American Star
Page 12
All the way back to the trailer park he thought about her. Then his
mind started racing in different directions. The play had been such a
triumph. He'd really got off on the feel of an audience watching him,
studying his every move. On stage he wasn't some nothing kid, he was
Brick, he was someone they responded to in a positive way.
And then his thoughts returned to Lauren. When he kissed her it had
been like nothing he'd ever known. Oh, sure, he'd had enough girls,
but none of them had been like her-he'd never had that feeling of
wanting to look after a girl, protect her, be with her all the time.
This had nothing to do with scoring. This was different.
Was he in love?
Don't even think about it.
Maybe he could be an actor. The thought sneaked into his head
unexpectedly.
Nah. He didn't stand a chance.
Or did he?
nce Nick decided what he wanted to do, he went all out. His first move
was to visit Betty Harris and ask if she'd consider giving him private
coaching.
"I can't pay you," he explained. "But one of these days I'll make it,
an' then I'll pay you big."
Betty laughed. "If only I had a dime for every boy that thought he
could be the next Marlon Brando or Montgomery Clift. You're no
different, Nick. You're good, but you're no different."
"You don't understand," he said. "I'm not gonna be a nuclear
scientist. I ain't got a chance of runnin' for President. I gotta go
for something, an' I've decided this is it."
"Ah, yes, but I do understand," Betty said, pacing around her small
living room. "When I was young I had the same ambition. In fact, I
even went to New York."
He was surprised. "You did?"
"Yes. I made the rounds of auditions only to be told I was too tall,
too short, too fat, too thin, too ugly, too pretty. Believe me, Nick,
nobody knows what they want. They only know they want a carbon copy of
somebody who's made it."
"So what did you do?"
"I got married," she said. "I married a man who liked to dress up in
my cloths. He left me for another woman." She laughed dryly.
"Thank God it wasn't for another man!"
"Go on," he encouraged.
"I suppose I got older and certainly wiser. Every so often I landed a
bit part here and there, until eventually I came back to Bosewell."
She sighed. "And here I am, teaching the high school acting class.
Teaching you all to do something you're never going to have a chance
at."
"Everybody's got a chance, Betty."
She smiled wryly. "Full of optimism. How old are you? Sixteen?"
"Seventeen.
"Well, Nick, I went to New York when I was twenty, came back when I was
thirty. I'm now fifty. The last twenty years . . ." She trailed
off, shaking her head, wondering where the time had gone.
"But your brother made it," he pointed out.
"It depends what you call making it," she said matter-of-factly. "In a
town like Bosewell he's a star. But the truth is he's played three
butlers on Broadway in the last six years, and that's the extent of his
stardom. The last time he worked was advertising a cure for
hemorrhoids on television."
"Harrington Harris?"
"Yes, the great Harrington Harris. But it makes everybody feel good
when he comes back here. They think he's a star, and that's all that
matters.
"Betty," he said earnestly, fixing her with his green eyes. "You gotta
help me. I need to study, an' I have to do it with somebody who'll
teach me things."
There was something about him that was so intensely sincere. Betty
knew she shouldn't encourage the boy, but what did she have to lose?
The winter was cold and lonely, and what else was she going to do with
her time?
"Very well," she said. "Youl come over here three times a week at noon
and we work from twelve until four. Be prepared to work hard and never
call to tell me you have something else to do."
"I swear it," he said excitedly. "I'll be here."
She smiled. "Good. It's a start."
Life at the trailer park was hard during the winter. The roofs of both
trailers leaked, causing a rancid damp smell and numerous little
puddles. It was almost like living outside.
Primo refused to do anything about it. "My arm hurts," he whined.
"I ain't fixin' nofflin'."
"You musta hurt it lifting a can of beer," Nick muttered disgustedly.
"You're getting' a real smart mouth," Primo slurred. "I could throw
you out any time."
"I thought you promised my mother I would finish high school?"
"Don't be so sure," Primo grumbled.
Out of school, Luke and Harlan were bored. They ran into town every
day and Aretha Mae couldn't stop them. One day Harlan came home beaten
up.
"What happened to you?" Nick demanded.
"Nothin'," Harlan said sulkily.
Nick turned to Luke. "What happened to him?"
Luke stared blankly.
"Jeer!" Nick exclaimed. "Open your mouth and talk, goddamnit!"
Luke ran out of the trailer crying.
Aretha Mae stood in front of the sink stoically washing dishes.
Primo snored in his usual position.
"Don't you give a shit?" Nick demanded.
"He better learn to defend hisself. This won't be the last time,"
Aretha Mae said.
Cyndra had gotten herself a job down at the canning plant. She left
early in the morning and arrived home late at night, barely
acknowledging Nick's existence.
Finally he exploded. "You're a freakin' pain!" he shouted. "When you
-gonna lighten up?"
"When you leave," she replied brusquely.
"Don't hold your breath. I'm outta here on my time-not yours."
"Good," she said. "Make sure it's soon."
He kept himself busy. What with the work at the garage and visiting
Betty Harris's three times a week and trying to do a few repairs around
the trailers, he never had a moment to himself.
Working with Betty was a kick. She chose plays she knew would interest
him. He particularly loved A Streetcar Named Desire. Reading Stanley
to her Blanche was a real blast. The good thing was that he'd finally
found something he could absorb himself in and it was pretty
exciting.
The honeymoon was over for Aretha Mae and Primo. They'd taken to
having long vicious yelling matches. Primo beat up on her pretty
good.
Smack! That's all the bastard seemed to know.
Nick wished he could apologize for his father. He wanted to say, Look,
it's not my fault. Throw us out. We'll go somewhere. Anywhere.
We don't have to screw your life up, too.
But now that she had him back, Aretha Mae had no intention of letting
Primo go.
Christmas came and went. It was a dismal holiday. Aretha Mae brought
home the remains of the Brownings' turkey and made a thick soup-that
was the extent of their festivities. No tree. No presents.
No nothing.
Nick didn't mind, he was more or less used to it. But he felt sorry
for the kids, especially Harlan-it was useles
s trying to get through to
Luke.
Occasionally he hung out with Joey, who wanted to know if he was going
to the New Year's dance.
"Haven't thought about it," he said.
"There's nothin' else to do," Joey said. "We gotta make plans."
"How do we get in?" Nick asked. "Don't we have to buy tickets?"
"Nah, it's a high school thing. Why don't you take Dawn?"
He hadn't really thought about Dawn lately. He'd been so busy that the
need to get laid hadn't arisen. "Yeah, I'll give her a call. Who'll
you bring?"
Joey dragged on his cigarette and attempted to sound casual.
"Maybe I'll ask your sister."
Nick looked surprised. "My sister?"
"Cyndra," Joey said. "I mean, it's not like I think she'd say yes or
anything,' but she always seems so . . . kinda, y'know, all by
herself."
Nick made a face. "Hey, if you wanna get your balls crushed-go
ahead."
He had no feelings for Cyndra. Maybe as a brother he was supposed to
feel protective, but what the hell-she was a bitch, he didn't care wbn
she went out with.
"What do we wear to this thing?" he asked.
"Tux," Joey replied. "We'll take a ride to Ripley an' hire a couple of
monkey suits."
They set off for Ripley the next afternoon. Joey had a secondhand
motorcycle and they made it in a couple of hours. The rental place was
crowded with manic people struggling to get themselves an outfit for
New Year's Eve. Joey pushed his way to the front, grabbed a salesman
and picked out two tuxedos.
"I feel like a jerk," Nick said, trying his on.
"You look like one," Joey guffawed. "But that's okay, so does everyone
on New Year's."
He paraded in front of the mirror. The pants were too long, the jacket
too big. "Have I really gotta wear it?"
Joey slapped him on the back. "Only for a night. You'll live."
They paid their money and left.
"I know a bar where they got naked girls," Joey said with a wink.
"Bare tits an' ass."
They'd both acquired fake ID's, so they swaggered into the bar full of
confidence. Nobody stopped them. Nobody cared.
The place was jammed with construction workers busy watching the parade
of half-naked waitresses-girls who wore nothing but black stockings,
garter belts, frilly aprons and phony smiles.
Nick couldn't believe what he was seeing. He nudged Joey. "Ain't
there some law against this?"
Joey sniggered. "Don't tell me you've never been in a topless bar
before. They're the coming thing."
"Hey, hey, talkin' of comin'," Nick joked.
Joey laughed. "Let's have a little control here. You can look, not
touch."
"Do they put out?"
"If you've got the bread."
Nick patted the top pocket of his denim jacket. "I got it," he said.
"Yesterday was payday." He already had his eye on one girl-a pretty
brunette with a sweet face who reminded him of Lauren. He hadn't seen
her since the play, and sometimes he thought about her. But he tried
not to-she wasn't exactly available. When the girl took their order he
came on to her. "What're you doing later?" he asked.
She peeked at her watch. "I get off at three."
"t'm about ready to get off now," he joked. "How much?"
She tried to look insulted. "You think I'm a hooker?"
Course not," he said. "How much?"
"Twenty."
"Twenty," he repeated. "What is it, mink-lined?"
"Ten for you because you're cute."
"You got a room?"
"If you wanna go to my place it'll be an extra five."
He weighed up the possibilities. He'd never had to pay for it before,
but somehow it seemed fitting, a New Year's present to himself, a girl
he didn't have to sweet-talk. "Okay," he agreed.
Her name was Candy and she lived in one room with two smelly cats
roaming around, and a hamster in a cage.
"I don't usually bring people back here," Candy announced, shrugging
off her coat. "But you seem like a nice guy. How old are you
anyway?"
"Twenty-one," he lied. "How about you?"
"Twenty."
More like thirty, he thought. "You been doin' this long?"
"Doing what?" she said, scrambling in her purse for a joint.
"A little action on the side."
"Oh. I don't really do this," she said vaguely, lighting up. "I
needed extra money this week. . . and like I said, you're kinda
cute."
Sure, he thought.
She offered him a drag and began to undo the buttons on her blouse.
He drew deeply on the joint-it wasn't the first time he'd had
marijuana-and watched her as she took her time removing her blouse.
He'd already seen the goods on display in the bar, but it was more of a
kick watching them revealed slowly just for him.
underneath the blouse her small breasts were covered by a skimpy black
bra. With a theatrical flourish she threw the blouse on the floor and
unzipped her skirt, daintily stepping out of it. Quite obviously she
hadn't bothered to wear panties. He felt that good old familiar
stirring.
"What shall I leave on?" she asked.
He noticed she was chewing gum. "Your earrings," he replied.
She laughed, casually fingering her nipples. "Never heard that one
before."
He stripped off his clothes. This girl was a challenge. She was a
professional, and he wanted to see if he could make her feel as good as
all his other conquests.
Candy plumped herself down on the bed and beckoned him over.
He made the trip across the room in record time and climbed aboard.
She took another drag of her joint and placed it in a chipped glass
ashtray next to the bed.
"You're not really twenty-one," she said slyly. "Tell me the truth?"
No way was he admitting to seventeen. "Nah. Twenty-two," he said,
pumping away.
Candy had obviously expended all her energy down at the bar. She lay
there like a corpse, chewing gum and looking blank as he gave her a
little of the Angelo magic.
As soon as he was finished he couldn't wait to get away. Forget about
pleasing her-this was the first and last time he'd ever pay for it. He
left the money on the table and beat a hasty retreat.
Later Joey met him at the bar and they got on the bike and headed for
home.
"What happened, man?" Joey wanted to know. "Gimme all the filthy
details."
"You want details, pay for it yourself."
"What's the matter? You fall in love?" Joey teased.
He groaned. "Don't even mention the word."
Love. Was that the feeling he had for Lauren? He missed her and yet
he was nervous about seeing her when school started because he didn't
know what would happen. He was so used to being in control with
girls.
He got beat up enough at home, at least there was one part of his life
where he had the upper hand.
Now he had this dumb feeling and it wouldn't go away.
Lauren Roberts. She was the only special girl he'd ever met, and she
belonged to somebody else.
The truth was it was a
bout time he did something about it.
auren spent a miserable Christmas. Over the holidays her mother's
brother Will and his wife Margo came to visit from Philadelphia. This
time they did not bring Brad, their nineteen-year-old son. Lauren's
crush on him had been a long time ago and she didn't miss his
presence.
The day after Christmas they spent at the Brownings' house. Stock gave
her a cashmere sweater and two cookbooks-obviously chosen by his
mother. She gave him a simple pewter money clip and a photo frame.