“Hey, can you give me a ride just up the street? Please?” I tried not to sound too desperate.
“Are you anybody we can interview?” the driver asked. Everyone is looking for an angle in L.A.
“No, I’m a nobody. But I need a ride. Please?” Now my desperation was showing.
He shrugged. “Okay, hop in.” Someone slid the large door on the side of the van back and I crawled in and crouched among the cables coiled on the floor. We got lucky and caught the green lights and two minutes later I was racing up the sidewalk to the performing arts center where Madison was dancing. After snatching my ticket from the hands of the woman at the will-call ticket booth, I ran for the doors to the auditorium. An usher blocked my way.
“Sorry, miss. But the doors are closed. No one is allowed in until intermission.”
“But I have to!” I protested while trying to dart around him. He stepped into my path, blocking me.
“The ballet has started. You’ll have to wait.”
“But this is a matter of life and death!” I heard myself blurt out. Oh my God, what was I saying? But it was too late to take it back. Anyway, it was kind of true because Elizabeth would kill me if I didn’t show up.
The usher’s demeanor changed. “What happened?” He looked like he was ready to sit down and listen raptly to every gory detail.
“Um, car accident. Yes, there was a car accident. I need to let my sister know.”
“Was it bad?” The usher didn’t know when to quit.
“Yes, very bad. It just happened up the street.” Now why did I have to say that?
“Did anyone call an ambulance?” The usher was pulling out his cell phone now.
“I have to get in there, okay?” I pleaded.
This time the usher didn’t try and stop me when I reached for the doors. It took me a while to find my seat next to Elizabeth in the near dark. Of course, she would have to be seated in the middle of a row. I climbed over several irritated patrons, none of whom were shy about hissing their displeasure at me. Finally I settled into my seat.
“You’re late,” Elizabeth said, staring straight ahead at the stage.
“Traffic. Sorry,” I muttered. After a few moments, Elizabeth reached over and squeezed my hand. I was forgiven. Onstage Madison danced with confidence. She looked just like Elizabeth at that age: willowy and gorgeous. Relaxing for a moment, I enjoyed watching her. She really was good. After she danced into the wings, I peered at my watch. It was 8:33. Somehow I made it through the next performance until Madison reappeared onstage. As her part neared its end, I started edging my butt to the front of my seat preparing for a fast getaway. The moment she finished I was on the move.
“Madison was amazing, Elizabeth. Truly great.” I had stood up and was now wedging myself between Elizabeth’s knees and the seat in front of her.
“Where are you going?” Elizabeth was incredulous.
“I have a problem at work. I’ll call you later.” The same patrons who were mad at me on my way into the row now acted ready for civil disobedience on my way out. I hightailed it away from their angry comments and up the aisle. Fortunately the usher was nowhere to be seen in the lobby and I pushed my way out the doors and to the sidewalk.
This time there was no helpful car to ferry me back to the premiere. I trotted as fast as my high heels would let me go. It was 9:12. I had been gone for over an hour. My heels made a harsh clack-clack noise as they banged against the concrete at a pace they weren’t made for. Sweat was forming at the small of my back and I was breathing hard. I really needed to try to do more cardio.
Up ahead of me I could make out flashing lights. A cop car was angled across the street blocking traffic. It didn’t alarm me because it’s not that unusual a sight in a big city. As I jogged past the cop car I saw an ambulance parked in the middle of the street.
Damn! The sidewalk inexplicably ended on this side of the road. I was going to have to cross over to pick it up on the other side, which meant jaywalking. Crossing anywhere but at a designated crosswalk is a big no-no in California, and I didn’t want the cops to see me.
I stealthily maneuvered around the ambulance and heard a cop bitching that some moron had called in a phony report about a car accident with injuries. As I darted behind the ambulance, it started to back up. The next thing I knew I was skinning my hands and knees along the pavement. I must have hit my head, too, because when I opened my eyes a paramedic was already kneeling down next to me, and I was still sprawled out on the street.
“Shit! Lady, are you all right?” He was taking my pulse. “I didn’t even see you behind me. You came out of nowhere.”
“I came from my niece’s ballet performance.” I heard my words as if they were echoing somewhere far away in the universe.
Groggily I sat up and took inventory. The ambulance had sharply bumped me, but nothing seemed to be broken. Ruefully I looked at my stockings, torn from knee to ankle. One of my shoes had also lost a heel.
The paramedic insisted on treating me. After leading me by the arm to the rear of the ambulance, he sat me down on the wide bumper with its raised no-skid metal protrusions. Rectangular hash marks were going to be embedded in my ass for days, I deliriously thought.
He examined my knees, then motioned that I needed to take off my ruined nylons. So there, in the middle of a major thoroughfare, with a crowd beginning to gather, I reached up under my dress, yanked at the top of my tummy-control pantyhose, and wiggled out of them. The paramedic then picked gravel out of my wounds and shone a flashlight in my eyes. The cops took my statement even though I said it wasn’t necessary. They were probably more worried about a lawsuit than they were about me.
Finally, with large, white gauze bandages taped to both knees, one hand, and my cheek, I set off for the premiere again. Barefoot and bare-legged, I staggered into the theater lobby at 10:22. Part of me wondered if I had shaved my legs that morning but then reasoned that the last thing anyone would notice was my hairy legs.
Trying not to be seen, I skimmed close to the wall and scanned the crowd for Aidan. A few people I knew asked if I was all right. But most cut a large swath around me. In L.A. being uncool is considered a contagious and dangerous disease. And right now, I was clearly looking uncool. Still looking for Aidan, I bumped into something large. Looking up I saw, damn it, that it was Katsu. He was looking at me quizzically while keeping his iPhone pressed to his ear. He raised an eyebrow at my appearance. Mumbling something unintelligible, I moved around him. After a few steps I couldn’t resist turning around to see if he was still gawking. He wasn’t. His iPhone was lifted out in front of his face as he pressed a button on the screen. That bastard! He had taken my photo!
Gritting my teeth, I waded through the crowd. Finally, I caught Aidan’s eye and waved above the heads of the people crowded around him. His return look was not pleasant. I moved over to cower by the concession stand for a while instead of facing him.
Minutes later I saw him push through the throng and stride toward me. Once he got a better look at me his step at first faltered. Then he practically ran to me.
“Honey! I was so worried when you didn’t come back. You’re hurt! Are you all right?” He swept me into a hug. Guiltily I pulled back and hung my head. Aidan held me by the shoulders and looked me up and down. “What happened?”
“I got hit by an ambulance.” My head hung even lower.
“An ambulance?” Aidan wrinkled his brow. “What were you doing outside?”
“I . . .” Good question. What was I doing outside?
“I wasn’t feeling well so I went outside for some fresh air,” I lied. Now I knew for sure I was going straight to hell.
After a few more questions to make sure I was, in fact, all right, Aidan escorted me to my car. “You’re positive you can make it home?” he asked, peering into the driver’s-side window.
“I’m sure.” Blessedly, Aidan had to attend the after-premiere party; otherwise I knew he would have insisted on coming with me. I ju
st wanted to get home, get into my comfy bed, and pull the covers over my head. Which is exactly what I did.
The next morning I was awoken by two phone calls. The first was from Elizabeth. “Aidan is out of town? Then can you explain to me why there’s a photo in Variety this morning of him attending his movie premiere in Westwood last night? That’s why you left so suddenly last night! Damn it, Jeannie, you have got to get over this thing with the family!” A dial tone then suddenly rang in my ear.
I had just pulled the covers back over my head when the phone rang again. “So you were at your niece’s ballet performance at UCLA last night, huh?” Aidan’s voice was apoplectic.
“How did you know?” I asked weakly.
“I subscribe to an electronic news service, Jeannie. It emails me any article with a name in it that I’m interested in. You appeared today in the Los Angeles Times as a pedestrian who was involved in an accident with an ambulance. You gave a statement to the police.”
“But I got hit by an ambulance trying to get back to the premiere,” I protested.
“Let’s hope it knocked some sense into you!” For the second time in five minutes a dial tone buzzed in my head.
My iPhone dinged softly, signaling a new email had come in. Out of habit, I checked it. Instantly, I was horrified to see a photo of myself looking like a crazed, bandaged escapee from the psych ward. The email was sent to the general address for all studio employees. The sender was no one I knew and it was a good bet that it was a fake address anyway. But I sure knew who had sent it. I burrowed deeper under the covers, then pulled the pillow over my blanketed head for good measure.
I hate the new age of instant media.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday, June 29, 1986, 7:30 a.m.
I cannot, cannot, believe you are not up yet!” Elizabeth stood over us like a prison warden. “Get out of bed and into that shower, Lucy. Jeannie, go check Anna’s dress to see if she spilled anything on it. Dad has it downstairs.”
By the time I got to the kitchen, I had already pushed through the flower delivery people, the caterers, and the guys who were dropping off the rental china. The couch was vacant.
“Where’s Chuck?” I asked.
Dad shrugged as he signed a check for the flowers.
The dress was lying over a chair. I went through all its folds carefully but found no stains. I gathered the dress up to carry it to Lucy’s room.
“Did you have to wait outside their hotel door long last night for the dress?” I grinned at my father.
“Actually, it was embarrassing how fast it came out,” he grumbled.
“Good for Evan,” Sammie said, buttering her toast at the counter. Mom came in and turned on the water to fill a vase. A shriek from upstairs let us know that the water temperature had suddenly risen in the shower.
Sammie bit into her toast. “The entire town is buzzing about us. If this family ever moves out of town, no one will have anything to talk about.”
“I’d rather be talked about than ignored.” Mom sniffed and walked out. But I heard her mutter under her breath, “Small-minded people.” Then she called to me over her shoulder, “Jeannie, take the dress upstairs and bring your grandmother down.”
Grandma was waiting at the top of the stairs. I dumped the dress on Lucy’s bed, came back, took her arm, and came down with her, step by shuffling step. Since there was no room in the kitchen with the flowers and china piled everywhere, I deposited Grandma in the living room.
“Coffee, Grandma?”
“Do you have any Dr Pepper?”
I was pretty sure there was no Dr Pepper anywhere in the state of Michigan. Finding a Dr Pepper here was like trying to find a Vernors soda pop in Texas—not going to happen. But I said I would go look and left her waiting patiently, like a toy dog that had to be moved from place to place.
Instead, I went back upstairs to shower and don Sammie’s prom dress. I looked at myself in the mirror. The red rose pattern made me look like a small couch. How could she possibly have worn such an atrocity to the prom? I wondered. But remembering her boyfriend’s prom wear—a rust red tuxedo with a ruffled shirt tipped with red—I figured it must have been a style that went in and out in a blink. Mom came into the bathroom, felt the top of the hot roller box, and, satisfied, started rolling her hair up. Sammie applied Lucy’s makeup in her room.
“Has anyone seen Chuck?” Lucy called out.
“No,” Dad yelled from downstairs.
“He couldn’t have gotten far. It’s a small town; somebody will spot him,” I shouted from the bathroom.
“You’re not helping her nerves.” Mom balanced a cigarette on the edge of the sink. She was wearing her pink, fluffy robe and was putting the last curler in her hair. “I thought you were going to help her pick out her wedding veil.”
“I did.”
“Jeannie, Lucy bought a white cowboy hat.”
It seemed I had been lax in my duties. Fortunately, a wail echoed in the hallway, interrupting this conversation. Mom and I hurried across the hall to Lucy’s room.
“What’s wrong?”
Lucy was standing in front of the dresser mirror holding up the strapless wedding dress. Mom pushed her way past Sammie.
Lucy looked at her with tears streaming down her face. “This is what’s wrong!” She let go of the dress, which promptly sagged to her waist. Lucy stood there with her bee-sting breasts exposed.
“Now, honey, I’m sure we can fix this with some, um, safety pins. It’ll be fine.” Mom hoisted up the dress and surveyed it from the back. Dozens of little buttons marched down the back and Mom looked perplexed about where to tuck a seam real fast.
“Don’t you have a strapless padded bra?” she finally asked.
“I didn’t bring it! And why didn’t I bring my strapless padded bra? Gee, is it because I didn’t know I was getting married?” Lucy dissolved again.
“I had just finished her mascara, too,” Sammie said.
“I have a strapless bra,” I volunteered.
“Go get it,” Mom said. Somehow, a mouthful of pins had materialized. I went and searched through my drawer, found it, and brought it back. Lucy slid the dress back down to her waist and put on the bra. We all stared into the mirror. The bra was not padded since I was better endowed than Lucy, to put it politely. The stiff cups stood out like empty vessels. Lucy flung herself away from us and threw herself facedown on the bed.
“It’s almost ten o’clock,” Elizabeth said as she entered the room.
“Not now, Elizabeth.” Mom was stroking Lucy’s hair.
“But—”
“Not now, Elizabeth,” Mom said sternly, giving her one last chance to shut up. Elizabeth looked at the faces around her and took it.
Mom got up, left the room, and came back with a box of tissues. Lucy sat up and eyed her warily. “No way.”
“I can only pin the dress so far.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It will look fine. No one will know.” Mom pulled about twenty tissues out of the box and handed them to me. I dutifully balled them up and stuffed the right cup. Mom took the left, while Lucy held her arms out to her sides and stared up at the ceiling, slowly shaking her head. After much of the box was emptied, we spun Lucy around to the mirror.
“Voilà!” Mom said. “You look beautiful.”
She did look good. The lace bodice of the top was filled out and Lucy appeared to be stacked. She touched the bodice gingerly. “Think it’ll stay up?”
“Yes,” Mom said with probably more conviction than she felt. “Now wipe your eyes. Sammie, fix her makeup.”
Mom and I rushed back to the bathroom, where Mom frantically pulled rollers out of her hair. I leaned in below her for mirror space and put my eye shadow on.
A voice called out from the bottom of the stairs. “Mr. and Mrs. Thompson! North Muskegon Police here!”
“Uh-oh, are they here about Chuck?” I looked at Mom.
Lucy stuck her head out the door of the
bedroom. “Is it Chuck?”
“No, honey, I’m sure it’s not. Just keep getting ready. Jeannie, come with me.” Mom trotted down the stairs with half of her rollers still in.
The cop stood by the door ramrod straight. “Sorry to walk in but no one answered my knock.”
“Is Chuck all right?” Mom asked.
“Who’s Chuck?”
Mom looked him up and down. “Marv Carson, what in God’s name would make you walk into our house, shout up the stairs, and scare us half to death?”
Marv shifted a bit. “I have your dog, Buddy, in the squad car. I picked him up two blocks down, heading toward your house.”
“Thank you. That’s very considerate. Could you bring him in?” Mom sounded testy even though her words were polite.
“You don’t understand. Your dog is under arrest and I’m taking him to the pound. He’ll have to stay there for five days for observation and you’ll have to pay a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fine.”
Mom was already brushing by him. She stormed out the door, down the front path, and strode up to the cop car in front of the house.
Marv was trotting to keep up with her. “Mrs. Thompson! You can’t do this.”
Mom turned to him all aquiver in her pink robe with her half head of curlers bouncing. “Marv Carson! I have been through a week that you could never imagine. I have a daughter upstairs crying exactly one hour before her wedding because her breasts are too small. I have a son-in-law-to-be that we can’t find. And you tell me I can’t take my dog? Watch me!” Mom threw open the back door of the squad car and grabbed Buddy’s collar. Buddy was out of the car so fast he didn’t know what cyclone had hit him. Mom marched him back up the walk and into the house and slammed the door behind her. I stood helplessly on the walk. When Marv Carson looked like he was about to appeal to the good citizen in me, I bolted for the door, closed it behind me, and locked it. Then I dropped to the floor below the window for good measure.
Born Under a Lucky Moon Page 13
