Flavor of the Month (83 page)

He reached his hand out to her and covered hers with his. She pulled away.

“I can see you like me, Jahnie. You don’t want to, but you do.”

“Of course I like you. You’re my director.”

“No, I don’t mean that you like me professionally. I mean you like
me
. And I’m very impressed with you. You have integrity. You’re a very unusual woman. Not just beautiful, but really focused, really intelligent. And we can work this out. I understand your concerns. But like me. Work with me. Trust me.”

She looked into his long, tanned, and handsome face. He was still the best-looking man she’d ever known. And the blend of his intelligence, his drive, and his “Hey, I’m one of the good guys” attitude was as seductive as ever. She felt herself blush, and glanced down at the tabletop. She couldn’t help noticing his lap. Was that sashimi in his pocket, or was he really glad to see her? She looked away. Despite the restaurant noise, she could hear him breathing, and she could hear her own breathing as well. God, if just for an hour they could lie down together and comfort one another, be truly together even if only for a little while.

He reached for her hand again, and this time she let him hold it. “I’ll protect you,” he said. “Just let me in. Let me try. I’m a good director. I love my actors, Jahne. Trust me.”

“I’ll try,” she promised.

Sharleen had the maid service make a special trip to clean the house for Momma’s arrival. Now it was spotless, except for the boxes that Sharleen had bid on for Dobe. Just what is he going to do with all of these left shoes? she wondered for about the thousandth time. Could he be coming up with another scam like he did with the gas tablets? Dobe, you better not be makin’ me store somethin’ that’s against the law, Sharleen thought to herself. Just what would she say to Momma when she got here and saw all these cartons? If Momma ever did get here.

Sharleen sat in the big living room, flipping through a catalogue and out of the corner of her eye watching Dean playing with the dogs. Then her eyes flicked to her watch once again. Sharleen had arranged for a car to pick up Momma and bring her here at seven. It was almost eight o’clock. The food had already arrived and was getting cold. An hour late; Sharleen was worried. Tonight, Dean was going to see Momma for the first time. Sharleen didn’t want anything to go wrong.

But so much had already gone wrong: Flora Lee had taken the money to move, but she hadn’t moved—she was still in the bad place in East Los Angeles. And they’d made two dates for her to come over, and both times she hadn’t come at ail. Then, the next day, she’d called Sharleen and cried, telling her she was too ashamed to see her baby.

Dean had been upset.

Now Dean broke into her thoughts. “Do you think Momma will know me?”

Before Sharleen could answer, the security guard at the gate buzzed and admitted Flora Lee’s car. Thank the Lord! “Of course she will,” Sharleen reassured him. Together, they opened the front door and stepped outside, standing on the top step as the car pulled into the driveway. Flora Lee got out and, with the driver’s help, was able to steady herself on her feet. Flora Lee looked up and saw Sharleen and squealed, then began to run up the stairs to her, her arms open. “My little girl,” she said, as if she hadn’t seen Sharleen since Lamson. Then she slipped. Sharleen reached out and broke her fall. Flora Lee righted herself as if nothing had happened. Sharleen’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Flora Lee had been drinking. That’s why she was late.

“Now, where’s my little baby boy?” she yelled, as she walked unsteadily into the house, straight past Dean. He followed her. “I’m right here, Momma,” he said to the woman who was moving around the living room in a crooked line. She turned to him and flung her arms out.

Dean took an involuntary step backward.

Sharleen watched Dean as he looked his momma up and down. Then she took a look at Flora Lee’s attempts to make herself look special for this reunion. They had made her look ridiculous. Especially ridiculous to Dean, a boy who was only six when he’d last seen his momma. Flora Lee’s hair was fairly neat, but way too yellow. The lime-green dress had too many flounces at the neck and shoulders. There was way too much jewelry, and Sharleen could smell the perfume all the way over on this side of the room. And the shiny yellow high-heel shoes didn’t help her studied attempts to walk normally.

Flora Lee was all over Dean before Sharleen could say anything. “My little boy, my baby.” Flora Lee had her arms around Dean’s shoulders, and her face on his neck, crying. “You got so big I didn’t know you! Momma’s home, baby. Momma’s home.”

Dean didn’t move, but his eyes found Sharleen’s and locked on them. Sharleen met his gaze, for a moment. “Momma, why don’t you come sit over here?” She guided Flora Lee to the end of the sofa, and eased her gently onto the cushions. “Now, if you just sit a bit, Dean and I will get things ready in the kitchen. We’ll be right back, okay?”

“Don’t you think this calls for a drink? It’s a celebration, ain’t it?” Flora Lee suggested.

“Okay, Momma,” Sharleen said, guiding Dean through the kitchen door before her.

“That ain’t Momma,” Dean said, the moment the kitchen door closed behind them.

“What do you mean, Dean? Course it is.” But Sharleen felt her stomach sink.

Dean shook his head. “No, it ain’t. I remember how Momma smells, and she don’t smell like Momma.”

“Well, people change. She ain’t so young as she was. Remember when you were a little boy, and Momma took you to school your first day? Remember? You told me the other day you did.”

“Yeah, I remember that. Momma was pretty and not fat, and had brown hair. And she didn’t wear no makeup, or smell like Daddy.”

“You kids comin’ out?” Flora Lee yelled from the living room. “We got to have a drink together, remember?”

“Dean, just give her a chance. You’ll remember more in a little while.”

When they got back to her, Flora Lee was sitting on the sofa, the Bible open on her lap. She looked up at them, her painted face crumpled in surprise. “Why, you kept my Bible the whole time since I saw you.”

“We try to live by the Good Book, just like our momma taught us,” Dean said, and he took the Bible out of her hands before he handed Flora Lee a glass of vodka and ginger ale. “Ain’t that right, Sharleen?”

“Yes,” she said. “Just like
you
taught us, Momma.”

Holding up her glass, Flora Lee said, “Now, what should we drink to?”

Dean stared at Flora Lee for a long moment. Flora Lee saw the scrutiny, and reluctantly lowered her glass. “Well,” she said. “Maybe I’m jumpin’ the gun. Maybe you all aren’t as happy to see me as I am to see you.”

“Of course we’re glad to see you,” Sharleen said, and hugged the woman. “Aren’t we, Dean?”

Dean stood there, still holding the battered white Bible in one hand. He didn’t say anything.

“I’ve got a nice supper for us,” Sharleen said. “Why don’t we eat it?”

Over fried chicken and slaw and biscuits, Flora Lee did most of the talking. She wanted to know all the details about TV, about how Sharleen got the job, about what her costars were like. She complimented Sharleen on her dress, on the cooking, on the house, and she complimented Dean on his suit and the behavior of the dogs. Then she pushed away her plate and asked for another “teeny-tiny drink” and a tour of the house.

Reluctantly, Sharleen led her around, through the big dining room to the even bigger kitchen and den, then upstairs to the three empty spare bedrooms and the room she and Dean shared. Flora Lee stopped on the threshold. “You
both
sleep here?” she asked. She looked over at Sharleen, who felt herself blushing.

“Dean’s still afraid of the dark,” she told her momma.

Flora Lee raised her eyebrows. “Ain’t we all?” she asked.

“You got plenty of room here,” Flora Lee remarked as they trooped back downstairs. “Empty rooms. Why, you should see my teeny-tiny place. You could put it in a corner of your bedroom.”

“Maybe you want to live here, Momma,” Sharleen offered. She felt Dean stiffen beside her.

“Well, that’s a right nice offer, dear,” Flora Lee said. “But I might bother you with my guests.” They had walked into the living room. “But do
you
want me to, Dean? Do
you
want your momma back?”

“Why did you leave us, Momma?” Dean asked.

Sharleen watched as the expression on Flora Lee’s face changed. The smile, along with the rest of her face, seemed to disintegrate. For a moment, Sharleen thought she glimpsed the other face of Momma, the face she had back in Lamson. “Honey, I had to. If I had stayed, your daddy would have killed me. I needed to get away…to find us a safe place, get a job and all.
Then
I was going to get you both.” Flora Lee eyed the almost empty drink in her hand.

Dean lowered his head. “Then why didn’t you come back for us?”

Sharleen was aware of the silence that fell over the room. She, too, waited for the answer to that question, although, to be honest, she could never have brought herself to ask it. Finally, Flora Lee spoke.

“Honey, things were very bad out there. A lot worse than I thought they was going to be. I couldn’t keep a job long enough to settle down. I was laid off so many times, I finally lost count. And when I was working, I couldn’t hardly make enough to live on myself, never mind support two children. And, after all, only one of you was mine.” Flora Lee paused, then forced a small smile. “Honestly, you was better off with your daddy. At least he could give you a place to live.”

“But you said you was coming back for us. We waited for you. Waited and waited.”

“I know, baby.” Now her smile was back, broader than ever, but her face still had the collapsed look of an empty paper sack. “But Momma’s back now, so let’s drink to our all being together finally. Like I promised.”

Sharleen felt stung, but also sorry for Flora Lee. “Sure. And soon Momma’s going to have a job as a hairdresser, just like she always wanted. She’s going to school and everything. Right, Momma?”

“Well, I don’t really think that place was for me, Sharleen,” Flora Lee said. “They started at eight
A
.
M
. Now, who comes in at that time for beauty appointments? Got angry if I wasn’t there. Chewed my ass in front of those little snot girls. I don’t want to waste my time on an amateurish place like that.”

“Oh,” was all Sharleen could say.

“But let’s have a drink”—Flora Lee raised her glass—“to a happy reunion.”

“We don’t drink,” Dean said, and walked out of the room, calling his dogs after him.

Sharleen had sent Flora Lee home, and it had taken the better part of two days to stop Dean from cryin’ and mopin’ around the house. And it was real hard to do, because Sharleen felt like mopin’ and cryin’ herself.

And then, in the mail, she’d gotten a package that she thought might help. She coaxed Dean out of the bedroom and sat him on the sofa. “I got a real nice surprise for you,” she said, and slipped the CD out.

At the studio, Sharleen had been amazed at the sound of her voice they had recorded. In fact, she couldn’t believe it
was
her voice, but Mr. Ortis and the others insisted it was, that with modern electronics they could do anything. Well, they’d done a good job of making her sound like a real singer. Sharleen was impressed. Still found it hard to believe, but impressive. She guessed that all those exhausting lessons had paid off.

“Dean, listen to this.” Sharleen inserted the new CD and pushed “play.” She sat back, and watched Dean’s face as the music began to fill the room. “What do you think?” she asked him.

“That sure is pretty, Sharleen. I like it.”

“See, you said I could sing and you were right,” Sharleen chided, smiling.

“Sure you can. But who is
that
singing?”

Sharleen grew serious. “Dean, that’s me. That’s my new album. Mr. Ortis sent it over. Remember, I made a record?”

“Sure I remember, but that ain’t it.” He paused for a moment more, listening to the voice more closely. “Sharleen, that ain’t you. I don’t care what you say, or what Mr. Ortis says. I know how you sound, and you don’t sound like that. You can sing all right. But, Sharleen, don’t let anyone tell you that that there is your voice, ’cause it ain’t.”

Sharleen stared at Dean, the chill of the truth creeping up her spine. “What makes you so sure, Dean? I mean, I trust you and all, but why are you so sure?”

“Why? Sharleen, you could
never
sing that high. Remember how we used to laugh when you tried to sing the ‘Star Spangling’ song before baseball games? You could only go so high, and no higher. This gal can go way up there, and more. Nope, it ain’t you.” Dean paused, and continued to listen to the music. “But, hey, it sure is pretty,” he said.

Sam Shields was working feverishly on
Birth
, both the script and preproduction work. He was also sleeping with April. And he was thinking more and more about Jahne Moore. Surely these were four full-time jobs. No wonder he was tired.

Principal photography began in only a week, and there were still several smaller parts to cast, a body double to locate, a Northern California location to finalize, and lots of rewrites to be done. Sam sighed and looked over at April. If he had to cut something or someone from his overcrowded life, it would be his affair with her, but he knew that wasn’t possible. She had allowed and forgiven the dalliance with Crystal Plenum, but she’d made it clear that Sam was not to stray like that again or she’d take it personally. The specter of a vengeful April Irons was not a pretty thought.

Now he needed help, and was casting about for an assistant. Sam knew that an assistant director was a necessary evil, although he wasn’t completely convinced, even after
Jack and Jill
. He had barely consulted the AD on that one, and wouldn’t hire the same guy again. But that, April kept reminding him, was a
small
movie.

On the stage, there was no AD. Only in the movies, where many sets, and location and studio shots were called for, was it necessary. The AD could save time and money by shooting exteriors, location shots without the actors, or establishing shots—those quick cuts to street signs or skylines that told the audience where you were.