by K. M. Waller
“Harold wasn’t always the man everyone hated. He was mean, to be sure, and like I said he’s earned some of his reputation, but that man once had married the love of his life. From what I could tell, a wonderful woman. Maria was her name. Maria suffered from early-onset dementia. It hit fast and it hit hard. He stayed by her side long after she forgot him and everything around them.”
“That’s so sad.” I thought about how hard it was to watch Grammy’s memory fade.
“They’d been high school sweethearts and married young. She died right after her thirty-eighth birthday. That’s a lot of years since that Harold let his heart harden into the man we’re burying today.” She used a knuckle to wipe beneath one of her eyes. “When everyone is filling your head with tales of his meanness, I just want you to have one thing good to know about him.”
“If you were that close to him, then why aren’t you giving the eulogy?”
“I was a paid employee, they’d say.” She wrinkled her nose and her cheeks lifted into a smile. “They won’t quite know what to think of you.” She tugged at a strand of hair that had worked its way loose from the wig.
“It makes me feel kinda bad taking your money even if it’s through the agency.”
She scoffed. “I’ve been friends with Ruthie for years, and trust me, Ms. Rosie, she doesn’t feel bad taking my money. You shouldn’t either. I’ve got lots to get done before three.”
“Wait.” I caught her before she’d taken too many steps away from me. “I forgot to ask if you and I are supposed to know each other at the funeral. Or should we act like strangers?”
“Let’s stay on opposite sides of the room so it doesn’t become an issue.”
“Works for me.” I whistled and clicked my tongue. “Come on Burt Lancaster, Jr. Let’s get back to Grammy.”
I stooped low and made my way through the halls. I passed Lucinda Rae and she let out a hoot of laughter. She wheeled her chair closer to me.
I pressed a finger against my lips.
“Honey, you ain’t fooling nobody in that getup. Everyone in here knows you and Burt Lancaster Jr.” She made a slow turn of her head to look up and down the hall. “Who you hiding from, anyway?”
I adjusted the wig, thinking I needed to ask Gabe how to up my disguise game in the future. “The admin ladies. I might be a little behind on our payments.”
Concern crossed her pale features. “I heard the waiting list is pretty long to get in here. They’ll have their eye on your Grammy’s apartment if she can’t pay.”
“I won’t let that happen,” I said, giving her a wink. “Do you think you can help me with something?”
She waved a slender hand in front of her. “Don’t see how I’m much help with anything, but I can try.”
“How are your singing pipes?” I asked, as I took control of her chair and wheeled her toward Grammy’s. I left her right outside with detailed instructions.
Back in the room, the movie credits rolled and Grammy stood in front of her closet. I placed the wig and shawl in my purse.
“Something’s missing,” she said.
I rolled my shoulders. There were two black dresses and one navy blue pantsuit in the closet that might work and I needed to grab them without her noticing. Burt jumped into the empty recliner and rolled on his back. I tickled his tummy and waited for the distraction.
Lucinda Rae’s off-key singing began and the incorrect lyrics floated through from the other side of the door. “Clang, clang, clang went the train caboose. Ring, ring, ring went the telephone.”
Grammy clutched her chest. “My heavens. She’s singing the lyrics wrong.”
If there was one thing Grammy wouldn’t tolerate, it was mixing up the words to a Judy Garland song. She tightened the belt on her robe and snatched open the door. I could hear her strong voice even after the door shut behind her. “Bless your heart. Maybe you should try another song more suited to your talents.”
Burt joined me at the closet, his judgment clear with a tilt of his head.
I returned the wig and shawl to their correct places and pulled out the dresses and pantsuit. “Stop glaring at me, Burt. I’m not stealing, just borrowing for a day.”
He sniffed as if he didn’t believe me. Great. As if I didn’t feel bad enough already. I neatly folded the garments and placed them in a shopping bag I found stuffed at the bottom of the closet. Grammy and I were the same shoe size, so I grabbed a pair of sensible black flats too.
Lucinda Rae and Grammy were happily chatting in the hallway with Pearl when I exited the room. I kissed Grammy on the cheek and promised to see her first thing the next morning. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice the missing clothes before then.
I straightened my shoulders on the way out. So far, everything was going according to plan.
“Rosie!”
I glanced to the right to see Laura from admin approaching me. Without a second thought, I clutched the plastic bag to my chest and ran. I dodged three residents and two nurses on my way out in a way that would’ve made any football coach proud. My breaths labored, I hit the unlock button on my key fob and didn’t look back until I’d pulled onto the main highway.
Tomorrow, I’d deal with Countryside. Today, I had to be a convincing mourner.
6
Gabe picked up one of the dresses from the bed and checked the tag. “Wow. Grammy has some expensive taste.”
I nodded in agreement. “Even as her memory fades, that woman will never lose her love of designer clothes.”
He set the dress down and put a hand under my chin. “I’m thinking heavy black on the eyes and pale lips. It’s the exact opposite of the trends but it suits the ‘working girl’ vibe you’re giving off.”
Gabe’s mom had been a brilliant makeup artist and lucky for me, he’d picked up all her skills. Both our moms had left the hustle of stardom when they’d become pregnant with us. Settling in Asheville with white picket fences overtook their dreams of working behind, and in front of, the camera.
He opened one of a few kits stored under the bed and dug through his tools. While he preferred the monster makeup gigs, he didn’t mind a simple makeup job from time to time. Someday, he’d be too famous and sought after for this. Hopefully, by then I’d be on my way back to L.A. and the sting of missing him wouldn’t hurt so much.
I twisted my hair into a loose bun and pulled a few strands around my face to soften the look. “I don’t want to bring too much attention to myself. It’s a funeral, after all. I need to look demure and respectful.”
“If I didn’t have to get back to the zombies in Georgia shoot, I’d come with. I’ve never been to a funeral with a cheering section.” He held up a few different blushes to my cheeks.
“I’ve only been to one and I think I’d prefer anything else compared to how Mom’s funeral made me feel.”
Gabe tucked a thin hand towel around the front of the dress I’d chosen to wear and dabbed primer on my face. “This is just an acting role like any other. Don’t let it get personal.”
He lifted his airbrush to my face and applied the foundation.
I repeated the little mantra while he worked his magic. Don’t get personal.
A door opened and closed down the hall, and Mateo passed with a towel wrapped around his hips. He leaned his head around the corner, his dark hair dripping water onto his shoulder. Talk about getting personal. Stop looking.
“What’s going on in here? Looks like you’re dressed for a funeral,” he said, a hand clutched around the towel to make sure it didn’t slip out of place.
Gabe bit his lips to hold in a laugh and blinked at me.
“It’s, um, for my new job.” I toyed with the edge of my own towel covering the front of the black dress.
He glanced from Gabe to me. “The one that’s paying you today, right?”
His tone of voice grated against my already frayed nerves. “Yes, Mateo. You’ll get your money.”
He rolled his eyes and continued down the hall.
&n
bsp; Gabe clicked his tongue. “I think Mateo has a crush on you.”
“You’re so right,” I joked. “That’s total adoration dripping from his constant threats to toss me out on the street.”
“Eh, guys are complicated.” He pulled a large pallet of eyeshadows from his kit. “Close your eyes.”
“Yeah, speaking of complicated.” I cleared my throat. “Did I tell you the pastor asked me out on an actual date?”
“The one with diarrhea of the mouth?”
“Ew, gross visual, but yeah. He may say whatever comes to mind, but at least he’s honest.” Even beyond Armando, most of the guys I’d dated in L.A. had some form of honesty issues.
The edge of the bed dipped as Gabe sat down beside me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…” He shrugged one shoulder.
“I know, I know. Focus on keeping this job first. Everything else is secondary.”
He nudged me. “That’s my girl. Because even though Mateo might secretly give you wistful glances while you aren’t looking, he really will boot you if you don’t get the rent caught up.”
I stood and faced the mirror. Gabe had done an excellent job on my makeup. I hadn’t expected anything less. The dress hem hung a little longer than I’d prefer, but overall, I presented a picture of modest mourning. “Thanks, Gabe. But can you do me a favor?”
He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Anything.”
“Don’t ever say wistful and Mateo in the same sentence again.” I pretended to shudder and our laughter filled the room.
He stood next to me and gave me a side hug. “Should I say break a leg?”
“It’s an hour or so performance. What can go wrong?”
Mateo’s door opened and he tromped down the hall. He straightened a dark blue tie with light blue stripes. “Which one of you bozos stole my deodorant?”
Gabe reached past me and grabbed the errant deodorant stick. He tossed it to Mateo. “Looks like you could be going to a funeral too, cuz.”
“That’s because I am,” he answered.
My heart skipped a beat and dryness took hold of my mouth. Surely that would be too coincidental.
When we continued to stay silent, he huffed out a grunt. “What is with you guys? I’m joking. I have an early dinner.”
I let out a pent-up breath with a loose chuckle. Of course he did. But what did it matter if Mateo knew what my new job really entailed? I thought back to the search of my YouTube video I’d seen on his laptop. Not like his opinion could get much worse.
Gabe tapped his wrist. “I gotta hit the road. Come on, I’ll walk you out.” He put his arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the door. “You’ll be fine. Eye on the prize.”
I grabbed my oversized purse with the eulogy folded and tucked in the side pocket. Just an hour and a half, I reminded myself. The funeral gig would be over, and I’d have money to pay towards Grammy’s care. Focus would see me through this.
∞∞∞
Never in this sleepy North Carolina town had I seen a parking lot so full that cars parked on the grass and in the drainage ditch. Pastor Tom—I still had a hard time referring to him as just Tom—did double duty as a parking lot attendant.
I pulled forward and let down my window. “Hi, there.”
“We reserved a spot for you. A guest of honor parking space.” I followed behind him to a spot where an orange cone sat in a parking space beside the funeral home. He removed the cone and waved me forward.
I gestured to the enormous crowd. “The large attendance isn’t because of me, is it?” I know Ruthie banked on my pseudo-fame giving Harold’s eulogy validation, but my gut soured at the possibility the high turnout would be looky-loos expecting me to turn diva.
His infectious laugh surrounded me. “Oh no. Most folks just want to make sure Harold’s really dead.”
A gaggle of people formed outside the entrance to Downer & Downer. Too many of them stared in the direction of Pastor Tom and me so I couldn’t pep talk myself in the rearview mirror like I planned.
He opened the car door for me and I smiled at the gentlemanly gesture. My co-star of sorts. We were a team, and together we’d pull off a memorable performance.
As much as I wanted to put my oversized sunglasses on, I learned quickly in L.A. that actresses came off as unapproachable when fans couldn’t make direct eye contact. On my way through the crowd, I kept my shoulders squared, my smile firmly in place, and made eye contact with as many people as possible. Perhaps today was the day the Diva Rosalind At It Again hashtag died.
Mrs. Downer met us in main foyer. She directed a man to bring in more chairs before her attention settled on us. “I won’t have the sanctity of funerals disrespected just because the attendees anticipate a spectacle. You two will keep control of this crowd.”
Her stern warning brought back an unsettling churn in my stomach. Crowd control at a funeral? That wasn’t in Ruthie’s file.
“I’m going to escort you to your chair, and then get the choir settled. Our strongest singer has laryngitis and the likelihood of ‘Amazing Grace’ coming out like a cat yowling at midnight is strong.” Pastor Tom leaned in close and placed a hand on the small of my back. “You’ll be fine. The only person you really need to watch out for is Bowman. Don’t let him goad you.”
He guided me to my seat and gave my shoulder a final squeeze of reassurance.
I retrieved my eulogy and after reading over the first paragraph again, a dark and heavy presence pulled my attention to the front row. Bowman Baumgartner gave me a full-on glare from his seat—the only seat taken on the row designated for family. His left eye twitched and he crossed his foot over his knee in what appeared to be an uncomfortable attempt at a leg cross. All the while never breaking our eye contact.
I’d seen more than one producer and director try intimidation as a way to motivate their crew. In this case, Bowman didn’t sign my paycheck, so putting up with his glare didn’t fall within the parameters of my job description.
I folded the eulogy and kept up our direct eye contact as I approached him. Better to get our confrontation out of the way earlier rather than after I played my part. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Baumgartner.”
“I doubt that.” His tone held a menacing edge.
I kept my smile tight but professional. “I understand you weren’t close with your uncle, but I’m not the only person in the room who got to see a different side of him.”
Pearl had taken a seat on the back row, so I wasn’t lying about that at least.
His sneer added to the eye twitch filled me with a sense of dread. “I respect your use of Harold’s funeral as a publicity stunt to gain some good press. After all, we all deserve to benefit from his death, but don’t think for one minute I’m going to play into the bull that he had a good side and should be remembered for it.”
“People are complicated and complex individuals.” I’d read this line in a script once and always thought it held a deeper meaning that I couldn’t begin to understand.
Bowman stood so fast his protruding stomach bounced me back a step. If I’d been in heels instead of Grammy’s flats, the floor and my butt would’ve been fast friends. His face reddened with each short puff of breath. Apprehension filled me as he balled his meaty hands into fists by his side. So much anger.
A warm, familiar hand grasped mine and tugged me to the side. Pastor Tom gave an awkward chuckle and directed me back to my chair. “Almost time to start, Rosalind.”
My heart pounded and I couldn’t help looking back at Bowman but all I caught was his rigid back as he pushed through the throng of people filling the seats toward the exit.
“It’s not you,” Pastor Tom said. “Harold’s sister, Bowman’s mom, died of kidney failure last year. Bowman thinks Harold should’ve been tested for compatibility for organ donation, but he refused.”
I sucked in a deep breath and shook out my hands. “That’s awful. In fact, other than me and one additional person I’ve spoken to, everyt
hing said about Harold is awful. And I have to stand up there and say nice things about him that will upset everyone.”
“You’re not here for everyone else. Today, you’re here for Harold.” Pastor Tom’s soothing voice calmed me further.
Good point. I didn’t know Harold’s reasons for not getting tested and it wasn’t my place to judge.
He grabbed the tips of my fingers again and gave them a squeeze. “What’s the worst acting role you’ve ever had?”
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling to contemplate. The perfect visual popped in my head. “I had to be a full-frontal nude extra in a brothel scene.”
He snatched his hand back like he’d been bit by a snake. Probably not the best thing to tell a pastor.
“Okay. Well, it can’t get much worse than that, can it?” After a few seconds of silence and with a shy smile, he leaned in close again. “Just because you brought it up, which show was that?”
I smacked his arm with the back of my hand. “Behave, Pastor Tom.”
“Just Tom, please.” The twinkle in his eyes caused the remainder of my anxiety to vanish. “Let’s do this.”
I nodded back at my co-star. “Let’s do this.”
Tom ascended the raised podium and asked everyone to settle. He opened with a prayer that called for kindness and forgiveness. It almost had me convinced to stop being so angry with my cad of a brother. Almost. I guess like with Harold’s haters, some things were too big to forgive.
He ended the prayer with a solemn “Amen” that the crowd repeated back to him. The choir stood and sang a lovely a cappella version of “Amazing Grace.” The singer with laryngitis must’ve been convinced to lip sync. Tom cut them off after the first verse. I stood but hovered near my chair when he held out a hand to stop me.
“Before Ms. Rosalind speaks, would anyone else like to say a few words about Harold?”
At least ten hands shot up and I sat down. Wow, really?
Tom cleared his throat. “Anyone who is willing to speak from a place of kindness?”
