Star Shine (12 page)

“Thanks,” they said, piling out. “Thanks for the ride.” Just as she was about to drive off, Susan's mother leaned out and said, “Jenny, I want to ask you one thing. Why the skates in August?”

“It's the movie. I'm an extra,” Jenny said.

“Of course! Dumb me. So now you're a star too. Terrific!” and Susan's mother whipped around in a gigantic U turn and drove away.

“She's a nut,” Jenny said. A star too? The thought made her tingle.

“Do you think we'll be happier now?” Mary asked, but Jenny, wings on her heels, ran up the path without answering.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Later they argued about which of them knew first that their mother was already home and waiting for them. Jenny swore she had a strange feeling—a premonition, she later called it when she found out what “premonition” meant—that the house was not empty. Mary claimed she smelled her mother's perfume the instant she stepped into the house. It was a smell that had been absent since their mother had taken off, and in that instant of smelling Mary said she knew that at long last their mother was home.

“Darlings! Is it really you!” Their mother came halfway down the stairs, arms outstretched, and they ran into her embrace. And although it was crowded there, standing on the stairs, they hung on to her, afraid she might evaporate.

Mary's first thought was, Why, she's gotten fat!

And Jenny's was, I can't believe how good she smells.

“But you're so big!” their mother cried. “I can't believe how much you've grown, and I've only been gone a second!”

Jenny leaned back so far to look into her mother's face that she almost lost her balance. “No,” Jenny said quietly, “you've been gone nineteen days. I kept count.”

“Jenny, love, your hair!” their mother cried. “What on earth have you done to your hair?”

“I'm growing braids,” said Jenny.

Their mother's laughter made them smile.

“How did you get here?” Jenny demanded. “We didn't know if you were coming today or tomorrow. Daddy said he didn't know which.”

“I took the bus.” Their mother placed her hand, fingers spread, on her front and rolled her eyes at them. “Never take a long-distance bus if it's possible to get where you're going any other way,” she said. “Horrible. I sat next to a practical nurse who insisted on telling me the gory details of her latest case. I kept reading but that didn't stop her. She kept on talking. The entire way. But never mind! Here I am, safe and sound, and I'll never leave you again!” She swept them into her arms again, where they bumped noses and found it difficult to breathe.

“I called first thing this morning,” their mother went on, “to let Daddy know when I'd be getting in. So he could meet me. But there was no answer. You must've been out early.”

Mary started to say they'd been at the skating rink, that their father had taken them to McDonald's for breakfast to celebrate Jenny's being in the movie, but the sound of their father's car in the drive brought them up short.

“Hide, Mother!” Mary said. “And surprise him!”

“No, I don't think he'd like that,” said Jenny. Their mother went out to greet their father, and they stationed themselves behind the living room curtains to see how he'd take it.

“Hello, Jim,” they heard her say. How come she didn't call him darling the way she did them? He put his arms around her, and she tucked her head into his shoulder. They didn't kiss, but still, it was very romantic.

“Did you notice?” Mary hissed, her breath making the curtains move in an agitated manner, “she's gotten fat.”

“Never,” said Jenny, frowning. “She'll never be fat.”

“Well,” Mary amended, “maybe not fat. But fatter.”

“It was all that fast food,” their mother said as they dug in on a supper of omelette, salad, and fresh fruit. “I never ate so many pizzas and shakes and hero sandwiches in my whole life. It was disgusting the way they all packed it away. No wonder I gained five pounds.” She ran her hands over her hips disdainfully. “If I hadn't made myself do my exercises both morning and night, I would've gained more. They were all very lazy, given to sitting around and talking, never moving a muscle if they could help it. They talked about themselves, their careers, their press releases. It got boring. Actors are known for having narcissus complexes, you know. They can only see as far as the end of their own noses. They contemplate their navels a lot.”

Weird, Mary and Jenny decided, shooting glances at each other. Very weird.

“Now tell us why you came home so suddenly,” their father said. “We expected some notice, and suddenly here you are.”

Their mother rose from the table and began to pace. Clearly angry and agitated, she said, “I wanted the role of Emily in
Our Town
, as I wrote to tell you.” The postcard was still buried in her drawer, Jenny realized with a guilty start. She could feel Mary looking at her and refused to look back.

“Ron is—was—the director, the casting director as well as the play's director,” their mother went on in a tight voice. “He had as much as promised me Emily. I had studied—oh, you wouldn't believe how I studied the lines. It's a lovely part, Emily, she's so charming, so vulnerable, an actress's delight. Emily is first seen as a schoolgirl and then as a bride. And it's very sad as she dies at the end. Nevertheless, I wanted that part. I had it between my teeth, so to speak. It suited me, and Ron promised.

“Then”—their mother stamped her foot—“Ron's girl friend just happened to be in town and that was that. Lo and behold, she was Emily, He said he'd directed her in the part before and that she was perfect. I asked where she'd been when he promised it to me, and I personally think she was checking out groceries in a supermarket, but he said she'd been in Europe and had come back unexpectedly. If you want to know the truth, she's very unattractive.” Their mother lifted her chin and threw back her shoulders. “Bad complexion, eyes set too close together. But Ron had made up his mind. And you know what he told me?”

The three of them sat still, shaking their heads no, they didn't know what Ron had told her, hadn't an idea in the world of what he'd told her.

“He said”—her eyes glistened and her voice cracked—“that I was
too old
for the part. He said I was
too old
to play Emily.”

Stunned by the enormity of this, they remained motionless, afraid to say a single word, knowing whatever they said would be wrong.

“Can I have your handkerchief, please?” their mother said, and their father handed his over to her. She blew her nose vigorously and handed it back to him.

“That knocked me out. Absolutely knocked me out.” She sat on the edge of her chair and looked at each of them in turn, her big eyes seeming bigger than they had been. And about to overflow.

“That's when I packed my bags—bag, that is—and here I am.” She waited for someone to speak.

“Well.” Their father cleared his throat. What approach would he take? they wondered.

“I am not
too old
to play Emily!” Their mother's voice rose to a high wail. The tears overflowed and rained down her cheeks faster than she could brush them away.

“I am not
too old
!” she wept. Their father got up and went to her and gathered her into his arms.

“Darling,” he said, “don't. It's not worth it.”

At this she wept louder and more bitterly. She had been dealt a tremendous blow, they realized, looking down at their laps, wanting to comfort her, not knowing how. Wanting also to say, “Excuse me,” and leave the table, go somewhere else.

Their father continued to hold their mother, smoothing back her hair, murmuring words of comfort in her ear, and when he turned slightly so they could see his face, they saw that he was smiling.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“You never told her about you being in the movie,” Mary said, shuffling the cards.

“She never asked.”

“When're you going to tell her?” Mary dealt. They were playing their version of poker.

“Not tonight, that's for sure.”

“Full house,” said Mary, laying down her cards.

“That's not a full house,” Jenny said. “You've got four tens, dummy. A full house is three of one kind, two of another.”

“I always forget,” Mary said. “It's your deal.”

“If I told her tonight I was in a movie, she might explode. I'll wait for the right time.”

“You remember that lady at the party and what she said about Mother being young for her age?” Mary said, picking up and arranging her hand. That was the best part, she thought, arranging the hand so it was like a little fan. “You think, if we told her that, she might feel better?”

“Heck, no, it might set her off again. Oh, boy!” Jenny crowed, smirking at her cards.

“This is poker, turkey,” Mary said. “You're not supposed to let me know you've got a good hand. You're supposed to make your face expressionless. That's what they mean by a poker face.”

“You play it your way, I'll play it mine,” Jenny told her.

“How many cards do you need?” Mary said.

“None.” Jenny smiled widely. “I'll stick with these.”

Mary spent considerable time deciding whether to discard one card or two.

“Hurry up, I'm tired,” Jenny complained. “I've had a tough day.”

“Hold your horses.” Slowly, Mary dealt herself two cards. “O.K.,” she said, carefully studying the new cards. “I bet two,” and she threw two paper clips on the floor.

“Raise you one,” and Jenny added a paper clip to the pile. When they couldn't find the poker chips, like tonight, they used paper clips in place of chips. Clips weren't nearly as satisfactory as chips, however. They didn't make the same nice click when they fell.

Jenny's eyelids were drooping. Jenny's brain was becoming addled. Jenny's brain always became addled when she was tired. Mary seized the advantage.

“And I'll raise you two.” Gleefully Mary threw down more paper clips.

“I call.” Jenny showed her cards, which were all spades.

“Two pair!” Mary shouted. She had learned some time ago that if you shouted when you showed your cards, people were inclined to think you had won.

“You win.” Jenny gave in and stumbled to bed.

Mary went to the window and looked out, thinking about their mother being home, being too old to play Emily. About Jenny being in the movie and not telling their mother. About what their mother would do when she found out. Life is very complex, Mary thought, leaning out to check the stars, sighing deeply. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair. In a couple of weeks her hair would be as long as Rapunzel's; golden it was not, would never be. Settle for brown, turkey. Mary was asleep the minute her head hit the pillow.

“They're asleep, with the light on,” their mother reported. “Jenny's sucking her thumb again, I see, and Mary's snoring.”

“Quite a combo they make, don't they?” their father said, patting his pockets in search of a cigarette.

Next morning, when she came down, Jenny was pleased to find her mother already up and drinking coffee in the kitchen.

“How come you're up so early?” Jenny said. “I thought you'd be exhausted this morning.”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Her mother stirred her coffee, ladling sugar into it. “I wanted time to sort myself out. Besides, Daddy had to be off early so I got up when he did. What're you up to today? How about if we have a picnic, just you and me and Mary? Wouldn't that be fun? I'll pack your favorite lunch, and we'll—”

“Can't,” said Jenny, pouring out a bowl of Cheerios. “I have to be at the rink by nine.” There it was. She'd been wondering how to tell her mother, and the words had just slipped out.

“The rink?” Her mother's forehead ruffled. “What rink?”

“Didn't Daddy tell you?” Jenny's eyebrows flew up in amazement. He had left it to her to tell her mother, she guessed. “They're making a movie here in town, and I'm skating in it. I'm an extra.” Jenny sniffed at the milk. It smelled all right, but she couldn't be sure until she tasted it.

Her mother sat perfectly still. “You're an extra in a movie?” she repeated. “They're shooting a movie here? A TV movie? What kind of movie?”

“A movie movie, one you have to pay to see in a movie theater,” Jenny explained more fully. “Norm Dubie—he's the director—he says when they wrap it up—that means finish it—we'll all get to see it for nothing. All the people who worked in it, I mean. They're paying big bucks,” she told her mother. “Forty bucks a day, plus lunch.”

Her mother tucked her hair carefully behind her ears and sat up straight, the way she did when she was practicing her isometrics, so she wouldn't have bulges and extra flesh piling up when she wasn't looking. “When did this happen?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Oh, while you were away.” Jenny dipped a spoon into the milk and tasted. It was O.K. She poured milk on the cereal so it came to the top of the bowl. She liked to see how close she could get to having the milk spill over without its actually spilling. That gave her an excuse to put her face down and drink from the bowl, which she liked to do. And now did. Her mother was so distracted she didn't even protest.

“Who's in the movie?” her mother asked, letting her coffee get cold. “Anyone I know?” Jenny named the stars, and her mother's face lit up. “Oh, I love him! I saw him in his first picture, which was a smash, but he hasn't done anything really good lately. Have you met him?” her mother asked.

“Nope, we haven't met anybody. I just skate around and around and hope for the best. Scott Borkowski—he's this boy Mary knows—he helped me tighten my laces, which was a good thing. But I'll tell you one thing, it's a tough way to make forty bucks,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “A very tough way.”