Turning Point

by Lara Zielinsky

  “Cut! And print!” Cass watched Mike turn to the crew and wave his hands. When she turned back to talk to Brenna, the other woman had already disappeared. Taking a steadying breath, she walked gingerly on aching legs to her trailer to clean up.

  Brenna stepped from her trailer, still wiping a towel over her chin and cheeks, removing the last remnants of the thick stage makeup. “God, I need a shower,” she groaned. As was typical, she could feel the ache in her legs and back, not to mention her feet, now that being “on” had been turned off for the day. Stopping on the paveŹment, she rubbed the back of her calf through the loose tan cotton pants. Relief spread into her sneaker-covered foot, and she lifted the other to rub at her ankle.

  “Looks like you need your slippers back.”

  Cassidy walked up stiffly, obviously still aching from the shoot as well. Brenna noted the loose pale green cardigan over a white cotton tee shirt and jeans and the white cross-trainers she held in her left hand. Looking down at the woman’s feet, she chuckled. “Seems you’re wearing them.”

  The taller actress lifted a foot and balanced, removed one slipper, and held it out. “A compromise,” she proposed. “You get one. I get one.”

  Brenna shook her head and waved it off. “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed them. What’s on tap for your weekend?”

  “Time with Ryan. I have tickets to the A’s game tomorrow.”

  “He likes baseball?”

  Cassidy put the absurd slipper back on her foot and nodded. “Loves it.”

  “Maybe you can bring Ryan to one of Thomas’ high school games.” That earned Brenna a smile.

  “Sounds nice. What about you?”

  “Me? I’m headed out tomorrow for Mount Clemens.”

  “Family?”

  “My husband, Kevin,” Brenna confirmed, “is attending a charity fundraiser.”

  “Are you going to appear as the Commander?”

  “No. It’s hard enough…” She shook her head. “Just me.” The blonde nodded. Brenna sensed they shared an acute understanding about the line drawn between family and screen — and about how it sometimes just didn’t seem to separate the two worlds enough.

  Before she could respond, they were distracted by a car peeling across the lot. A brown LTD jerked to a halt, and the tinted passenger window rolled down. “Cass?”

  Recognizing the voice of Cameron Palassis, one of the show’s writers, from inside the shadowed recess, Brenna nodded, looking from Cassidy to her boyfriend. “Hello, Cameron.”

  Leaning out, he offered her a nod. “Brenna.” He tilted his head again toward the blonde. “Are we going out tonight?”

  “Cameron, I said…” Apparently sensing a conversation coming that she should not overhear, Brenna started to retreat. “Wait,” Cassidy called after her. “Please?”

  Brenna was pinned In place by blue eyes and nodded tightly, remaining still. She watched the younger woman step off the curb and lean into the car window. Unintentionally, Brenna overheard the tense exchange.

  “Cam, I’m tired. I haven’t spent time with Ryan all week. Not tonight.”

  “I could come by…We’ll…put him to bed and go out?”

  “No.” Cassidy stepped back onto the curb. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Brenna saw Cameron’s baffled expression, but as he drove away she watched Cassidy instead. The woman’s posture was hunched, but she quickly recovered with a shrug of her shoulders before turning back to face Brenna.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Brenna shook her head. “It’s not my business.”

  “I just…” Cassidy fell silent again. “I don’t know. Maybe I am too tired.” She brushed her long fingers through her loose, straight locks and rubbed the back of her neck.

  Worried that the other woman might fall asleep at the wheel or something equally dangerous, Brenna asked, “Would you like to get a coffee before heading home?”

  “No.” Cassidy shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Go on. Have a good weekend.”

  Brenna nodded. “All right.” Stymied as to how, or if, to help further, she turned and walked into the parking lot. She unlocked the door to her SUV and opened it, leaning on the frame for a moment, watching as Cassidy crossed the dark empty lot and got into her blue compact. Once behind her own wheel, Brenna sat a few minŹutes quietly pondering her day before turning the ignition over and driving the forty-five minutes along L.A.‘s dark surface roads toward home.

  Chapter 4

  The woman half-asleep on the couch stirred as Cassidy stepped inside her door. “Cass?” She rubbed the head of the sleepy Dalmatian next to her feet.

  “Yeah, it’s me, Gwen.” Cassidy took off her sweater, hung it over a hanger, and tucked it back into the small closet by the door. “Sorry to be so late. We lost a lot of time with reshoots today.”

  “Hey, no problem. Ryan’s a great kid. I fed him with mine and then brought him over here, leaving Lou to watch ours. He’s bathed and been in bed since eight-thirty.”

  Sitting next to Gwen on the couch, Cassidy looked at the clock over the mantle and winced. It was after ten o’clock. Where did the time go? She leaned back and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes.

  Gwen noticed her footwear. “What on earth have you got on your feet?”

  “Huh?” Cassidy sat up and looked down, unfocused, and then she blinked, bringing the furry brown blots into focus. “Oh, yeah. Slippers. I was on my feet in every scene. I didn’t feel like even wearing sneakers after I finished today.”

  “Since when do you own a pair of slippers sporting a moose head?”

  Rubbing her eyes tiredly, Cassidy said, “They’re not mine. Brenna gave them to me.”

  “No kidding? Is that finally smoothed over?”

  “I guess so. You remember she was here at Ryan’s party last Saturday.” Cassidy slipped off one of the Bullwinkles, curled her foot under herself, and studied the wide-eyed simpleton face. “We’re getting a chance to talk more between takes since we aren’t up to our necks in stunt shoots. We’ve been rehearsing together, too. There was this scene we did—”

  Interrupting with a yawn, Gwen patted Cassidy’s knee and stood up. “Well, that’s as much as I’ve heard you talk about work right after you come home. Though it’s incredibly fascinating, I’ve gotta go.”

  “Thanks again.” Cassidy reclined against the arm of the couch as she watched her friend leave. Once the door was closed, she sighed and propped her chin on a fist. Her body began to relax into the cushions, and she reluctantly pushed off. / betŹter check on Ryan. Then, she promised her muscles, bed will follow.

  Rubbing Ranger’s head as the Dalmatian walked alongside, Cassidy went to her son’s bedroom and nudged the door wider. The night light next to his bed illumiŹnated his face. Leaving the dog in the hall, she crossed to the bed and crouched, brushing away the long bangs from Ryan’s forehead.

  “You need a haircut, buddy,” she whispered with a smile before kissing his cheek. “Maybe tomorrow before the game, hmm?” She adjusted the stuffed animal in his haphazard grip and then backed away, firmly closing the door.

  Cassidy made a brief stop in the bathroom, changing out of her clothes into a roomy oversized tee emblazoned with the St. Louis Arch, a present from the city’s mayor when she went back to her hometown to be the marshal of the Independence Day parade. The gold-painted, six-inch-long stainless steel Key to the City was tucked under her winter sweaters in a bottom dresser drawer. She had been flattered to be honored by the city, but she wondered why, when she had been a National Merit Scholar as a senior in high school, that accomplishment had not been worthy

  of the same attention.

  She flossed and brushed her teeth, then worked a densely bristled brush through her hair. Though she had removed her stage makeup at work, Cassidy gently washed her face again and applied moisturizer. In her bedroom, she pulled down the covers and crawled between the sheets. Consciously relaxing her back, she stretched up over her head and turned on the radio. R
achmaninoff played as she drifted to sleep.

  “Hey, Mom.” Thomas Lanigan, Brenna’s seventeen-year-old son, looked up from the couch as his mother stepped inside. He crunched a few chips and took a sip from the soda perched on the side table. “How’d it go?”

  “Pretty good. Is James still up?”

  “Yeah, playing Playstation in the game room.”

  She heard a guttural yell and glanced at the television in front of him. “Off.” He gave her a sheepish look as he tapped the remote sitting next to him. The offensive wrestling program vanished. “Please tell me you’ve eaten dinner.” She leaned over the side of the couch and snatched up a chip with a grin. “It’s been a long week. I won’t find just chips and soda in those veins, will I?”

  “Nope. We had the leftover penne from Tuesday. James scarfed the leftover casŹserole from Wednesday night.”

  “Anything left in the fridge for me?” She walked into the kitchen, and Thomas followed, leaning on the counter as she ducked her head inside the refrigerator. “Oh hey, not crazy about my quiche?” She pulled out the aluminum pie pan filled with half a quiche.

  Thomas shook his head. “Figured you’d prefer it.”

  “You’re right. It’s light enough for this late.” She cut herself a slice of the vegetaŹble and cheese dish and took the refrigerator chill off with a few seconds in the microwave. Grabbing a fork, she returned to the living room, Thomas tagging behind. She kissed his cheek as he sat on the couch next to her.

  James stepped in from the bedroom wing. “Glad you’re home, Mom.” He patted her shoulders as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Can I go over to Marcie’s?”

  Brenna laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. It’s after ten. We’ve got a plane at eight.”

  James frowned but nodded. “Well then, I guess I’ll hit the sack. See you in the morning.”

  Watching Thomas flip on the television again, she called over her shoulder to James, “No telephone, either.”

  Her younger son groaned but called back wanly, “Yes, Mom.”

  “Good.” She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her on the couch, nibbling on her quiche. “Video games, huh?”

  Thomas lifted his shoulders and looked away. “He’s really nuts over her.”

  She reached over and rubbed her knuckles over the strong line of his neck. “How are you and Cheryl doing?”

  “Fine. There’s a dance I’m taking her to at school next weekend.”

  “I’ve got a convention appearance.”

  Thomas frowned. “Can’t you just leave us here?”

  “Alone?”

  “Yeah. C’mon, Mom. We’re old enough to watch ourselves for a weekend.”

  She pursed her lips, chewing her quiche while she considered. “I’ll think about

  it.”

  “Thanks.” She ruffled his hair as he shut off the TV and sprang up from the couch. “I’ll get some sleep now.”

  II re una finished her dinner quickly. Returning to the kitchen, she cleared the dishes from the sink into the dishwasher and set it to run. Then she ducked into her bedroom and the master bathroom, scrubbed her face, and brushed her teeth.

  Changed into a slip gown, the slim straps faintly caressing her shoulders, Brenna curled up under the covers, adjusted pillows behind her back as a support, and flipped on the television. She paused with a finger over the channel-up button as she recognized the set on the screen. She laughed when she recognized it as an epiŹsode of a sitcom she had guest-starred on several years earlier. Her character swept into the scene, startling the principals out of a heated kiss. Brenna critically observed that she might have been smirking a little more than required. She sighed. More than twenty years in acting, and she was still uncomfortable and self-critical. She wondered if she would ever get over watching herself. Mercifully it was the last scene, just before the news.

  The news report was depressing, and she was about to switch off the set when the sports preview mentioned the Oakland A’s baseball game. She waited through the evaluation of the team’s chances and hoped, for Cassidy and Ryan’s sake, that the game would be enjoyable. Turning off the set, Brenna crossed her arms over the top of the covers and studied the ceiling, replaying the week in her head.

  You should have held those slippers for her birthday. Yeah, but she looked so misŹerable. Okay, but now you’re going to have to come up with another present.

  She wondered how Cassidy’s son had liked his gift, then decided wryly that she must be turning sentimental. Maybe it was the fact that Time Trails was supposed to end in April. It was the longest running set she had worked continuously since Lantry Place, the soap opera where she had started her career at age eighteen.

  She closed her eyes and rolled onto her side, curling around a pillow. Parades of co-stars followed her into sleep.

  Phhhfffftt. Phhhhfffftt. Looking around, disoriented for a moment, Cassidy finally reached for the cell phone vibrating on her belt. Beside her, as she flipped open the phone, Ryan jumped up excitedly as the batter stepped up to the plate, yellŹing, “Home run! Home run!”

  Patting his back, she spoke into the phone. “Hello?”

  “Cass?”

  When the batter connected, the shouts around her drowned out anything furŹther that was said. She glanced toward the field and saw the runner skidding safely into first base. As the cheering dwindled, she heard, “Where the hell are you?”

  Cameron, she identified. “At a baseball game,” she explained patiently in the break in the noise.

  “I thought we were going out.”

  “Tonight.” She tucked the phone against her ear more tightly. “Cam, this is my time with Ryan.”

  “Then we won’t go out. Or we’ll take him with us. Where would he like to go? I haven’t seen you in nearly two weeks, Cass. I miss you.”

  “You see me every day on the lot.”

  “C’mon, Cass. I mean see you.”

  She placed her hand over the phone and glanced toward Ryan, who was oblivi-

  ous, bouncing excitedly and wildly cheering the game action. “All right. After the game, I’ll talk to Gwen and see if she can watch him for a couple of hours. Movie?”

  “Dancing,” he countered.

  “I’ve been on my feet all week.” She sighed. They constantly had the same arguŹment, and she was tired of it.

  “Just as a prelude. Then we can go back to my place…take a dip in the Jacuzzi?”

  Cassidy pondered the invitation and brushed her fingers over her son’s freshly cut mop of hair. She relented. “All right.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

  “Okay. See you then.” Before he could add anything, she flipped the phone closed and slowly replaced it in her belt pouch, snapping the cover shut.

  “Mommy?”

  She looked down to see her son looking up. “Mmm hmm?”

  “Can I have a cotton candy?”

  Following his finger-pointing, Cassidy spotted the pink and blue swirls of spun sugar parading toward them up the near aisle. Feeling bad that she was going to leave him alone for another evening, she nodded. “Sure.” She stood and called out, “Over here,” to get the hawker’s attention. He smiled, and she waved a bill, flashing a single finger. He nodded back, and soon a blue swirl of cotton candy was being passed along the row toward her.

  She had not settled to the bench before Ryan was leaping on her, giggling and hugging. “Thank you!” Encouraging him to sit, she smiled and kissed his head as he tore off a large chunk and stuffed it into his mouth, instantly staining his lips and tongue blue.

  “I love you, Ryan.” With another brush of her hand over his head and a pat on his shoulder, Cassidy turned back to the game.

  The trio from California stepped out of the flow of humanity off the gangway and fell into a cluster with two teenaged girls and a well-dressed older man in a dark blue sport coat, matching trousers, white shirt, and tie. Brenna threw him a playful smile and then turned to the gi
rls. “So, how’s life?”

  From behind, her husband of fourteen months, Kevin, swept her up in a hug, kissing her cheek. “Ignoring me already?” He chuckled. She turned in his embrace and kissed his cheek. “That’s better.”

  “Good to see you again,” said Eleanor, at fifteen the elder of the two brunettes.

  “You, too.” She reached out and grasped the girls’ hands. “So, what’s on the agenda?” She looked from father to daughters.

  “You two can bum.” Marie pushed at her father’s arm. “We’re taking Thomas and James to Toppers.”

  The park name sounded familiar, but Brenna had not been there since childŹhood. “Is that the amusement park on the north side?”

  “Yeah. You’ve been?”

  “A few times.” She passed her boys each a twenty. “Have fun. Be careful on the transit.”

  “We’ll be fine, Mom.”

  “Meet back at the house at eight.”

  “Aren’t you two going out tonight?” Thomas asked.

  Kevin placed a hand on Brenna’s shoulder. “Charity dinner and auction, over near the college.”

  “Well, we’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Eleanor said cheekily, earning herself a laugh and a kiss on the cheek from Brenna.

  The two adults accepted the bags and watched the kids leave, as only teens can — helter-skelter, half-chasing one another and leaping for the escalators and the exit. “So,” she said at last, “to the home front?”

  “Looking to put your feet up already? I thought we’d check out the new artist showing at the Guggenheim Gallery.”

  Brenna pursed her lips and then shrugged. “Can we at least get a good Irish before we set out?”

  Offering his elbow, he waited for her small hand to tuck into the crook, then patted it. “I think I know just the spot.”

  She smiled winsomely. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Twenty minutes later, ensconced in a car headed to downtown Mount Clemens, Brenna leaned on the open window and rested her temple in her palm.