Flavor of the Month (5 page)

“Okay, everybody, let’s settle down. We have a show to do.”

Mary Jane moved with the others to the circle of chairs in the center of the space, glad that her conversation with the deadly Bethanie had been interrupted. She looked over to Sam and smiled, and he nodded. She wasn’t surprised. He had never been demonstrative in public. Well, he’d say hello later, at home, in bed. Now the work of improvisation, rehearsal, scripting, and more rehearsal would start up again. Together, this group of ragtags would create a polished theatrical work, a showcase for all their talents. They were working on an idea of Sam’s—to do a spoof of a variety show as in the days of television, but to show the backstage story as well. The working title was
Snow Business
.

Mary Jane loved the idea. But, of course, that was why she loved Sam. He was brilliant. Funny, brilliant, and hers. So what if every now and then he was tempted by the latest little item? Sam had insisted, from day one, that theirs would be an open relationship. Mary Jane simply closed her eyes to his dalliances. Not that there had been any that she was
certain
of. As she took a seat, Mary Jane looked across the room at Sam, caught his eye again, and winked, but he didn’t wink back. Well, he was being the serious director again, she thought. Remember, he comes home with
me
, not with any of
them
, she reminded herself for the thousandth time.

She loved watching him in the theater setting, loved drinking him in without his noticing. Tall and lanky, he moved with grace, like a dancer, Mary Jane thought. His usually pale skin was tanned from the California trip, and the two-day growth of beard and the black turtleneck sweater he favored reminded her, as always, of some Italian film star of the fifties. His long, silky black pony tail offset his slightly receding hairline. He was very aware of his hairline, and she sometimes caught him measuring it in the mirror. It may bother him, but not me, she thought.

He’d be leaving for L.A. soon. What will I do then? she asked herself. Though she’d forgiven him for not being able to cast her in the film, Mary Jane wasn’t sure that she could bear to watch stoically while
Jack and Jill and Compromise
was made without her, and she doubted she’d get any work on her own in L.A.

“Let’s face it,” she’d said to Sam, “I’m not the L.A. type.”

“That’s
why
you’ll get work,” he insisted. “Character parts. I can almost guarantee it. You’re so fucking talented, even the morons out there will see it.”

“Seymore LeVine didn’t see it,” she reminded him.

“Oh, Seymore’s just a producer. He’s an asshole.”

“It’s my impression that it’s the assholes who do the casting,” Mary Jane had said dryly.

Sam had been more than disappointed; he’d seemed angry that she wouldn’t say she’d come—angry and
guilty
, a lethal mix—so maybe she shouldn’t risk the long separation. After all, Crystal Plenum had a reputation. And, to be honest, with Sam gone, Mary Jane had nothing going for her here. Worst of all, she wasn’t sure she could bear being without Sam for months. He had made her life worth living.

Sam was handed a note by one of the troupe. He looked up, and that was all he needed to silence the room. “First an announcement,” he said. “This Saturday’s dinner will be at Chuck Darrow and Molly Closter’s place, in the East Village, Sixth Street, past Avenue A. As usual, the hosts will provide the pasta, everyone else brings the wine, bread, and dessert.” The tight circle turned to the couple and clapped lightly. Mary Jane almost always found the Saturday Movable Feast to be warm and homey. And Molly was her closest girlfriend. I’d hate to leave this. This
is
my family, she told herself, as she looked around at the friendly, bantering crowd, caught Molly’s eye, and smiled. Then Mary Jane’s gaze fell on Bethanie, but
her
huge gray eyes were staring at Sam, waiting for his next word. Has he slept with her? The thought was a little flicker of poison, like a serpent’s tongue.

But she didn’t want to think about that. She and Sam did have a strict agreement that he would never sleep with any of the women she knew, so even if he did sleep around it wouldn’t seem real to her. She’d only heard of his infidelities by innuendo. One “friend” or another mentioned vague things from time to time. But she’d never discussed it with Sam.

And why should she? she thought. She wasn’t 100-percent sure, and, anyhow, he loved
her
. That much she knew. He had nurtured her acting craft, encouraging her for almost three years. And still was. If it had hurt her when he insisted she’d get character work in L.A., it had also buoyed her. She’d never be an ingenue, but he still believed in her.

Still, what was that in Bethanie’s gaze?

I’ve got to stop this, Mary Jane said to herself firmly, letting Sam’s voice bring her back to the business at hand. Anyway, if anything was up in that department, her pal Molly Closter would let her know.

“We have four scenes in front of the curtain put together so far for the revue, and six backstage scenes,” Sam began telling the now attentive group. “We still need a few more variety-act skits to round out the show. I have an idea myself, but I would like to hear some of yours.”

Before anyone could answer, the door from the stairs crashed open and Neil Morelli came bounding in. “I got it! I got it!” he screamed.

The group rose as one and ran to him, everyone hugging and talking at the same time. Neil Morelli, Mary Jane’s best friend, obviously had gotten the TV pilot he had read for last month! Another one of us has made it, thought Mary Jane as she ran to him along with the others. Neil might be a little crazy, but he had a good heart. He was one of the cleverest comedians she had ever known. And she had known many—a few in the biblical sense.

The congratulations bubbled on. Taking her turn, Mary Jane threw her arms around Neil’s skinny neck and said. “Oh, Jughead, I couldn’t be happier if it happened to me. You deserve it.”

Neil managed to scoop her up and gave her a little twirl. “Thanks for all the rehearsal time you gave me,” he said. “How ’bout a French kiss?” He planted a loud wet smack on each of her cheeks. The crowd laughed; he bowed, then turned back to her. “You’re next, you know.”

Mary Jane smiled wanly at this. In all her years of trying to get jobs as an actress in New York, every time someone else made it, he or she always said the same thing to her: “You’re next.” But she never was. She thought that
Jack and Jill
had been her shot, but the phone wasn’t ringing off the hook.

Sam, the only one who hadn’t crossed the floor to Neil, did so now. “Good luck,” he said, extending his hand. Neil took it—reluctantly, it seemed to Mary Jane. They weren’t great friends, but had always tolerated one another, if only for her sake. Sam smiled at Neil, his eyes cold. “We’re all very happy for you, Neil. Now, if no one objects, let’s get back to work. I have an idea for a short skit for the show. A magic routine.”

Everyone groaned. Magic! Mary Jane thought. Well, I guess it could be worse. It could be a mime act.

“Hey, this is a democracy. I’ll let you all judge. Then I’ll decide.” Everyone laughed. “Mary Jane, Beth, Neil. Front and center. I’m going to walk you through it.”

Sam outlined the blocking of the skit to each of them. Neil was the magician; Beth and Mary Jane were to play the obligatory assistants. Neil, always ready to take center stage, gave up his moment of glory and, stripping out of his coat, did the walk-through, not knowing where it was going. As Sam directed, Neil placed Mary Jane in the imaginary box and said “Ta-da.” Mary Jane did the classic one-arm-in-the-air, one-on-the-hip gesture of the magician’s assistant. She got a laugh. Sam grinned at her. At the cue, Neil threw a sheet over the box. Then, ad-libbing, Neil went into an abracadabra spiel, playing to the crowd. Selling it. Meanwhile, Sam grabbed Mary Jane’s hand, pulling her from behind the sheet. Without urging, Bethanie quickly took her place.

Then, with a big flourish, Neil pulled off the fabric. Bethanie perfectly aped Mary Jane’s ta-da movements. The members of the troupe sat in silence for a moment, then erupted into laughter. At the sidelines, Mary Jane stood still. She wasn’t certain what had happened. But fear flickered somewhere around her stomach. What was the joke? Then someone said it out loud. “I get it. ‘Before’ and ‘After.’”

Mary Jane stood as if rooted to the spot, stunned by the realization. Her cheeks reddened with humiliation; tears stung her eyes. She was afraid to look at Sam, or anyone. How could he? she thought. Why? Why? Sure, she was a trouper about her looks. The part of Jill was that of an unattractive woman. Everyone knew it. She herself made self-deprecating jokes. But this was different. He knew how she really felt. Was that cheap joke worth her pain? Sam couldn’t be so insensitive as to think that this wouldn’t hurt.

She forced herself to scan the throng. They’re my friends, she thought, my family. And they’re laughing at me.

But not everyone was laughing. Molly Closter was looking at her with pity. And now so was Bethanie, who blushed and turned away. Mary Jane also felt a hot flush of shame. Pity felt worse than ridicule.

Then Neil Morelli held up his hands and called out Sam’s name. The group’s reaction calmed. Sam looked over at him as the group followed suit.

“I don’t get it, Sam,” Neil said. “I mean, what’s so funny?”

Sam opened his mouth, but before he could explain, Neil interrupted. Mary Jane could see he wasn’t having any of it. And he was starting a roll. Oh, no, Neil, she thought. Let it go. Don’t be a hero for me. Just let me sit down, creep away.

“A transformation? Short, dark Mary Jane turns into tall, blonde Bethanie? Jeez, it’s politically incorrect, but, even worse, I don’t think it’s very funny. I mean, it’s been done. Wait a minute, Sam. I got a better idea. Let’s change the scene just slightly, so it’s not such a cliché. I think we can get a better laugh. A role switch. A
woman
magician, Sam. And
you
go in the box. She says ‘Ta-da,’ you disappear, and, in
your
place, Rick here pops out.”

Mary Jane, like all the others, looked over at one of the newer troupe members. Rick, the kid with a full head of golden curls and a body sculpted to perfection. Mary Jane saw Rick dip his head down a bit, then shrug. Some of the group laughed, and Molly Closter and another woman clapped.

Sam looked coldly at Neil, then smiled. Despite her shame, Mary Jane could see Sam was raging behind his pasted-on smile. Everyone watched Neil as he walked casually across the room and took his coat from the back of a chair. “Come on, Mary Jane,” he said, as he began to put it on.

Mutely, she shook her head. That would make this all worse. She’d been waiting for Sam to come back from L.A. for two long weeks. She had so much to discuss with him tonight. And she wanted him to hold her, to be with her. Where would she go if she left Sam and her family? If she took this too hard, if she let them see her shame, she could never come back. Now Neil was pushing her into a corner. She backed away and shook her head again.

“Well, all right, then,” Neil sighed. “But I’m out of here for good.” As he reached the door to the stairs, he turned and spoke only to her.

“I meant it, Mary Jane. You are by far the most talented actress I’ve ever met. You
are
next,” he said, and closed the door behind him.

In the search for an obscurity capital of the world, Lamson, Texas, would be a major contender. Grim and seemingly endless, Interstate 10 stretches from El Paso to San Antonio and has got to be one of the most depressing, dismal drives in the whole United States. Each dot on the map is an excuse for a town more dusty, faded, and dead than the one before. I, Laura Richie, know that, because I had to stop at so many of them, doing this research. But Lamson doesn’t even rate a dot on the map. And in Lamson, the most obscure homes were in the trailer park beside the highway
.

Sharleen Smith jumped off the dented yellow school bus and began to walk quickly along the dusty highway. She kicked small stones ahead of her with the toes of her Keds, puffing the dry dirt in low clouds around her feet. She turned off the main road and away from the other students, down the littered side street, toward the haphazard collection of decrepit trailers at the end, pulling at the red ribbon holding her pony tail as she went. She shook out her long, white-blond hair, running her fingers through the loosened mass.

The groan she usually felt in the back of her throat, the groan she usually let out as she neared the tin box of a trailer she shared with her brother and father, was replaced today by a low hum of pleasure. Today nothing could bother her. Not even Sueanne Skaggs, who’d come to school on Monday in a new T-shirt. It had Sharleen’s picture on it and a line below it that said, “Just say no.” Sueanne had given one to all the boys on the football team. But Boyd, the captain and Sueanne’s ex-steady,
he
didn’t wear
his
. And none of the team would dare to if he didn’t.

Sharleen couldn’t quite figure out why Sueanne and all the girls hated her. Of course, she was poor, and she knew she was ignorant. Maybe even stupid. But she was really pretty. At least she
thought
that she must be. Momma had always told her she was. But then Momma had left a long time ago.

If she was still pretty, the girls didn’t seem to like her for it. Maybe it was her clothes. She tried to dress like the others, but she and Dean didn’t have much, and that was a fact. Still, her red sweatshirt was clean, and her hair ribbon was pressed, and her jeans didn’t have no more holes in ’em than the other girls’. But it seemed like they
bought
their jeans with holes, while hers came naturally. That made all the difference, she reckoned. Sharleen winced for a moment. Even with the thought of Boyd glowin’ in the back of her mind, it didn’t feel good, knowing the other girls hated her. But the boys sure didn’t.

Sharleen skirted the trailer next door, ready for the snarling dog on a chain, remembering, too, when the pit bull used to run loose. Six years the dog had known her, but it still reacted with fury when she approached. Only her brother, Dean, could quiet the beast down. Well, Dean could make any animal love him. “Shut up, Wally,” she told the snarling dog, feeling sorry for the creature. She knew what it felt like to be trapped and beaten. Poor Wally; its owner, a nasty biker, had never dignified the animal with a name. Only she and Dean called the dog Wally.