? Stephen!

They couldn’t escape.

It’s Cashmere! she shouted.

Baffled, Stephen touched his suit. No. It’s wool.

He honestly had no clue as to who she was.

Cashmere laughed a little too hard. Get over here, you two.

Reluctantly they approached her.

We’re here with the one and only Stephen Carter who is the master of ceremonies for this evening and he’s accompanied by his lovely friend …

I’m his wife, she declared, clearly annoyed.

Oh, good one, Sticky. She’s only won eight Tony Awards, four Oscars, sold umpteen gold albums, and she’s a household name. Even straight men know who she is.

Stephen slipped his arm around his wife, kissed her on the cheek, and then they both looked at Cashmere blankly. Fabulous! They’re going to make her work for it.

Cashmere’s fake smile dissipated as she looked back and forth at them in a moment of live television panic. She pressed her earpiece into her ear harder.

Debra, our Broadway megastar finally said. My name is Debra.

Yes, Deborah.

No. It’s Debra.

Right, Stephen and Deborah.

I knew Debra personally and I wouldn’t put it past her to get into a fight with her over this, but as Cashmere turned back to the camera, the superstar couple escaped towards the stage door shaking their heads.

Stephen and Deborah will be … She looked back and realized they had left her. Yes, the show is just about to begin so scoot inside you two and …

Jake inched the limo up one more spot as my hand went up to my left ear. Something didn’t feel right. I massaged it a bit and then wriggled my jaw back and forth as I opened my mouth wide. My first thought was that my damn TMJ was coming back.

Ms. Styles, Jake asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror. You OK?

Not sure if my jaw is tight or … I opened my mouth wide and tried to pop my ear but nothing happened.

Looks like we’re the last to arrive, he said as he put the car into park.

I girded my loins. Here we go again. Jake, the curtain should come down about ten fifteen but give me another thirty minutes to recover and say good-byes.

Sure thing, Ms. Styles.

I tied a black scarf over my giveaway blonde locks and slipped on my sunglasses as he jumped out of the car and opened my door.

Carefully, both for balance and so as not to scratch them, I placed my shoes onto the sidewalk and stood up, holding onto Jake’s arm.

You’re taller than me, he laughed.

He was right. The four-inch spikes made me just over 6’2" tall. I quickly remembered to pull down my vintage black Givenchy cocktail dress, a nod to Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast At Tiffany’s, and with my back to the crowd, Jake slipped my Blackglama mink coat over my shoulders. I know, I know. Hell, I love all animals, but this was a gift given to me from the lead producer of my first Broadway hit almost fifteen years ago. It was so soft, so beautiful, and I prayed that no one from PETA was in the crowd and eager to splatter me with a paintball.

I grabbed my black Hermes Picotin Lock handbag, took a deep breath, squeezed Jake’s arm, and turned around. There was a hushed moment of awe throughout the crowd. I know, sunglasses in the evening, it’s way over the top, but my devotees demand drama.

And then it started. A fan waved to me and screamed, There she is! There’s Angie! Angie Styles!

Everyone went ballistic screaming to me as the paparazzi flashes went off. Two stagehands rushed out of the theatre to escort me in.

Angie! another fan hollered. Ms. Styles! Can I have your autograph?

I graciously made my way towards her as dozens of others held out pieces of paper to sign.

Not wanting to let me slip away, Cashmere smiled at the camera and quickly said, Yes, it’s the darling of Broadway, Angie Styles. She turned back to me as I worked my way down the crowd. Angie, it’s Cashmere! Angie?

I signed another autograph as she shouted once more. Angie!

I shook my head at her and pointed to my wrist miming that I had no time.

Cashmere turned back to the camera. "Well folks, that was a glimpse of the late Angie Styles, she said with an edge to her voice. More from No Biz Like Show Biz after this word." She smiled hard as the cameraman indicated they were off the air. She ripped the earpiece out of her head and dropped her microphone to her side. She watched me sign one more autograph and then that’s when I heard it.

Bitch!

Cashmere had no idea how strong her voice had echoed throughout Shubert Alley. In a flash, my loyal onlookers turned on her and booed, as I winked, acknowledging the great faux pas she had just made. The stage door opened and I slipped into the theatre.

Outside may have been crazy, but inside it was complete mayhem. Broadway benefits are an extraordinary type of theatrical beast. Scores of performers would sing, dance, do comedy acts, or just lend their celebritydom to further a cause.

The full orchestra was tuning up down in the pit under the guidance of my absolute all-time favorite musical director, Jim Hallman. This genius had more awards thrown his way than all of us performing that night combined. He was so smart and quick, I always knew he had my back and that everything musically would be spot on. That’s an incredible relief, especially when you have a song and dance number as insane as mine.

Mike, a stage manager whom I had done countless shows with, was on duty that night and the moment he saw me enter he ran to my side.

Ms. Styles, it’s always a pleasure.

Hey, Mike, great to see you.

We could hear the audience chattering away, louder than usual, as they impatiently waited for the gala to begin.

I elbowed Mike. The natives are restless tonight.

Full house. Standing room only. They always go mad for this show.

I’m mad to do it!

He laughed as he pointed to a door just off-stage. Dressing room number one. Only for you.

I blew him a kiss as he opened the door for me. Once inside and away from the craziness, I took a deep breath, turned around and was overwhelmed by the dozens of oversized floral arrangements.

You’d think I had died.

The flowers moved and I jumped back.

I almost did lugging these things in, Ray said as he popped out from behind a standing human-sized horseshoe wreath decorated with hundreds of pink carnations.

Ray: my loyal assistant.

I took off my sunglasses and looked at the arrangement. Across the yellow satin banner was printed the word: WINNER. I kid you not.

"Finally, someone is acknowledging that I am a race horse."

One of the producers must have lost at the track. Ray tentatively touched one of the flowers as if he’d catch a deathly virus from it. Angie, who in God’s name created carnations?

God?

Well this proves he is a man. A straight one!

What Ray lacked in the pretty boy department he made up for with flamboyancy and a wicked sense of humor. I loved him desperately and trusted him with my life. I took off my scarf, dropped the mink on the sofa, and pointed to the flowers.

Ray, grab a bunch of these and give them out to the chorus kids.

Your makeup is all lined up and your costume is behind the screen, Ray grunted as he picked up the huge carnation fiasco.

There was a knock at the door as the cell rang in my bag. I searched for it while Mike opened the door.

Show starts in five. As requested, Ms. Styles, you’re performing last.

I smiled at Mike as he closed the door and I answered the cell.

Hey Darcie … I pulled the phone away from my ear as she shouted out a creative combination of swear words. Darcie, cool your jets … What time do they want to see me? … This is too important … No, I’ll juggle something … Bye.

Darcie Kaye: my powerful agent. Since my very first professional job I was lucky enough to be repped by the one and only Honey Collier. She was not only a brilliant theatrical agent but she was also extremely protective and mothering towards me. An essential quality my own mother never seemed to possess.

Honey had a long and successful career and worked up until her eighty-ninth year. But as she finished a complicated deal worth millions of dollars for an even more complicated diva, Debbi Lamont, who was just about to offer her John Hancock securing the agreement, Honey suffered a massive brain aneurism and died instantly while clutching the legal papers in her hand.

Debbi was being fired from a soon-to-be mega musical Broadway hit and rumor had it that she grabbed the contract out of Honey’s death grip, signed it, and then very coolly called 911.

Right about that time Ray was dating a really hot writer named Curtis Jenkins. He had just written a bestselling book titled, 101 Ways To Collide Into Your Gay Soul Mate. Unfortunately, Ray and Curtis’s collision was more like a head-on train wreck and Ray ended up in Curtis’s next book, which was this hilarious tale about gay dates from hell.

Curtis and I stayed friends, much to Ray’s chagrin, and that’s when he introduced me to his agent, Darcie Kaye. If I thought Honey was tough, Darcie redefined the word. Close to seventy, she was a seasoned and polished agent who was always impeccably dressed. But, and I think this really helped her in negotiations, she swore all the time, especially during important meetings. And it worked. I think it scared the shit out of people. Think Joanne Woodward’s class with Wanda Sykes’s mouth. You never knew what you were going to be hit with, including myself. But, she got the job done.

Ray grappled with the horse wreath.

I laughed. No Ray, I’ll keep that. Pass around the pretty bouquets.

I kicked off my shoes and unzipped my dress as Ray squeezed through the door with the flowers.

You need anything from out here?

How about a twenty-five-hour day?

I gotta talk to God about that one too, he laughed as he closed the door.

I stepped out of my dress and sat down at my makeup table and realized I had almost two hours before I was to perform. I closed my eyes just to let go of the day and meditate for a few moments. After two or three minutes, there was a knock on my dressing room door. I looked into the mirror and realized that my hand had unconsciously gone up to my left ear and I was rubbing it.

One moment, I said as I grabbed my robe and threw it on. Yes?

The door squeaked open and a young woman popped her head in.

Ms. Styles?

Yes.

My name is Ginger Ann Clarke. I’m performing tonight as backup dancer for Todd Carrington’s number … and well, you don’t know me from a hole in a wall but I just had to thank you. Thank you for inspiring me to become a singer and a dancer.

Well Ginger, now I know you from a hole in the wall.

Oh gosh, she giggled. "Wait till I tell my mom that I met you and that you spoke to me. She saw you in Annie, the original first run on Broadway!"

I felt it coming. Oh really?

I’m much too young to have seen you …

And there, she said it!

But my mom said you played Molly, the littlest orphan?

Yup.

And that you stole the show away from Annie?

I don’t know about that.

Is it true that it was your first audition?

"First professional