Star Shine (7 page)

Mary's hair had never been so clean, so gleaming. She bought a new length of black velvet ribbon to replace the original, which was getting shabby. The pinafore was gone from Breslow's window. Just as well. She couldn't have afforded it anyway, although their father would've given her the money. If she'd explained she needed it in order to be chosen as an extra. But then Jenny would've found out. And told.

“Hey, there's a neat movie on tonight,” Jenny cried. “It's one of those really scary ones.” Their father, an early-to-bed person, had put them on their honor to turn off the set by eleven. With their mother gone, they seemed to be staying up later each night. They had seen a great many scary/sexy movies lately. That night, after their father went to his room, they settled in front of the television. The movie turned out to be everything they had heard it was. It was full of blood and heavy breathing, heavy footsteps, screams. Jenny snuggled close to Mary on the couch as they watched.

“We can always turn it off, you know,” Mary said, about halfway through.

“No, no, don't turn it off!” Jenny cried, shivering. “I want to find out what happens. I want to find out who the murderer is.”

“I know who the murderer is,” said Mary. “Want me to tell you?”

“Don't you dare.”

About three a.m. Jenny woke up screaming. Mary got into bed with her and said, “There, there,” in imitation of their mother. But it didn't work. Finally Jenny made such a lot of noise their father came stumbling into their room, sat on the end of Jenny's bed, and explained she was awake and she had dreamed, had had a nightmare. They didn't tell him about the movie.

“It's not easy, you know,” Mary said sternly, “being your own mother. If Mother had been here, she would've
made
us go to bed.”

“Next time
you
make us go to bed when it gets bad,” Jenny said.

“I'll try,” Mary said.

In addition to being a piano player and a track star, Mary was also an optimist. She knew that, in the long run, hard work and perseverance would get her where she wanted to go. The trouble was, she wasn't absolutely sure where that was. Now her optimistic nature took a turn for the worse. She had tried, very hard, to keep things happy. It seemed she had failed. Jenny crept about the house, pulling a long face, picking her toenails. “Why do you do that!” Mary cried. “You know it drives me crazy when you pick your toenails.” Jenny only smiled and kept on picking.

Jenny, in addition to being a gymnast and a reasonably good second baseman, was a pessimist. She was sure things would turn out badly, and about half the time she was right. Now her pessimism hung in until the bitter end. Nothing was turning out right. Nothing. To prove it, rain fell steadily for five straight days. Plus, they had no postcard from their mother for five straight days, either. It was too much to be borne. So what if a dumb movie company was coming to town. They wouldn't get to be extras. None of them would be chosen, on account of the director's whole family, plus his brother-in-law, would be chosen instead of them.

Mary spotted the ad in Saturday's paper:

WANTED: EXTRAS FOR MOTION PICTURE.

And alongside the ad was a large star. The rest of the ad said, in smaller print:

Sonia Sims will be seeing nonunion extras for the motion picture
All's Well That Ends
, shooting in Millville. Must be available to work a full day, Monday thru Friday. Will pay $40 a day, and lunch will be served. All ages needed. Interviews will be held July 30 between nine a.m. and four p.m. at the Presbyterian Church hall.

“What'd I tell you!” Susan hollered. She had been vindicated. Some had implied that Susan was full of hot air. “I told you so! I told you so!” Sue shouted while thumping herself on the chest and letting out several earsplitting Tarzan yells.

“It's at the church hall. I thought you said the Sweet Shop,” said Mary in a futile attempt to take the wind out of Sue's sails.

“What's nonunion mean?” said Jenny.

“It means they pay you a lot less than if you were union.”

“What do you want to bet lunch is peanut butter and jelly,” Jenny said.

“No, it's probably one of those darling little box lunches they make at Fabulous Food,” Mary said. “They give you fried chicken and goat cheese and a ripe pear.”

“Goat cheese!” Jenny shouted. “I'm not eating any old goat cheese, and that's that! You ever smell a goat?”

“No, did you?” Mary asked, not hanging around for the answer.

Sunday night, lights went out early all over town. The strong scent of shampoo hung in the sticky air, and the hot-water supply dwindled and died in many a household. Folks tossed and turned as they considered the possibilities of life in the fast lane. What would it be like to be asked for one's autograph? To wear furs and diamonds and drive a Ferrari?

“Holy smoke, forty bucks a day!” shouted Mary, sitting straight up in bed as the magnitude of it hit her.

And on Jenny's side of the room, a sour voice said, “I'm worth much more than that.”

In the morning, at sunup, they fumbled their way out of bed, their eyes clotted with sleep. The thermometer stood at eighty-one at 5:46 a.m. The birds bumbled around in the trees, chirping without enthusiasm, lacking the energy to fly, goofing off. The sky was brassy with heat.

“I'm not sure I want to go,” Jenny said, putting on her red dinosaur shirt.

“Then don't. Stay home and I'll tell you all about it,” Mary snapped.

“How do I look?” Jenny smoothed the shirt down over her flat front. It was a little too small, but the dinosaur was as exuberant as ever.

Mary's jeans seemed to have shrunk in the wash. She had spent most of yesterday in front of the mirror, deciding between the jeans and the dark green dress. There was no mention of a pinafore. Jenny didn't quite dare.

“I don't think I want any breakfast,” said Mary, looking at the bowls and the package of cereal they'd set on the table the night before. To save time, they told their father. Mary's stomach turned wonky when she was excited, as well as when she first woke up.

Not so Jenny's. She shoveled in the Cheerios and said, “We better get going. What have we got to lose? I heard a lady say that yesterday. ‘I'm only going to find out what it's like,' she said. ‘What have I got to lose?'”

“You both look very fine,” their father told them. “I'll be anxious to hear how it goes. Perhaps your mother will call tonight and we can tell her about it.”

“Tina said she bet Mother would hot-foot it home if she knew about the movie,” Mary said. “Do you think she would?”

“She can't. She has a commitment to the Little Theater group. She can't just up and leave them.”

“Do you miss her, Daddy?” Jenny asked.

They held their breath, waiting for his answer.

He had to think it over. They noticed it took him a while. “Yes,” he said at last, “I miss her. But she's doing what she wants. That's important to your mother. Or to anyone, for that matter. But especially to her.”

“What happens if she turns out to be a star?” Jenny said.

“We'll worry about that when the time comes.”

“Daddy's sad,” Jenny said as they started out. “I think he's lonely.”

“He's got us, hasn't he?”

“That's not the same. He misses her.”

“I'll tell you one thing. When I have kids, I'm not going off to do my own thing.” Mary's scowl filled her face. “A mother ought to stick by her children and see them through their difficult years.”

“How do you know when their difficult years are?” Jenny wanted to know.

“I don't know. But children have a lot of difficult years. I've read about them.”

“When do they begin?” asked Jenny.

“How do I know?” Mary shrugged. “How many extras do you think they'll pick? It's a good thing I've had some acting experience,” Mary said.

“Acting experience?” Jenny stiffened. “What acting experience have you had?”

Mary's eyelashes fluttered. “You know perfectly well I played a violet in my first-grade play,” she said, not meeting Jenny's eye.

“Yeah, I remember,” Jenny drawled. “You were supposed to say ‘Please pick me,' and you forgot your lines.” She giggled. “Your line, I should say.”

Mary shot ahead. “If you don't get the lead out of your shoes, we'll be last in line instead of first. Get moving,” and they were off and running, acting experience forgotten.

When they arrived at the church hall, there must've been fifty people ahead of them. Two old men who'd brought along their own chairs were placidly playing cards. Questions flew: “When do they open the doors? How many extras will they choose? Do you have to have acting experience?” Hordes of people of all sizes and shapes and ages surged back and forth, reaching as far as the parking lot.

“I haven't got all day, you know,” said an ancient lady who'd forgotten to take off her apron. “I have to get back and watch my TV programs. I've better things to do than stand around here all day.”

Two self-important teenagers, wearing short shorts in order to show off their tan legs, rushed from nowhere to join a friend standing at the head of the line.

“Oh, thanks for saving us a place!” the teenagers cried, showing their teeth, twitching their behinds to show how young and gorgeous they were. Giving everybody a big treat just by being there, Jenny thought. If I ever get like that, I'll kill myself.

A man's rough voice called out, “Get to the back of the line, you! We been here a long time. Everybody waits their turn around here.”

Pretending not to hear, the teenagers laughed louder at something their friend said. Several others took it up. “Get on back to where you belong,” said a lady with flat black hair that looked as if it had been painted on her head. “Wait your turn. No slipping in—that's cheating!” The lady shook her fist at the girls.

“That's right! Get to the back of the line, where you belong!” others shouted.

Faces red with embarrassment, the teenagers sauntered to the end of the line, pretending they'd planned to do so all along.

“Where the heck are Sue and Tina?” Mary craned her neck to see over the crowd.

“I bet they're still sacked out,” said Jenny.

A scruffy little man in jeans and a T-shirt with “SHOOT!” on its front opened the church hall door. Several people clapped and cheered.

“All right, folks. No pushing, no shoving. Everybody gets a turn. Single file, please. You get your picture taken and you fill out a form. Leave it with the girl at the desk, please. And remember, don't call us, we'll call you.”

Susan chugged up, breathing fire. “I've been looking all over for you!” she cried. “Where were you?”

“Right here,” they told her.

Hand over heart, Susan leaned close. “You'll never guess who's right behind us, talking to us,” she hissed.

“Scott Borkowski,” Jenny guessed.

“You little turd!” Sue snapped. “How did you know?”

“I'm psychic,” Jenny said.

“Hold my place, Jen.” Mary took charge. “I'm going to run back to say hello to Tina. I'll be back in a sec.”

“Yeah, give Tina my best. And don't forget Harpo.”

If there was one thing Jenny hated, it was waiting. She began to count slowly. If nothing happened by the time she got to ten, she was leaving. She had made up her mind. Let Mary hang around. She had better things to do.

Jenny counted so slowly that she forgot where she'd left off and counted “seven” twice in her head.

To wake herself up, she said, “Eight,” in a piercing voice.

Everyone stayed just as they were, gazing blankly at one another without recognition.

“Nine!” shouted Jenny.

“Bingo!” said the lady with the flat hair, joining in the fun. That surprised Jenny. She wouldn't have thought the flat-haired lady knew what fun was.

They grinned at each other, and just as the line began to move, Mary dashed back to regain her place.

“I couldn't hold it,” Jenny said with a long face. “You left, and they said it wasn't fair for you to get back in the place you left.”

Mary's eyes snapped, and she opened her mouth to protest. The flat-haired lady gave her a big wink to show Jenny was only kidding.

“You're a sweetheart, Jen,” Mary said. “A real doll.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

The day wore on sluggishly. Jenny's stomach growled. Storm clouds gathered in the west and fought with Jenny's stomach for attention. The two old men who had played cards so jauntily early in the day had long gone. The flat-haired lady told Jenny she had once worked with Gloria Swanson. Jenny pretended she knew who Gloria Swanson was, and looked impressed.

“They want you to put down your age,” said a fat man, emerging, blinking, into the brilliant light. “I lied. I took off five years. That's all right. What difference does it make? Who cares?” No one answered, and the fat man ambled off into the shimmering heat.

A pudgy boy came out with his mother. They were arguing about who had the better chance of being chosen as an extra. “But, you see, Ollie, I'm the logical one,” the mother said. “I have presence. I have worked for years to gain presence, and now I have it, and you do not. You are far too young to have presence.”

Behind his mother's back, Ollie made faces at her and at Jenny and Mary.

“You think they'll give us lunch today?” Jenny asked.

“Not unless they hire you,” Mary said. “I'm starving. I wish I had a chocolate bar.”

“If I don't get out of the sun soon,” the flat-haired lady said, “I might pass out.”

“Scott Borkowski said he heard they were picking between fifty and a hundred extras today,” Mary said. She hadn't stopped talking about Scott Borkowski since she got back in line. Her lips twirled in a strangely unfamiliar way as she said his name.