35. Career Retrospective
Career Retrospective
MARY
We lay quietly in the bunk. I didn’t know what to say.
I never expected our first I-love-yous would come in a tour bus while people hooted outside and drank barely-passable beer.
The fact that Betty loved me even after I wrote that song mattered.
I was glad to sit with her a little longer before our obligations tore us apart.
Betty ran her fingers around my tattoo, the same way that made me feel so at home these days. When she did this, I knew she was silently meditating on something.
“Bets, you can say what is on your mind. That’s what I want,” I whispered.
“I don’t think I even remotely realized who you were,” Betty said. “And for that… I am sorry.”
“Be grateful. It’s less awkward,” I grumbled.
“Why didn’t you tell me, though?”
“I wasn’t out,” I explained. “That wasn’t me. It was a young woman forced into a box—and into a bloody closet—trying to make it in the industry. And that man? Max? Watching him do it to little Alia was… awful. I just couldn’t let it happen.”
“You went full mama bear.”
I nodded. “Sometimes, I cannot help but save people. That kid has done nothing in her life to deserve this. I wish I could strangle her parents. They should do more.”
“My parents were overprotective, perhaps, but I was the baby,” Betty said.
“Mor tried to warn me,” I explained. “She said this life was cruel and complicated. She knew I was talented. She taught me so much, but she never could have prepared me. Dad signed the papers against her wishes. Since he moved to the States to play as a minor, he thought it was normal. I moved back in with him and started to work.”
“That was a lot, I’m sure. It’s enough for anyone to suffer that much notoriety with no media training or people to support them.
My mother dealt with that when she married her first husband, then my dad.
And when Paul died—her first husband—she had to shelter the boys.
They went through so much. Watching Alia twist in the wind, I thought about my brothers and how they had to negotiate all of that alone.
But, they survived. You did, too. And so will Alia—especially if she has people like you to look up to. ”
I looked down. “I never thought about it like that. I—”
“You touch people, Mary Give yourself more credit.”
“You’re probably right. I did what I could. Thanks for reminding me.”
She met my gaze with a slight smile. “I am always going to try to build you up. My family calls me its unofficial mascot. That’s what I am for everyone, I guess. I’m glad you see that, but there’s something else here… something you want to tell me, but you aren’t.”
I soaked up her face—those blue eyes wounding me, the way her curls grew stronger in the day’s sweat and heat, and the way her dimples killed me.
She was so sweet and wholesome and had lived this isolated, privileged life—whether she knew or not—and I worried I’d frighten her off by being too real.
I remembered Clarice’s urging and the fact that I had to be honest with her.
If I loved Betty as much as I thought, I had to tell her everything.
“Max did things I don’t want to get into.
He forced me into situations I didn’t want and abused his position to do it.
He took money from me, yes, but he mostly took away my sense of self.
It took years to dig out of that hole. And then last year?
His thievery was the icing on the cake. It was hard to be proud after that.
I’d built a life and tried to forget him, but—”
“He never dies.”
“People like him never get what is coming for them. I carry that around.”
“And your mom?”
I fought tears, but agreed, “Mor is part of it, too. We had a complicated relationship, but losing her when I did was so hard. In many ways, she grew up over my childhood. We were somewhat codependent—especially at the end—and I derailed so much of my life. When you say I have a second chance, I know you get it but…”
My voice trailed. She picked it up.
“But it doesn’t make it easy?” Betty stroked my face. “Yeah. I can imagine that.”
Betty’s tenderness surprised me. She could be fierce and demanding one minute, but sweet as pie the next. She never doubted that there was good left in the world. As jaded as I was, she brought me out of it.
“No. It doesn’t. But sometimes, just talking to you… does.”
She pulled me in for a kiss, running her hands through my hair and playing with the baby hairs on the nape of my neck. Kissing Betty felt so safe. And while I’d been in love, I’d never been one to complete someone’s sentences—something I usually found so annoying.
“Don’t lock away your feelings and I won’t lock myself in a closet,” Betty promised. “Someday when we don’t have a documentary crew following us, I will say proudly you’re my… I dunno… partner? I was going to say girlfriend but—"
“You’re my girlfriend,” I laughed. “But yes. You can say girlfriend.”
“I worried that might be too heteronormative. Oh well, I fucking love you. I love this. Don’t stop being emotionally available. I’m here for you.”
“I will, Betty. I love you, too. I don’t tell people these things. They hurt to talk about, but—”
“You trust me,” she sighed, resting her head on my shoulder.