by Lisa Yee
“I know.”
“Maybelline,” Chessy says my name slowly, drawing it out like a plea. Suddenly she doesn’t look so sure of herself. “About Jake . . .”
I shake my head. “Forget it.”
My mother’s voice wobbles. “I should have ... I thought... I’m sorry.”
She says it so softly that I’m not even sure if I heard her correctly. I don’t dare ask her to repeat it, though. “Okay,” I say. “You’re here now. We don’t need to talk about it.”
Chessy looks relieved. As I clear the table, she explores the house. After opening every closet and drawer, my mother comes back looking flushed. “This house is gorgeous. Why did I ever divorce Sammy?” she asks, not expecting an answer.
She’s almost giddy, like we never had our talk. But I’ll never forget it.
“I hope he doesn’t mind that I’m staying here. That tree person he’s dating seemed high-strung. How long has he been seeing her?”
“Her name’s Willow, and they’ve been together for about two years.”
“She doesn’t know how to use blush,” Chessy informs me. She flips open a compact and powders her nose. “She bites her nails, and her hair could be a lot shinier. But she does have excellent posture.”
On cue the door opens and Willow walks in. She stops cold and her eyes get big when she sees my mother is still here. Sammy pushes past Willow, almost knocking her over. “Chessy! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
They fall into each other’s arms.
Willow looks like she is about to crumble. I rush to her side. “It’s okay,” I assure her.
She’s still frozen, except for the tears that are splattering on the floor. “No, it’s not,” Willow whispers back.
As Sammy leads Chessy to the couch, he seems enthralled as she recounts her totally boring story about lost luggage. He nods with sympathy and laughs at the appropriate moments. It is fascinating to watch the hold my mother has over him. I’ve seen this a million times with men, yet there is still something mesmerizing and sickening about it.
“So you don’t mind me staying here?” Chessy is in full flirt mode, pouring on her southern drawl, batting her eyelashes, and straightening Sammy’s collar.
“Of course!” Sammy insists. “Of course, you know that.”
Willow flees to the kitchen and I follow to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. “How long will she be here?” Willow asks as she puts a cigarette to her lips and begins flicking her lighter. She’s shaking too much to get a light. I take the lighter from her and throw it in the trash can.
“I don’t know.”
“Why is she here?”
I think about explaining that I knew she had dumped her fiance/rapist and that her business was failing. That I knew she was in AA. And that I sent my mother a first-class airline ticket and I included a note that read, “I dare you to come to California,” but then I changed it to read, “Please come.”
Willow looks pained and is holding her stomach. “Chessy’s just on a little vacation,” I tell her.
“Well, I hope it’s really short. I don’t want to lose Sammy.”
How can I tell her that I don’t want to lose Sammy either—or my mom?
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
My mother has taken over. Her luggage has vanished, so she’s been doing a lot of shopping. This must be some relief to Willow since Chessy had been wearing her clothes, reinterpreted glamour-queen style, of course. Like taking Willow’s favorite blouses and adding shoulder pads to them.
Chessy has maxed out two credit cards, but still she has shown no signs of slowing down. The bathroom has turned into a drugstore with her creams and lotions and makeup and whatnots crowding the counter. We are sharing my room. Her things are everywhere—piles of clothes, shoes on the floor, jewelry on the dresser.
“What’s this?” my mother asks, pulling out the giant portrait of herself from the back of my closet.
“That’s you.”
She studies it. “Sammy should have never taken that.”
“I’m glad he did. You look really pretty there without makeup.”
“You’re wrong,” Chessy says. But she doesn’t put the photo back in the closet. “You know, I never thought I’d say this, Maybelline, but I preferred your Kool-Aid colored spiky mess of hair over this moth-eaten look. Are you trying to start a trend or something? Because if you are, it isn’t working.”
Willow is terrified of Chessy and clams up whenever she is around, even though my mother has no problem talking to her.
“Stand up straighter, dear, you’re slouching.”
“You need a manicure. Have you ever considered using Pearly Pink? It’s a beautiful color and it will look better on your skin tone, which is looking a bit washed out, don’t you think?”
“A tank top and jeans. That’s what you’re wearing to the movies? Interesting.”
A few words from Chessy will send Willow fleeing.
“What?” my mother says to me. “What did I say?”
I can’t help but laugh. She’s giving Willow the advice her charm-school students used to pay for. She does that for me too. I can see that now.
I’m not surprised to find Willow hovering in the kitchen gripping a huge hunk of cheese. “She hates me, doesn’t she?”
“That’s just Chessy’s way. She actually thinks she’s doing a public service when she tells people what they should do.”
Willow has tears in her eyes. This has been happening a lot.
“Aw, come on,” I say as I slowly pry her fingers off the cheese. “You have great fashion sense, you don’t have to listen to her.”
“It’s not that.” She takes a gulp of air. “Sammy’s phone doesn’t ring at night anymore.” When I don’t react, Willow spells it out for me. “It was Chessy he was talking to all those times.”
I shut my eyes. Of course! It wasn’t Ted who told her what I was up to—it was Sammy. All this time it’s been Sammy. Chessy never had to call me when she could get a full report from him. She was spying on me . . . Oh God. She was spying on me just like I was spying on her with Ridgeway.
My silence is scaring Willow. She looks so fragile that I need to say something fast. But the thing I want to say the most, I can’t. It would kill her to hear that Chessy wants to marry Sammy again—even if he doesn’t even know this yet. “Hey,” I say to Willow. “Are you going to take me shopping for something to wear tomorrow night? It’s going to be a great party and I really need something nice to distract from my hair.”
A hint of a smile appears on Willow’s worried face. “Okay, I can do that,” she says.
I walk over to her and open my arms. Willow surprises me. For a skinny girl, she has a fierce hug.
Chapter SIXTY-FOUR
My mother and I are in the bathroom, staring at ourselves in the mirror. Everything we need is on the counter.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Chessy asks.
I take a deep breath. “I’m sure.”
“Okay, then,” my mother says. “We’ll do it your way.”
CHAPTER SIXTY- FIVE
Sammy, may I have a minute with you?” He looks up from his desk. “You shaved your head. What will your mother say about that?”
“She’s the one who did it.”
Sammy chuckles. “I’ll never understand the two of you.”
I step forward and hand him a box.
“What is it?”
“Open it.” As he unwraps it, the smile on his face grows. “It’s a lens,” I tell him, even though it’s obvious. “For your telescope.”
Sammy is speechless. “Maybe,” he finally says, his voice cracking. “This looks expensive. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to do it. It made me happy to be able to. I used my Benito’s money.” I take a deep breath. “Um, did Chessy talk to you about her . . . plans?”
Sammy pretends to be studying the lens for the longest time. “Maybelline, I said no. It’s not that
I don’t love her. Or you. It’s just that, well. . .”
I let out a sad laugh. “She has a lot of baggage?”
“You could say that.”
“She’s been in AA and serious about sobering up. We can get her to stay on the wagon and—“Maybe,” he says gently. “I’m sorry. Things are complicated.” “That’s okay,” I tell him. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
CHAPTER SIXTY- SIX
My mother is adding another layer of mascara to her false eyelashes as I tie my Andy Warhol scarf around my head.
“Sammy told me he said no.”
“That’s what he said,” she says cheerfully. “Hand me my blush, will you?”
“You’re okay with that?”
“For now. He’s got that Willow girl, not that she’s any competition. I give them six months, tops. Then we’ll see.”
At eleven p.m. Hollywood arrives, wearing his sports jacket. He’s cut his hair. It must be an epidemic.
“Did you return the book?” I ask. “How much do I owe?”
“It was weird.” Hollywood scratches his chin. “They say no one’s checked out A Little Princess for over two years. So they were surprised when I returned it.”
“Hollywood,” Chessy gushes. “You look so handsome, I don’t even recognize you!”
Hollywood is on his best behavior around my mother. He opens the door for her, and he has even cleaned the Green Hornet. “James Dean,” she says as she slips into the front seat. “I love James Dean. All those old movie stars just oozed glamour, but not these new ones. They don’t care how they look in public.”
By the time we get to Beverly Hills, Hollywood and my mother have covered the Golden Age of Film. The Green Hornet turns into a driveway. “We’re here to pick up Ted Schneider,” Hollywood says.
The guard grins, revealing a gold tooth. “So you’re Teddy’s pals. He’s told us all about you guys.” He looks at Chessy and puts his hands over his heart. “Gorgeous!”
Chessy smiles demurely and says, “Thank you.”
“Hit the gas,” I tell Hollywood. “Or that man will be my next stepfather.”
Hollywood maneuvers up the long tree-lined drive and parks in front of a huge white mansion with Greek columns. This is where Ted has been hanging out?
The heavy wrought-iron door swings open and Ted pops out. The marble lions flanking the front door look like they could devour him in two bites. “I’m leaving now,” he shouts into the house. “I’ll give you a full report when I get back. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
We can’t hear the reply.
“Miss de la Tour,” he says by way of explanation as he climbs in the backseat with me.
“I’ve read about mansions like these,” Chessy says reverently, “but I’ve never actually seen one this close up.”
“If you think this looks good, you should see the inside,” Ted tells her. “Plus there’s a pool and tennis court in the backyard. Of course, Miss de la Tour never uses them on account of her bad hip, but she keeps them in immaculate condition.”
During the entire ride to the Griffith Park Observatory, all Ted and Chessy talk about is the glorious Gloria de la Tour. Hollywood speaks up now and then, adding tidbits of de la Tour trivia. I keep quiet. I have a lot on my mind.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
The parking lot is practically empty. It’s almost midnight. This was Hollywood’s idea. The Griffith Park Observatory is closed. The huge domes that house the telescopes are shut, but the building is illuminated by a warm yellow glow from within. I feel like I’m on a movie set.
Sammy and Willow are waiting by Sammy’s telescope. It looks small compared to the observatory. The taco truck is here, and Jess and Vilma are feeding the security guards. Hollywood offers me his arm, but Chessy takes it. “Why, thank you,” she coos. “What a gentleman! Maybelline, why don’t you make this nice young man your boyfriend?”
“Yeah, Maybelline,” Hollywood says, treating me to that crooked smile of his, “why don’t you?”
I just laugh.
As we make our way toward the group, Hollywood stops at a bust of James Dean. We pause for a moment of silence, then continue on.
Jess is setting out a feast: carnitas tacos, taquitos, sopitas, burritos, quesadillas. There’s also a pile of birthday presents and going-away gifts. You’d think that if you felt both happy and sad, the emotions would cancel each other out. But I feel anything but neutral.
“Sit down, everyone!” Jess calls out. She’s flushed from rushing around. “Don’t let the food get cold.”
Chessy whispers to me, “Is that your taco truck friend?” I nod. “You there, Jennifer! Please come here.”
“Jessica, this is my mom, Chessy,” I say.
“Hi Chessy.” She extends her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Instead of taking her hand, Chessy touches Jess’s face and turns it from side to side. “What beautiful bone structure. Are you wearing any makeup?” Jess shakes her head. “Gorgeous, just gorgeous,” my mother murmurs while taking her seat. “A natural beauty, imagine that.”
The rest of us sit down around card tables. Tonight, Jess has covered them with red paper tablecloths. I am sitting between Chessy and Ted. Sammy rises. “I would like to make a toast to our birthday girl.”
Everyone raises their drinks and cheers. I am still blushing as I stand. “I would like to make a toast.” My voice shakes. “To my best friend in the entire world. I don’t know how I am going to get along without you.” I turn to Ted. “I love you and will miss you.”
Ted bursts out crying, and then I start crying, and soon everyone joins in—even one of the security guards who stopped by to get more salsa. Ted and I walk over to the railing and look out over the city while the others are eating and talking.
“Why do you have to leave?” I ask. I can see the Hollywood sign. “Chessy says we’re getting our own place. You can live with us.”
“I miss my mom and dad.” Ted bursts out crying all over again. “I’m homesick, okay? Your mom’s here, but mine’s in Kissimmee. Besides, I have important news for my parents, and I have to tell them in person. I got my lab tests back.”
“Ted, are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?”
He dabs his eyes with a handkerchief. “I took the DNA test.”
“What DNA test?”
“Yours, Maybe. The one you never took. The one that Gary Germie gave to you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Well, it was prepaid, and I’m not one to let something like that go to waste.”
“And?”
“And the results on Maybelline Chestnut are that you are a male, and your race is Chinese and French.”
“Say that again?”
“You heard me. I’m part Chinese, part French, no part Thai.”
“No way!”
“Years and years of Thai upbringing. I’ve been studying the wrong Asian culture.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Ted muses. “But Maah and Paww are going to go into shock, especially since they’ve planned a family trip to Thailand for next year.”
“And then you’ll come back?”
Ted gets unusually quiet. “I need to be with my mother and father for a while. You know how they feel about me.”
I nod.
“When will you and Chessy move back to Kissimmee?” Ted asks.
“I don’t think I’m ever going back.”
“What about your mom?”
“Are you kidding me? She keeps asking Sammy and me why we didn’t make her move sooner. It’s like she has amnesia and can’t remember that the idea of flying and moving out of Florida used to paralyze her with fear. Now, she’s totally into the L. A. lifestyle. I’ve even bought her the Oasis Gardens AA spa package with the money Gunnar gave me. It’s a week at the luxury resort and pedicures, facials, and Alcoholics Anonymous meetings are included.”
“Sounds totally Chessy to me,” Ted mu
ses.
“Hey, there’s something I want you to have.” I take the Warhol scarf off my head and hand it to Ted.
“You’re bald,” he announces.
“You’re short,” I retort.
“Maybelline, Ted,” Chessy shouts. “Come over here. I have a surprise for you!”
There are two cakes on the table. One says, bon voyage, teds and the other reads, happy birthday, maybe. The letters look like the Hollywood sign.
“Do you like yours?” Chessy asks. “I had it custom-made.”
I do like my cake. I love my cake. I nod and give my mother a hug. She looks shocked at first, then hugs me back.
“Well, don’t eat too much. Even though you’ve finally gotten around to losing your baby fat, it can come back on in a second.”
“Yessss, Mother.”
“How come Maybe gets candles and not me?” Ted complains.
“Here, you big whiner, take half. What’s mine is yours.”
We blow out our candles and pass out slices of cake. Chessy takes two pieces, one from each of us. As we are laughing and eating cake and making jokes about my hair, or lack of it, silence suddenly sweeps over the group as a Rolls-Royce pulls up. An immaculately dressed chauffeur opens the back door, then stands at attention.
“Don’t just stare,” Gloria de la Tour bellows. “Someone get me a taco!”
Jess and I both rise at the same time. “I got it, Maybe,” she says as she heads to the truck. Ted rushes over to Miss de la Tour and Chessy comes in a close second. Who knew my mother could run so fast in heels? Hollywood and Sammy each reach for their cameras.
Miss de la Tour is petite, practically Ted-sized, but seems larger than any of us. Even though she is old, she is very well preserved. I can understand why Ted claims “Gloria de la Tour is the most beautiful movie star of all time.” She wears a poufy mint green dress that makes her look like a fancy dessert with about twelve pounds of pearls around her neck. Her silver hair looks like it could deflect missiles.
“Miss de la Tour,” Chessy says, curtsying. “This is an honor. I am a huge fan of yours.”
