by Lisa Yee
“No. Sort of. Not really.” I take a sip of water. It feels cold going down my throat. “Forget it.”
Sammy composes himself and tries another tactic. “You can tell me, Maybe. You know that I have always been on your side.”
I do know that. We’ve been hurt by the same person.
“Nothing bad happened,” I tell him. “I mean, nothing serious.
Not that he didn’t try.” I pause. “Well, one really bad thing happened.”
Sammy gets all worry-faced again. “What?”
The waiter appears. “Steak, medium rare for you, sir! And roasted chicken for the young lady!”
Sammy and I are frozen until the he leaves.
“She didn’t believe me,” I whisper. “She chose him instead of me.”
Sammy winces.
“I’m so sorry, Maybe.” He knows what it’s like to be dismissed by Chessy.
We stumble through small talk when really it feels like Chessy is dominating the conversation. Finally I ask, “Sammy, why did you and my mom divorce?”
“The first time or the second time?”
“Both.”
He signals the waiter and orders a glass of wine. I’ve never seen him drink before. When it arrives, he swirls it around and stares at it, like Madame Poupon with her tarot cards.
“The first time, I left her because she refused to stop drinking,” he says slowly. “I thought that the threat of me leaving would be enough, but it wasn’t. I didn’t like what it was doing to her, to me, to you. She’d black out. Do you remember?”
I nod. How could I forget?
“Still, I’d check on you all the time. Then one day I was surprised when Chessy’s new husband answered the door. I kept my distance after that. It was too hard on all of us when I showed up.”
“What about the second time? How did you two get together again after that?”
“You don’t remember?”
I shake my head.
“After Chessy left Jim Marshall, you called me. You were only six or seven years old, but you called and asked me to marry your mother again.”
I don’t remember.
“So I came back and worked really hard at getting Chessy sober, and we remarried. Shortly afterward I started getting more and more photography jobs and my career kept taking me to California. I should have been around more, but I wasn’t.
“Still, Chessy was thrilled for me, for all of us, when we decided to move to Los Angeles. She claimed that she always wanted to live here. However, right before I left, your mom picked a huge fight. She accused me of wanting to leave her, which we both knew was ridiculous.” Sammy pauses and shakes his head. “I hoped that it was just the alcohol talking and that once her head cleared everything would be all right. Maybe, your mother’s really strong. But sometimes even strong people need help. I thought I could be the one to help her.
“So I came out, scouted good school districts, bought this house, and set up my business. Then one day the doorbell rang. But instead of you and your mother showing up on my doorstep, I was served divorce papers.”
Sammy looks pained and I’m sorry for making him relive this, but I need to know. He’s not the only one who was hurt. “What was her excuse for not coming?”
“She said she met someone else.” Sammy takes a long sip of wine. “Did she?”
“Not right away.”
There is a sad silence between us. Finally I ask, “What is it about her? I mean, for you to marry her twice? For all those other men to fall in love with her, when she treats everyone so badly?”
Sammy looks surprised that his wine glass is empty. The waiter materializes and offers him a second glass. Sammy waves him away. “Your mother,” he says, carefully selecting his words, “can be intoxicating. When she pays attention to you, you feel like the most important person in the world.”
I know what he means.
“I know she can be frustrating,” Sammy continues, “but Chessy can also be kind and loving, if you let her. She’s not as tough as she thinks she is.” He pauses, then chuckles. “I don’t suppose you know of a support group for men who have been tossed aside by Chessamay Chestnut.”
That’s Sammy for you. He looks devastated, yet he’s trying to make me feel better.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. The tears burn as they run down my face.
“Me too,” he replies.
It’s past midnight and I can’t sleep.
When I was little and couldn’t sleep, my mother would sit on the edge of the bed and tell me stories about her beauty pageant days. Back then, she used to put me in those Little Miss dresses and, get this—I actually won a couple of beauty pageants.
I remember one time Grandma came down from Gainesville to watch me compete. “You gotta win this one,” my mom whispered as she sprayed my hair with Aqua Net. “You just have to.”
I came in fifth, despite my mother having an “in” with the head judge. It was probably my lack of talent that sealed it. Statistics have shown that puppet shows rarely do well at beauty pageants. Later I switched to a mime act. What other choice did I have? I couldn’t sing. I couldn’t dance. I couldn’t play a musical instrument. Sadly, as a mime, I couldn’t even keep quiet.
“Pity about Maybelline,” Grandma said as she reapplied her lipstick. She had treated us to Kountry Buffet for dinner. It was all-you-could-eat and they had chocolate pudding and pies and cakes. Grandma only had fruit cocktail and cottage cheese on her tray. “Chessamay, she’s on the pudgy side, like you.”
I could see my mother stiffen. “I’m not fat,” she said as she put back a slice of pie.
“I know you’re not, dear,” Grandma said sympathetically. “But you were, and inside your body is still a chubby Chessamay fighting to get out. You look better now, although I liked your hair when it was longer. It’ll grow, though, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
Then Grandma turned to me. “Maybelline, darling, stop shoveling those desserts into your mouth. You don’t want to get chubby the way your mommy was, do you?”
I put my spoon down and shook my head.
“Now, I’ve got some pointers for Maybelline,” Grandma said, taking out a list. “Shall we go over them now?”
“Let’s not, Mother,” Chessy said, pushing the list away.
“But these are helpful.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Well, I never!”
Grandma was always saying, “Well, I never!” When I was little I couldn’t figure out what she never did. I couldn’t figure out Grandma either. One time I asked my mother, “Grandma doesn’t like me, does she?”
I waited for my mother to tell me I was wrong, but instead she said, “Grandma doesn’t like surprises.” Then she wiped my face with a tissue and said, “But I do!”
I liked it when Grandma visited. Not because I liked Grandma; I didn’t. What I liked was that when she was around, my mom and I were on the same side.
The next morning Chessy’s photos are gone. The walls are bare. Twig is beaming. “I don’t know what you said to him last night, but thank you!”
Even though I hated looking at the photos, it makes me sad not to see them anymore.
CHAPTER THIRTY- SIX
When the house is empty I use Sammy’s computer. His screen saver is a photo of my mother. He must have missed that one when he purged the house of Chessy photos.
My search for my father isn’t moving forward, so instead, I go backward. I re-contact all the birth family sites and give them the only new information I have: my e-mail address. Sammy set it up for me. He also taught me how to play games on the computer, and I find myself spending more and more time doing that than searching for my biological father. My favorite game is called Dog Detective. Using the clues provided, you search for lost pets. So far, I’ve rescued twelve dogs.
Hollywood e-mails me a dozen times a day with updates about his film (“It’s going great”), messages from his roommate (“Ian says hi”), and general weird
ness (“What’s the difference between God and a director? God doesn’t think he’s a director”).
Ted looks over my shoulder and reads the latest e-mail from Hollywood. “He never e-mails me,” Ted pouts.
“You don’t even have an e-mail address,” I remind him.
“I could get one.”
Ted’s totally consumed with his job. “I’m going to have to stop going to the Brentwood Thai Culture Club meetings,” he announces as he points the remote toward the TV and races through the channels. “It’s a pity since I’ve just been elected sergeant at arms.”
I stop cracking pistachios. “I didn’t even know you were a member of the Thai Culture Club.”
“Ah, Miss Maybe, there’s so much about me you don’t know. I’m a man of mystery and I’m totally in demand. Miss de la Tour depends on me for everything.”
Ted holds his arm out under my nose. His Mickey Mouse watch is gone and in its place is an expensive-looking watch that’s way too big for him. I pretend not to see it. It would make Ted too happy if I noticed it.
“Recently, I’ve started sitting in with her agent,” he says. “We’re negotiating for her to appear in a cameo of a prequel to The Poseidon Adventure.”
“You should tell this to Hollywood.”
“I did.”
Since when did he start telling Hollywood things before me?
Sammy strides through the living room. Twig is slouching behind him. “You kids want to go with us to get something to eat?”
When Twig hears this, she looks alarmed. Ted saunters over and holds his wrist under Sammy’s nose.
“Nice watch.”
“Oh, you noticed! Miss de la Tour gifted me with it. It’s an antique Rolex and it used to belong to one of her husbands. She’s been married almost as many times as Maybe’s mom. Hey! Where are all the Chessy photos?”
There is an awkward silence as the question hangs in the air. Sammy scoops up his keys from the front-door table. “Well, we’re leaving. Guess we’ll see you when we get back.”
“That was weird,” Ted says, still staring at the blank walls.
“You jerk.”
“What? What did I do?”
I just shake my head. “Are we going to the movies or what?”
Ted lights up. “I thought we’d go to the Rialto theater and see Life with Aubrey and Andy!’ “I’ve never heard of it. Is it new?”
“It’s old, and it stars the fabulous Gloria de la Tour. She was nominated for an Oscar for that one, but Audrey Hepburn won.” I start to tell Ted that I once shared a sandwich with a different Audrey Hepburn, but he keeps going. “I told Miss de la Tour I’d check it out, see how many people are there. You know, give her a full report.”
I grab my Hostess Twinkies jacket and we’re on our way. When Ted turns on the engine, a familiar voice says, “Voila la porte!” Startled, I look around.
“Miss de la Tour plans to go to Paris for the fall,” Ted explains as he turns down the volume on the CD player. “I figured she’ll probably want me to go too, so I should learn to speak the language. Comprenezvous? These are those CDs they’re always advertising on television.”
“Won’t you be back in Kissimmee in the fall, in school?”
Ted is at a loss for words, but only for a moment. “That remains to be seen,” he says slowly. “Are you going back?”
“Why would I ever want to do that?” I ask.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It’s long after midnight. I am having trouble falling asleep. Then, somewhere between awake and dreaming, it hits me.
It’s brilliant! I’m brilliant! I have finally figured out how to find Gunnar.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
W hen I wake up I can’t remember what my brilliant idea was. This is maddening. I sit and watch Twig drawing pictures on the ads in the newspaper and try to remember.
“Look at how funny this man looks,” Twig says as she puts goggly eyes, long hair, and a dress on a man in a lab coat touting “Pain-free dentistry!”
That’s when it hits me. “Thank you, Willow!” I shout. She looks confused, but I’m not. I remembered my brilliant idea.
Benito’s Taco Truck #4 is early. I run toward it, but it looks like Jess has almost everything set up. She’s already taking out the meats. I grab the Jarritos and start plunging them into the ice coolers built into the side of the truck.
As always, the time on the taco truck flies by. Jess says that the truck has been making more money since I started working there. Her Uncle Benny has noticed it too.
“So you’ve told him about me?”
“Not yet.” Jess nibbles on a pickled carrot. “Uncle Benny has made it clear this is a family-run business. He’d consider you an outsider, plus you’re not even Mexican. Anyway, he’d kill me for hiring you without his permission. It’s still his name on the truck.”
I feel kind of hurt that Jess won’t tell Uncle Benny about me.
By two p.m., we’ve fed our last customer, and now my favorite time of day begins. Jess makes herself a polio burrito with red rice and beans, cheese, lettuce, hot salsa with extra cilantro, and jalapenos on the side. Today I’ll have three carnitas tacos in a corn tortilla with caramelized onions, sauteed mushrooms, and extra guacamole—always extra guacamole. We make it fresh every day using green scallions and ripe red tomatoes that Uncle Benny gets at the farmers’ market. Jess had shown me how to mash it so that there are chunks of avocado in it. “None of that fake creamy stuff you get at the grocery store,” she says. “This is authentic.”
We both down a couple of ice-cold Jarritos. Bottled soda tastes a hundred times better than from a can. The sky is clear and it looks like there are flecks of gold in the ocean. “Jess,” I begin. I’ve waited all day to tell her my news. “I’ve figured out how to find him.”
“Who?”
“Gunnar, my father. I’m going to take out an ad, in the trades. That’s what Hollywood calls the TV/movie papers. If my father is still in show business, he’s sure to see it. Everyone in entertainment reads Variety.”
I take out a piece of paper from my shorts pocket and show the ad to her. I created it on Sammy’s computer.
Jess smiles. “Maybe, if that doesn’t do it, I don’t know what will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
She what?”
“Chessy’s joined Alcoholics Anonymous,” Ridgeway says again. “It was her idea. Jake came on to one of her few remaining students. Chessy called him on it, kicked him out, and downed enough Jack Daniels to pickle her liver. Then she headed straight to AA. She’d been tipping back the bottle more than ever since you left, but this last Jake incident—well, even she recognized she’s got a problem.”
I let this sink in.
“Jake tried to rape someone else?”
“He says he was just fooling around, but the girl says otherwise. Her family might press charges.”
“I hope they do,” I mutter. “So does my mom believe me now? Does she see that he’s a total asshole jerk?”
“She’s not doing much talking these days, darling,” Ridgeway informs me.
“Mostly she sits in your room and cries. But AA’s been helping her a lot. And her sponsor is excellent. He’s handsome too. She’s probably going to want to marry the bastard.”
“How do you know? I thought AA was supposed to be anonymous.”
“I’m her sponsor.”
“But don’t you have to be a member to be a sponsor?” Then it dawns on me. “You’re in AA? Ridgeway, you don’t even drink.”
“Not anymore. Maybe, do you want me to say anything to your mother for you? She’s really hurting.”
“I have nothing to say to her.”
CHAPTER FORTY
We are sitting at Kozak’s Koffee Shop, a place famous for having toasters on every table. Hollywood’s just sent his documentary in to the contest, so the three of us are supposed to be celebrating, but I don’t feel very festive. I can’t get my mind off of that sleazebag Jake.
He did it again. Only this time he got caught. Hollywood turns on his camera. “Maybe, any words about my documentary being finished?”
I bat the camera away. “Not now, Hollywood.”
“Miss de la Tour was thrilled that her movie sold out,” Ted says as he plays with the toaster.
I remove the butter knife from his hands. “You could get electrocuted,” I scold him. “And the movie wasn’t sold out. There was hardly anybody there.”
“I told her it was packed,” Ted says solemnly. “And I’m sure it would be, if it were promoted properly. By the way, she’s fascinated with your search for your father. Miss de la Tour was an orphan too.”
“I’m not an orphan.”
I slump back in the booth. Suddenly I have a headache. It feels like a migraine or possibly a brain tumor, maybe both.
“Are you all right?” Hollywood puts his camera down just as two slices of toast pop up.
“She’s probably had too much to eat,” Ted says, feeling my forehead and then trying to look up my nose. “Maybe has a thing for carbs when she’s on her period. Plus she gets super moody.”
“Ted, can you shut up and take me home?”
“See what I mean?”
“I can take you home,” Hollywood volunteers, already scooting out of the booth.
“If you insist,” Ted agrees as another piece of toast pops up. He adds it to the two-story house of toast he’s building.
“Are you okay?” Hollywood asks. His car backfires. Neither of us flinches, even though several people on the street duck for cover.
“Yeah,” I say, rolling down the window. There’s a definite difference between riding in a Rolls-Royce and the Green Hornet. “I just have a slight headache.”
Hollywood turns on the radio. Some sappy station goes in and out as we head up the coast. He seems too preoccupied to notice. Before we get to Sammy’s house, Hollywood pulls over on the side of the road. The only light is from the moon. I can hear the ocean crashing in the distance.
“Maybe?” Hollywood sounds nervous. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
