Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
J ust being near an airport made my head ache and my left eye twitch.
On Monday morning, Maxine and I drove my parents to the airport for their very long sojourn to Haiti. I knew that they were going to do some good work in an orphanage, but I was feeling a little orphaned myself. I had only been home a week, and already James and Millie were leaving.
“You’re sure you’re feeling okay?” Millie asked, as I pulled her carry-on behind me through the sliding doors. People milled about like ants, zipping here and there, talking on cell phones, staring blankly at iPads, hugging family members.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Not a thing wrong with me.”
“Actually,” Maxine said, “you have panty lines.”
We stopped near a self-check in kiosk, and I tried to look my fill of my parents.
I wanted to remember this moment, recall their faces, the sound of their voices.
They could get on that plane and never make it back.
I knew very well how precarious life was once you hit the clouds.
The sky was a dangerous place to travel, and I wouldn’t rest until I knew James and Millie had safely landed.
“Call me when you get to your connecting flight,” I said. “And right before you takeoff. And when you land in Haiti. And after you deplane.”
James chuckled and pulled me into a warm hug. “Don’t worry about us.”
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider driving?”
“Too many toll roads.” James kissed my cheek. “I’ve left all my notes on the property buyout in my office. Look over those. It will give you something to do.”
“I’ll pore over them.”
“I’m sure you will,” James said. “But it’s just to be informed. This isn’t your fight. The property owners have an attorney, and Millie and I will be back in three weeks. I’m not going to let them take the Valiant without giving it all we’ve got.”
“This is my theater, too,” I said. “My hometown.”
“One way or another, it will be okay,” Millie said.
But would it? I couldn’t lose that theater. I had poured my very life into it, and so had James and Millie. And at the moment, it was my only job plan.
“Don’t eat junk,” Millie said. “I left some meals in the freezer for you.”
Maxine made a little gagging sound. “Seaweed salad and bean balls. Don’t invite me over.”
After an incredibly long group hug in which Maxine purposely kept blowing in my ear, the family separated, said our “I love yous,” and Millie and James left to get in line for security.
I blinked back tears as Maxine and I walked to the car, the Texas sun hot on my skin. I’d spent so little time with my parents this year, and now that I was home, they were gone.
“Are you gonna ignore me forever?” Maxine asked as she slid into the passenger seat.
“I’m not ignoring you.” I shoved the key into the ignition and fired up the red beast. My car was ten years old and had spent the last year bunking in Millie and James’s garage. It was good to drive again. On the right side of the road.
“I’ve told you something vitally important three times, and you’ve yet to so much as look my direction. ”
“What was this vital question?”
“Dairy Barn is having BOGO on hot fudge sundaes ’til noon.”
“I can’t.”
She tsked and shook her head. “I’ve heard some people are never the same after a bad concussion.”
“I have to get back to try on dresses with Frances.” Lord knew I’d rather be eating two-for-one ice cream.
“Oh. Well, then I want to go.”
“Not this time.”
“Please don’t be mad at me, Katie,” Maxine said. “I’m too old to find a new best friend.”
I gripped the steering wheel as I pulled onto the interstate, knowing I couldn’t stay mad with words like that.
She had pulled a lot of stunts in our time together, but scheduling an audition in New York might’ve topped them all.
It was even worse than the time in high school when she got me to climb the water tower with her so she could hang a banner declaring her love for her estranged Sam.
She had fallen over the railing, held on for dear life, then miraculously been saved by a truck full of hot fire fighters.
The woman always landed on her feet. Or on a beefcake in uniform.
“I’m not mad,” I said.
“Oh, good.”
“But I’m not happy either.”
“I didn’t mean any harm talking to your director.”
“He’s not my director. We’ve never even met. But harm is exactly what you caused. Now I have to call him back and explain what happened.”
Maxine turned the radio to her favorite pop station. “You could avoid that awkward conversation.”
“By telling him you’re insane?”
“By going on the audition.”
“No.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to just—”
“I’m done with acting. Done with the stage.”
“Then what are you going to do? You have too much talent to waste it here.” Maxine tapped irritated fingers on the armrest .
“Maybe I’ll go to Vegas and be a show girl like you were.”
“Look, Sweet Pea, I’m being for real here. What’s the plan?”
I turned the corner a little too sharply, sending Maxine leaning a hard right into her door. She grabbed the overhead handle and shot me a look that would scare misbehaving children and men with any sense about them.
“I said, what’s the—”
“When Delores leaves, I plan to take over the Valiant.” I had already informed James of my idea, and while he wasn’t happy I was abandoning acting, he knew I would take care of the Valiant better than anyone else.
“And if it’s not saved from the chopping block?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I have no idea, okay? It’s not like I knew I’d already need a career change at twenty-three.”
“Then don’t change. Or at least not ’til you have a good reason to.”
“Do you want to know how I got the role of Beatrice?”
“A sassy, smart-mouthed heroine who shoots one-liners like arrows? Can’t imagine why they’d cast you.”
“I got it because the director liked me.” Note to self, never date your boss again .
“Well, of course he did. You’re a brilliant actress.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Though Maxine’s version made for a much nicer story.
“I don’t know what happened in London,” Maxine said, her voice gentling, “but your incredible gift got you to London in the first place. You were all but plucked from obscurity at that college. How many kids graduated from your university and were invited to work in London?”
“One.”
“And how many from the entire state of Texas?”
“One.”
“Remind me what her name was?”
I sighed as I switched lanes. “Katie.”
“See. End of story. You need to go on that audition and show them what you’ve got. Your acting career isn’t over. It’s just taking a new direction. And maybe that direction is New York. ”
“I’m not going on the audition.”
“Fine.” Maxine cranked up the radio volume. “I’ll go in your place.”
Diamond’s Bridal sat on the corner of Twelfth Street and Main in a town called Newman, one hour and five Golden Arches down the highway. Traditional red bricks made up the outside of the shop, but inside was a harem of lace and satin, ivory and white, sequins and tulle.
Frances’s mother, Maxine, and I perched on pink pin-striped chairs, sipping sparkling water in wine glasses and waiting for Frances to resurface.
We had already watched her model six dresses, and by now they all looked the same.
If Frances had liked the dress, her mother had not.
Dresses her mother adored, Frances couldn’t stand.
And Maxine? Well, I was pretty sure Maxine had swapped her sparkling water for the vino at least four dresses ago.
“I guess this engagement took you by surprise?” I asked Mrs. Vega. “So sudden and all.” Maybe if Frances’s mother and I tag-teamed, we could talk some sense into the bride-to-be.
“It was quite unexpected.” Mrs. Vega didn’t take her eyes off the dressing room door.
“I’m sure you’d feel better if they waited a bit. Took some time to really get to know one another.”
“Mmm.” Her monosyllabic sound of agreement did not provide much information. “Frances, are you coming out any time soon?” Mrs. Vega checked the gold watch on her wrist.
“If she stays in there much longer, they’re gonna charge her rent.” Maxine tapped a red fingernail to her glass. “Where’s that waitress?”
“This isn’t Applebee’s.” I snatched that flute right out of her hands.
“Come on, girl,” Maxine called toward the door. “I’m fossilizing out here.”
“Get ready!” Frances yelled back. “I think you’re going to love this one.”
The dressing room door creaked open, and Frances walked to the mini runway that led to a three-way mirror so big if we aimed it at the sun, we’d light the whole town on fire. Frances wore a strapless, fitted gown of antique ivory lace. It gaped at the top and ballooned at the bottom.
Her mother pushed her glasses up her nose, much like Frances always did when needing a closer inspection. “What’s that style?”
Frances turned in a circle. “It’s called fit and flare.”
Maxine’s lip curled. “You need to burn that flare.”
“I don’t like it,” Mrs. Vega said. “Too much cleavage, not enough bling.”
“Yeah.” Maxine waved her hand toward the dress. “You gotta pimp that thing out. Get some sparkle. Some razzle dazzle.”
I nudged my grandmother. “You said you’d sit quietly. That was our deal.”
“I want to renegotiate our terms.”
I knew I should’ve dropped Maxine off at the Dairy Barn. “You’re not helping.”
“No,” Frances said. “She’s right. And my mother’s right. This dress doesn’t work. None of them have.” She turned to face the mirror. “Something’s missing with all these gowns.”
“I bet the winter collection is worth waiting for.”
“Subtle,” Maxine whispered. “Really subtle.”
“You could wear my dress,” Mrs. Vega suggested. “We could get it altered this week.”
“Your dress hasn’t been in style since frosty blue eye shadow and acid-washed jeans.
” Frances’s shoulders drooped and she stepped away from the mirrors.
“I’m sorry. I’m projecting my wedding stress onto you all.
When I see the right one, I’ll know it. But so far, these are all very vanilla. I’m wanting—”
“Cherry chip mocha with hot fudge, butterscotch, peanut butter, toasted pecans, whipped cream, and extra sprinkles?” Maxine looked at each of our blank faces. “I guess that’s just me.”
Frances lifted her skirt above her heels and shuffled back into the dressing room.
“How is Mr. Vega taking this?” I asked when Frances was out of ear-shot.
Her mother shook her head. “Not well. Frances is our first born, his baby girl. It’s hard. We’ve had to have a lot of talks about it. ”
“I’m sure his concerns are understandable.”
Mrs. Vega smiled. “Her dad’s just having a difficult time letting her go. He thinks she should still be in pig tails and Hello Kitty.”
“Do you. . .” This was such a delicate matter, I wanted to tread carefully. “Do you think Frances and Joey should date a little longer?”
“Yes, but her father and I can’t say a word.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Mrs. Vega said dreamily, “Juan and I married on date number six.”