Seeing Stars

by Diane Hammond

  On and on Dillard went, turning pages patiently, allowing Hugh and Ruth enough time to examine each photograph in minute detail. Beside him, Hugh could feel Ruth stiffen, but he put his hand over hers on the sofa cushion between them in a petition for patience. From his limited experience Hugh had found Southern men of a certain educational and economic background to be crass, but Dillard was endearing, even sweet, in the seeming simplicity of his adoration.

  IN THE KITCHEN, LAUREL HELPED ANGIE SET OUT CHEESE and crackers that she recognized as leftovers from Mimi’s last showcase, at the same time watching Dillard torment the Rabinowitzes with what she and Angie had simply dubbed The Book. Laurel was mortified, but she couldn’t bring herself to fault him for it. He loved them truly, nakedly, and unconditionally. As long as they were in it, his was a perfect world. In her experience you couldn’t say that about other fathers, many of whom didn’t even show up at their daughters’ pageants. There had been some summers when Dillard had driven all night to be there for just a few hours before driving back to wherever his boiled peanut booth was set up, not trusting Laurel’s uncle Bobby for longer than a day because he was, though well-intentioned—and this from Dillard’s own mouth—an idiot.

  Laurel couldn’t imagine how he would handle Angie’s cancer, if a time came when they’d have to tell him. She still believed that the cancer would go away, though. She planned to prove herself and Angie worthy by working just as hard as she possibly could. He was a good and loving God—hadn’t her church made a point of teaching her that in Sunday school, year after year after year?—so although Angie had been visibly weakening lately, she had explained to Laurel that it wasn’t the cancer at all, but an uncommon but nevertheless recognized bounce-back reaction to all the chemo and radiation; and Laurel chose to believe her.

  QUINN ARRIVED JUST SHY OF ONE O’CLOCK—HALF AN HOUR before Mimi’s estimated turkey time—sullen and bearing two packages of dinner rolls he’d picked up at the dollar store. He set them on the kitchen counter without a word. It was the first time he’d been back in the house since Mimi had kicked him out six months ago. Tina Marie, the one creature here who seemed happy to see him, danced around his feet, piddling. He picked her up and tucked her under his arm like a football. He’d always been a sucker for the little dog, even though she was pretty awful most of the time.

  “Thank you,” Mimi said over her shoulder about the rolls as she basted the bird in the oven. “How did you get here?”

  “Jasper,” said Quinn. Jasper and Baby-Sue had gone out of their way to drop him off before going on to some party at a comedy club in North Hollywood. Baby-Sue had been all dolled up in a gauze skirt and strapless top that would have looked great on lots of women, none of them Baby-Sue. They said he could call them and they’d give him a ride back if they could, but he’d brought enough money for cab fare because by the time he was going to be ready, he knew, they’d be totally wasted.

  He looked around the kitchen, at the familiar takeout menus curling and wilting on the refrigerator door; at the dingy dish towels hanging on the oven; at the dying plants on the grimy windowsill over the sink; at the permanently darkened floor vinyl where Tina Marie liked to sleep whenever the temperature rose above eighty, which was to say more than half the year. There wasn’t a single trace of him anywhere, and it suddenly, violently pissed him off. He’d lived here. For three-plus years, this had been home. And then, all of a sudden and without due process, it wasn’t anymore. Now he slept on the floor in a corner like a dog and was widely considered to be either gay or a pervert. For a minute, for a fraction of a minute, he was so angry his vision changed, made everything around him float and spin.

  “Pass me that can of Crisco, would you, Quinn?” said Mimi over her shoulder, her face flushed from the heat of the oven. “It looks like I missed a spot.”

  Quinn found the can of Crisco and handed it to her. She scooped up a gob in her fingers and let it melt on the turkey.

  “Hey!” said Allison, coming back into the kitchen and seeing him. “’S up, dog?”

  Quinn shook his head. “That sounds pretty stupid.”

  The girl assumed the stance of a gangsta. “Who you be callin’ stupid, dog?”

  “If you did that in East LA you’d be dead in less than a minute.”

  “So you do care.”

  Quinn shook his head.

  “Come on, homie,” she wheedled. “Come play solitaire with me.”

  “You can’t play solitaire with more than one person. It’s solitaire.”

  “Yes, you can,” Allison said. “You each use a separate deck, but you share the aces.”

  One of the new girls at the studio was coming across the kitchen toward them, looking nervous. Kids were scared of him now. This stupid girl with the face of a sheep—what was her name, Brittany, Bessie, something—was watching him like she expected him to expose himself or something. At least Cassie Foley and her mom seemed completely fine with him. Cassie was worth a thousand Allisons and Belindas or whatever the fuck the other girl’s name was.

  “I wondered if maybe you guys would want to play Pictionary?” the girl said now. “My family plays that sometimes. We brought it with us.”

  Quinn just shrugged. He didn’t want to play that or any other game. Kids played games. He wasn’t a kid. He’d stopped being a kid the night Mimi threw him out.

  Fuck them. Fuck them.

  MIMI CALLED, WITH UNCHARACTERISTIC GAIETY, “IT’S turkey time!” and hoisted the bird to the kitchen counter. Allison slid a trivet under the roasting pan while the others helped lay out the food on the dining room table, spruce in a snowy linen tablecloth Mimi had whisked out of a box in a distant closet. Hugh uncorked two bottles of wine, one red and one white, and put out an assortment of the beers that Dillard had brought. Allison and Bethany folded paper napkins to look like flowers, Laurel and Angie made giblet gravy, and then, at last, it was time to eat.

  At Mimi’s request, Dillard carved the bird using an antique carving knife Mimi said she’d found at a swap meet. The group was about to disperse and begin eating when, somewhat apologetically, Angie asked if anyone would mind if Laurel said a quick grace, which of course no one did, though Ruth thought Hugh looked a touch uncomfortable.

  “Oh, Lord,” Laurel said with a devoutly bowed head and faint smile, as though, Ruth thought, she were addressing an old friend, “we thank You for bringing us together today with our new friends and family over a really lovely dinner—especially the turkey—and all the other wonderful dishes. We feel that we have been truly blessed. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Dillard and Angie and Ruth said, Ruth being of the belief that one should encourage spiritual expression, and that it didn’t kill you to be a part of it, either. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Hugh winking at Bethany, but no one else seemed to notice, so she kept mum and exclaimed, instead, over the abundance of food and the excellent look of the turkey. The grown-ups, with heaping plates, took seats around the living room, letting the four “young people”—Allison, Bethany, Laurel, and Quinn—sit at a butcher-block table that Mimi and Allison had humped in from the kitchen.

  Ruth watched the tense set of Quinn’s shoulders and his sullen expression. She’d heard stories from Bethy and Allison about some of the boy’s antics, but she took most of them with a grain of salt. He was obviously a gifted actor, and with that degree of talent often came eccentricity. Laurel exclaimed over the excellent dinner rolls that Quinn had brought; Allison ran over to Mimi and threw her arms around Mimi’s neck, thanking her extravagantly for the delicious turkey. Still, the atmosphere at the table was clearly strained. Quinn ate silently and with his mouth not quite closed. At one point Ruth caught Bethany’s eye and Bethy returned a brave smile. Ruth hoped Bethy didn’t develop indigestion; she tended to be sensitive when she was around people who were out of sorts with one another.

  For Bethany’s sake, Ruth and Hugh had been trying very hard since Hugh’s arrival yesterday evening to convey a fest
ive mood, despite the fierce argument they’d had over his coming to LA at the last minute instead of Bethy and Ruth coming home the way they’d planned. On Tuesday evening, Mimi had called to tell Ruth that Bethy had a callback for a costar role on That’s So Raven the next afternoon, one hour after their flight was scheduled to leave. Mimi thought Bethy might have a good shot at booking it, and though it was a small part, landing a Disney role could lead to other, more sizable things, so Ruth had called Hugh and told him she’d made a reservation for him on a flight down because they couldn’t come home after all. He had objected strenuously, but Ruth had simply said that this year wasn’t like other years and required flexibility from everyone, and Hugh had said, I know that, and Ruth said, Then let’s do our best to enjoy the holiday, and that Mimi had invited them to dinner, to which Hugh had said, My God, is there anything that woman does not have her hand in? and Ruth said she thought it was nice that they’d been invited instead of being left to shift for themselves, and Hugh had said bitterly that they wouldn’t be shifting for themselves except for Mimi, and Ruth had sighed deeply and said, This is getting us nowhere; and on that they agreed.

  Through Hugh’s intervention, Helene was invited to spend the holiday with several widowed friends from Hadassah, but she complained bitterly to Hugh that she’d never thought she’d be left to spend a major holiday with leftover women. Ruth had made a point of telling Hugh over the phone that Helene was welcome to come with him, but he said she said she didn’t feel welcome. If they’d really wanted her there, she said, they’d have asked her in time to get a plane ticket at a decent price.

  Now, perched on a chair with one wobbly leg, Dillard asked Hugh about his dental practice and then Angie and Ruth had a lively discussion about which casting studios were their favorites, and Mimi weighed in with her own opinion, and in no time at all Ruth realized, to her relief, that dinner was done.

  WHEN THE GROUP BROKE UP LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Dillard offered Quinn a ride home, Angie having told him that Jasper and Baby-Sue’s apartment wasn’t all that far from theirs at the Grove. The boy seemed reluctant at first, but Angie and Laurel chimed in, and it was a rare person of the male persuasion who could resist those two, at least in Dillard’s experience. So, armed with the leftover beer and a sizable package of turkey and stuffing, they all climbed into Dillard’s Hummer and set sail for Laurel Canyon.

  “I thought that was real nice,” Dillard said affably to no one in particular. “If you can’t be at home, why, I’d say that was second best. Where’s your family, son?”

  “Seattle.”

  “Never been there,” Dillard said. “I’ve heard it’s mighty wet, though. Georgia’s got the heat, of course, but it’s got blue skies most of the time, and that balances things out, in my book.”

  Quinn made no comment. When Dillard looked in the rearview mirror, the boy was looking out the window with an unreadable expression. “Your folks come down here often? I bet they’re real proud of you.”

  “Nah. Not that often.”

  “No? Well, that’s a shame. I’m driving us all back to Atlanta next week, auditions or no auditions. A family’s got to make time for itself. These girls used to do a pageant a month, but we always said December was off-limits and put up a big ol’ tree in the living room—we’ve got fifteen-foot ceilings we had built especially—and Angie and Laurel decorate the whole house, top to bottom. Too bad we’re so far away, because it’s something to behold.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” said Laurel.

  Dillard just grinned. “I know, baby girl, I embarrass you.”

  “Yes, you do,” said Laurel, but she was smiling.

  “Well, anyhow,” Dillard went on, “I think it was a nice Thanksgiving. You going to call your folks, son, and wish them a happy holiday? I imagine they’re not feeling right, having Thanksgiving without you.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’ll give them a call,” said Quinn.

  ONCE THE BUEHLS HAD DROPPED QUINN OFF THEY DROVE in silence until Dillard pulled into their space in the parking garage. Then, in the most casual way, Angie said to Dillard, “You know, I’m sleepy from all that food. I haven’t eaten that big a meal in I don’t know how long. I think I’ll lie down for a little while and take a nap.”

  In the front seat, oblivious, Dillard took Angie’s hand in his big paw, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. Laurel stiffened. The only time she’d ever known Angie to nap, ever, was a year ago, when she’d been so sick Laurel had thought that she was dying.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE WEEKS BETWEEN THANKSGIVING AND CHRISTMAS were, in Ruth’s opinion, the most tedious, if not the most downright deadly, of their entire stay in LA. First Holly Jensen, Bethy’s agent, left town for a two-week cruise around the Aegean Sea; then Donovan Meyer canceled his last class before the holiday and announced to Mimi that he was going to Aspen. Even Mimi seemed bored. So though it cost them a few hundred extra dollars to change their tickets, by December 4—the first day of Hanukkah—Ruth and Bethy were guilt-free and on their way home.

  It was Bethy’s first trip back since they had moved to LA in September. She ran through the house, exclaiming over everything—the living room furniture, the posters on the walls of her room, the ordinary fixtures in her bathroom—as though she’d been gone for years.

  It felt exactly the opposite to Ruth. Though her quick trip home several weeks ago had clearly felt like a visit, an abnormality, now that they were both here it was as though a portal had been opened to an alternate life in which they’d never left, except that the cupboards were once again bare. She and Bethany made a run to Costco the day after they got home, stocking up on items in quantities that had defeated Hugh when he contemplated buying them. When they’d gotten home and had unloaded the car, Ruth began putting together a pot roast. Bethy hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter and watched Ruth cut up vegetables. She stole a carrot and munched on it, ruminating. “I miss home.”

  Ruth looked at her.

  “I know, but it doesn’t feel the same. I mean, it looks like home, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Nothing happens here.”

  “Things happen,” Ruth said. “Rianne got a job.” Rianne was helping out in her aunt’s pottery shop, wrapping holiday gifts.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Ruth nodded. She knew what Bethy meant.

  “She has a boyfriend, by the way,” Bethy said, punching the plastic tip of her shoelace in and out of the ventilation holes in her sneaker.

  “She does?”

  “Some boy named Winslow Levy. He’s new here. I guess he just moved from Bladenham.”

  “Winslow,” Ruth said. “Like Winslow Homer the painter?”

  Bethany shrugged. “I guess. Weird name.”

  “No weirder than Allison Addison or Bethany Roosevelt.”

  Bethy smiled. “Yeah.”

  Ruth handed her a carrot and a carrot peeler. Bethany started shaving carrot peelings into the sink from her seat on the counter. “She thinks he’s cute. She has pictures of him on her phone.”

  “Is he cute?”

  “I don’t know. He’s okay. But most of the time she talks about stuff that’s happened in school, and I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “That’s natural. You’ve been away.”

  “I know. It just makes me feel bad.”

  “Like an outsider,” Ruth guessed.

  “Yeah.”

  Ruth traded Bethy the peeled carrots for four unpeeled potatoes. “Yukon Golds,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The potatoes. They’re Yukon Golds.”

  “Oh.” Bethany stared at the potatoes.

  “Peel,” Ruth said.

  Bethany began to add potato peelings to the pile of carrot shavings in the sink. “Don’t you miss it?”

  “What, LA?”

  Bethy nodded.

  “Honey, we’ve been home for only a day and a half,” said Ruth. “And anyway, when I’m there I miss Daddy. They both have their
pitfalls.”

  “I miss him, too.”

  “Not half as much as he misses us.”

  But Bethy was thinking about something else. “I was wondering if maybe I could ask Allison up. Like, for a week. She’s in Houston, but she says she doesn’t want to stay there.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper, even though there was no one home besides her and Ruth. “I think she’s cutting herself again.”

  She had told Ruth about the box cutter and Allison’s arms. Ruth had been horrified. “Why do you think that?”

  “I just do. Her stepdad doesn’t like her very much. I mean, he isn’t very nice to her and stuff. Plus she says her mom doesn’t stick up for her when he’s mad at her.”

  Ruth smiled a little. “Second marriages are never simple.”

  But Bethy didn’t care about that. “So can I ask her? I know she’d really really want to come.”

  “Was this her idea?”

  “No,” Bethy said firmly—too firmly. Which meant it probably was.

  “We’ll see.”

  “That means no.”

  “It doesn’t mean no, it means I want a minute to think about it.”

  “Okay.” Bethy looked at the wall clock. “There. That was a minute.”

  Ruth sighed. “All right. But only for a week. She’ll want to be home by Christmas, anyway.”

  Bethy said, “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ruth. “Until just after New Year’s, probably. It’s partly up to Daddy.”

  Bethy nodded gravely. “You mean because of his having diabetes.”

  “That,” Ruth acknowledged. “But he also likes to have us here, so we won’t leave until we really have to. He gets lonely.”

  “I wish he’d move to LA.”