Flavor of the Month (60 page)

“No!” Sharleen said quickly. What had happened with Mr. McLain was too scary, too much. She didn’t want
that
again.

“You like Jahne Moore, don’t you?”

“Sure I do. I like her fine. But we’re not friends.” Sharleen sighed. “I’d jest like to go out to a party again. All I do is work and take lessons. Singin’ and dancin’ and all that other stuff you lined up. And the exercise classes! Mr. Ortis, I’m so sore and tired. I’d like some fun. I mean just a
party
. At someone’s house. Someone normal, you know?”

“Well, don’t worry, you will. Listen, Sharleen, what do you think about that recording idea?”

Not again! She was tired of all this. “Oh, Mr. Ortis, I can’t really sing.”

“Sure you can. And there’s a lot of people who’ll buy the album.”

“I’d feel stupid. It’s bad enough bein’ an actress that can’t act. But also being a singer who can’t sing? I…”

She could sense the loneliness fill up her chest once again, but tried not to feel it. It only made her want to cry, and what did she have to cry about, after all? She had Dean, and her new house, and every room furnished just the way they wanted from the old Sears catalogue. Funny that now they had money to buy stuff, the catalogue goes out of business! But one of Mr. Ortis’ people got everything for them, just like they picked it. It had been fun, going through the catalogue with Dean in the evenings, after work, choosing whatever they wanted, then having the lady in Mr. Ortis’ office arrange for the delivery, and getting some decorator to come in and put it all in place, make it look just like the catalogue pictures. But then, after buying everything they needed—everything they
wanted
, she corrected herself—they were left with evenings to fill, with no place to go and no one to see.

It wasn’t so bad for Dean. During the day, he at least could go out wherever
he
wanted without worrying about getting trampled by a mob of people at the supermarket who recognized him because of the show, or from the pictures spread all over those magazines they sell at supermarket lines. So Dean went to places like Tail O’ the Pup and the pizza joint without her, and he did the shopping and always came home with twice as much as they needed.

Anyway, even if she wasn’t recognized, she couldn’t go out much, ’cause she was booked up with these lessons. And posing for Flanders Cosmetics ads and publicity pictures,
and
goin’ to those appearances Mr. Ortis’ office set up,
and
bein’ interviewed. She looked at her watch. “I gotta go. I got my voice lesson in about six minutes. And Miss Cardoza is real strict.”

“Good girl. So you’ll do the album, and you won’t bother the crew anymore. Right, Sharleen?”

“Well, we’ll see. I don’t want to go where I ain’t welcome. I sure don’t want to give none of them a hard time. It’s just that I feel like…like a prisoner.” She hated the whining sound in her voice, but couldn’t stop herself, now that she was saying what needed to be said. “Mr. Ortis, I have to have my private telephone number changed every week. I never give my number out, just to you and Mr. DiGennaro. But the calls—you should hear some of them. I can’t answer the phone no more. Things sure have changed.” Sharleen began to laugh. “There was a time I couldn’t afford to make a local call at a pay phone. Now I have phones in every room of the house—oh, Lord, including the bathroom—and I can’t answer them. And who’m I gonna call? It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?”

“Yes and no, Sharleen,” Mr. Ortis said. “It might not be so good for you right now, but wait. After you get used to it, you’ll be able to handle it.”

“Will I ever be able to shop in a supermarket again?”

She heard Mr. Ortis laugh. “I sure hope not, honey.”

Sharleen hung up and looked around the large room of their new house. They had to get out of that really nice one-bedroom apartment in town—people would sit in the lobby all day waiting for her. Lenny from Mr. Ortis’ office found this big house for them, way out, almost in the Valley, with lots of land and trees around. And a high fence with a big gate. Mr. Ortis had hired security guards to sit at the gate and patrol the grounds twenty-four hours a day. And even
they
would go out of their way to peek at her whenever she walked on the lawn, or sat in the sun. It gave her the creeps, but she had to agree with Mr. Ortis. What else was she going to do?

She knew what she’d
like
to do. She’d like to walk down the street somewhere, and look in store windows, try on some clothes, maybe buy some shoes, have a hamburger at McDonald’s, sit in a movie show. All the things she
longed
to do back in Texas. All the things she
could
do, now that she was making all this money. More money than she could
think
about. More money in one week than Mr. Hardiman, the richest man in Lamson, would make in a
year
. In
ten
years.

But Sharleen couldn’t go to McDonald’s. Sure, she could get a twelve-dollar hamburger at one of them fancy restaurants that she’d been to since she made money. But make reservations to have a
hamburger?
And then the hassle of getting dressed up fancy and getting a limo and driver. Dean didn’t like to put on a tie, and he didn’t feel right in those places. And even there, in those fancy restaurants where they only have celebrities, even there she was ogled, and approached. And bothered. Mr. Ortis had said it was time to get a personal bodyguard, but Sharleen drew the line there. “I’m not the President, Mr. Ortis. No FBI,” she had said.

But there was
nothing
like a Big Mac. So Dean would go for her, bring her one home with a vanilla shake, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t normal. She picked up another of them catalogues Mr. Ortis’ secretary had sent over when Sharleen told her how she couldn’t go out no more. Her money manager had told her to order whatever she wanted.
Everything
she wanted. He would tell her when she was spending over her budget. He hadn’t said anything yet, and she still had stuff being delivered every day, some in boxes still unopened. Sharleen knew she had to leave for her voice lesson, but she still sat there and flipped through the glossy pages, the color photos blurring before her eyes. Shopping from catalogues instead of in stores. Ordering food from outside to be delivered to the security guard instead of going out to dinner. Watching movies on the VCR and the thirty-five-inch Japanese TV, instead of going out to a show. It all would have sounded like heaven to her, once. But that was before she knew what fame was
really
like. Well, she better get a move on. She’d already missed ten minutes of her class.

Sharleen heard the front door slam in the distance. Slowly, she forced herself to get up and go down the hall to Dean. “Howdy,” she said. “What did you get for tonight?”

“
Top Gun
,” he said, “and
Terminator 2
. It’s about this guy…”

Sharleen sighed. “Dean, didn’t we see them before?”

“Yeah, but they’re real good,” Dean said as he made his way into the TV room and opened the cabinet. “Oh, and, yeah. I got us a paper-oney pizza, just like you like it, Sharleen.”

Sharleen groaned.

“What’s the matter, Sharleen?”

Dean got that worried look on his face he got whenever he thought she was unhappy. “Nothing,” she said, with a big sigh. “Except I’m tired. I wish I didn’t have to go to voice. And then I got to go to exercise.”

“Oh, why don’t you cut?” Dean asked.

“Hey, we
pay
for them classes.”

“So what?”

The idea of simply not showing up was so sweet, so irresistible to Sharleen that she smiled for the first time that day.

“I don’t have to be at work until the day after tomorrow. But even if I cut, I can’t go nowhere, do nothing. What could we do that’s fun?” She flopped onto the long Early American sofa.

“I can show you something great,” Dean said. He whistled, and the three dogs all sat down. “Say your prayers,” he told them, and, one by one, the dogs stood on their hind legs, crossed their paws, and put their heads down.

Sharleen had to laugh. “How did you get ’em to do that?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Jest practiced them. It’s not a sin, is it?”

“Surely not. It’s great, Dean.” She hugged him. “Hey, I got an idea,” Dean said, suddenly eager. “Want to play Parcheesi? This time I’ll let
you
win,” he said with a grin.

“Dean, honey,” Sharleen said, very patiently. “I’ve read every magazine, seen every movie, played every game. I even went through all those new catalogues. There is nothing I want to do except get out and go for a walk. Nothing. And we both know I can’t do that.”

“We could get that nice guy with the long limousine. He could drive us around awhile. How ’bout that?” he asked, hopefully.

Sharleen didn’t want to upset him, and she could see she was. She forced a smile. “No, honey, I’ll be all right. Put on
Top Gun
first.”

As he popped the cassette into the VCR, the phone rang, and Dean answered. “What?” she heard him say. Then, “You little piece of worm dirt. If I get my hands on you, I’ll cut…” He slammed down the phone.

“Dean, don’t go getting yourself all upset. I’ll just unplug all the phones tonight. Now, let’s relax and enjoy ourselves, okay?”

“Sure, Sharleen,” he said, but his face was red, and his eyes had teared up. “How come people are just so mean and dirty? I can’t believe what that guy just said about you. I tell you, Sharleen, something’s wrong when you can’t be left alone in your own home.” He flicked the switch of the remote control, and the screen lit up. Sharleen sat down beside him and stroked his soft, white-blond hair. It was funny: she should be happy, because she had everything she’d dreamed of: a nice house, a new TV, lots of clothes, and good stuff to eat. The Lord had provided for them. She should be grateful.

Oh, Lord, Sharleen thought to herself. I should have been more careful about what I asked for. I guess I didn’t really believe You’d give it to me.

The traffic slowed suddenly as it came around the bend of the freeway. Probably an accident, Jahne thought, as she settled into the new pace. The drivers in the cars on each side of her seemed to be straining to look ahead, but Jahne could see no obstruction. Up ahead, the four lanes of traffic were moving, no stalled or wrecked cars in any one. What the hell was the problem? She had a meeting with Sy Ortis in only half an hour, and she didn’t want to be late.

Jahne followed the craning heads of the other drivers, and observed that the slowdown stretched across all eight lanes of the freeway. Then she saw it. The billboard was at least four stories high, and displayed the three women from the show, standing next to each other, elbow to elbow, hair flying, arms akimbo, legs parted in a defiant stance. Their black leather jackets were open, revealing deep cleavages; in fact, the jackets barely covered their nipples. The only words on the billboard were: “
SUNDAY NIGHT
.”

Jahne pulled the Miata over to the shoulder of the road, stopping on the dry brown grass, and got out of the car. She stared at the giant figures, at the massive sign that at one time would have been considered one of the seven wonders of the world for its size alone. That’s me, she thought to herself. That’s Jahne Moore. Or me, Mary Jane Moran. Whoever I am. It’s
me
. She wanted to say it out loud to someone, but no one was there. Just the faces in the slow-moving cars staring at the three beautiful women on the billboard. It was hard to take it in. It was hard to breathe. For a moment, she felt faint, and bent over a bit to bring the blood to her head.

She had done it. If she never did anything in her life before or after, she had, at least, accomplished this. She was there, fifty times bigger than life, over the freeway. And once a week, she was being watched by fifty million people.

Her will, her pain, her work, her courage had brought her to this. Unlike the other two girls, she’d had no natural beauty or family ties to help her. And even though it wasn’t Shakespeare, even though it was only television, she had risen up out of the swamp of grayness to this.

“Miss?” a voice said behind her. She nearly jumped, then turned and saw a California Highway Patrol officer standing next to his scooter. “Are you in trouble?”

Jahne shook her head, then began to laugh. Realizing that she must seem like a crazy person, she tried to stop. “No,” she said. “I’m just looking at the picture.”

“Lady,” the cop said, walking cautiously toward her. “
Everyone’s
looking at the goddamn picture. You better get back in your car and get on your way. It’s a little too dangerous to be standing out here.” Then he stopped, looked at her again, stared at her face, looked up at the billboard. The light dawned. “Hey, you’re the smart one!”

Jahne giggled, and nodded her head. “I’ll say,” she told him, and got back into her car.

What’s On … SUNDAY 8:00 p.m.— Star Search Famous Look-Alikes. Tonight, Rhea Perlman. 9:00 p.m.— Three for the Road. Crimson finds herself in the middle of the Kent State campus just before the National Guard appears. Clover and Cara arrive in time to prevent her shooting.

Jesse Helms’ Anti-“Three” Rally Complete Bust Winston-Salem, North Carolina. The much-publicized rally organized by Jesse Helms and the Christian Family Network to protest the airing of “Three for the Road” was the biggest non-event of this senator’s eventful public life of protestations against what he calls attacks on family values. The rally was scheduled for nine o’clock Sunday night, but, unfortunately for him and CFN, only a handful of his most ardent followers showed up. Helms, reached at his Washington, D.C., office today, was unable to explain the lack of numbers in support of what he calls massive resistance to the show. He wouldn’t comment on this reporter’s speculation that perhaps everyone stayed home to watch the show instead.

TOP TEN REASONS WHY MEN WATCH “THREE FOR THE ROAD” — FROM Late Night with David Letterman 10. They’re into motorcycles 9. They can’t get on the set 8. They’ve heard that in one episode Crimson will mud-wrestle Clover 7. There’s so little really good serious drama left on television 6. To get back at their wives for making them look at Prince’s bare ass 5. For the plots 4. For the great location photography 3. To make their girlfriends try harder 2. Six are better than two 1. They’re willing to take their chances at going blind