Star Shine (10 page)

“Have you ever heard of Gloria Swanson?” Jenny asked.

“Well, of course. Everybody knew who Gloria Swanson was. I never cared much for her, but she was a big star. She died not long ago, I read, and she was only eighty-four.” Mrs. Carruthers' voice held a touch of scorn for anyone dying so young. “But she had star shine, like the others. Real star shine. Anything those people did was all right. Some of them did scandalous things, too. Oh, I won't go into that, but those actors and actresses got away with murder. People will put up with anything if there's sufficient star shine. If their neighbors had done some of the things those stars did, why, they would've been run out of town on a rail. Their star shine protected them, you see. Still does, if I can believe the things I read. Oh, the things that go on under the guise of art! Those celebrities throw away the rule book and do their own thing. Isn't that what they say—do your own thing?” Mrs. Carruthers sniffed in disdain. “Do your own thing indeed.”

“I have to split now,” Jenny said. “I have to go home and find my skates and my heavy sweater.”

“On a day like this?” Mrs. Carruthers' eyebrows shot up.

“The rink's air conditioned so the ice won't melt. It'll be just like winter inside.”

“Imagine. Ice skating in August. Is your mother on holiday, then?”

“No, I guess you could say
she's
doing her own thing,” Jenny said, not having thought of it that way before. “She's off acting in a Little Theater group. She's always wanted to be an actress, and she got this chance, so she went.”

“Who's taking care of you and your sister?”

“My father. But we're very good at taking care of ourselves. Only once in a while we wish she was here.”

“I bet you do. Stop by and tell me how it went. I'd love to hear what it's like to be in a movie.”

“Sure, Mrs. Carruthers, I will. I promise. Good-bye, good-bye,” and Jenny hopped on her bike and scooted homeward.

The sun grinned redly down on Mrs. Carruthers, who shook her head slowly as she went inside to feed Pebbles. Nothing surprised her anymore.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Four kids from Jenny's class were hanging around the side door of the rink when she and Mary and their father arrived at 9:01. They pointed at Jenny and whispered among themselves. Jenny marched up to them, skates clanging on her shoulder, and said, “Daddy, this is Danielle, Michelle, Nicole, and Spider. They're in my class at school.”

Danielle, Michelle, Nicole, and Spider had the grace to blush.

“Hey,” they said as one. “You skating today?”

“Yep.” Jenny didn't want them to know her father was here to quiz the guy in charge before he'd let her be in the movie, so she said, “The guy out front said he was looking for some other kids who can skate in case some of the ones they picked don't show up due to a toothache or something.”

As one, Danielle, Michelle, Nicole, and Spider dashed around the corner of the building, hoping to be first in the replacement line.

“I got rid of them pretty fast, didn't I?” Jenny said.

“Can you tell me who's in charge here?” their father asked a bearded man who happened to be passing.

The man poked a thumb over his shoulder. “Guy back there with a beard,” he said.

They all had beards. “I've never seen so many beards in my entire life,” Mary said.

“It's a sort of a macho statement.” Jenny shrugged.

“Either that or they've all got weak chins. You the man in charge?” their father asked a tall, bearded man whose long dark hair stuck out on either side of his baseball cap. The peak of the cap was extra long, so long it made the man look like an anteater. Jenny thought maybe it was one of those trick hats with the hair glued onto it, and when the man took it off, the hair would come with it. If that was the case, she hoped she'd be around.

“I'm Norm Dubie, the director,” the man said. “Can I help you?”

Their father introduced himself. “These are my daughters, Mary and Jenny,” he said. “Jenny had a call last night from someone who said she'd been chosen as an extra to skate in your movie today. I'm here to make sure everything's on the up-and-up.”

Mary and Jenny cringed, thinking their father shouldn't have said that. But Norm Dubie said, “Good for you. More parents should be more careful about what their kids do, where they go. Anna”—he hailed a thin girl walking by carrying a clipboard—“have we got Jenny Chisholm on our list for today's filming?”

“We do,” said Anna, checking her list. “And we're almost ready to start. Got a thick sweater, Jenny, and some earmuffs? It's gonna be cold in there.” Anna grinned at them, and Jenny nodded.

“I like your hair,” Norm Dubie told Jenny. Her hair had grown since she'd hacked it off, and now it stuck straight up and out in every direction.

“You look weird, like your finger's stuck in a light socket,” Mary had told her only this morning. But Jenny had decided to let her hair grow so she could have braids.

“It's splendid,” Norm Dubie said. “Your basic American gamine is what you are, Jenny. Are we on schedule?” he asked Anna. She said, “Are we ever?” and he looked glum.

“We'll take good care of her, Mr. Chisholm,” Norm Dubie told their father. “Never fear.” Then, to Jenny's delight, he removed his peaked hat and scratched the top of his head, which was very bald. But the hair was all his.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Chisholm!” Tina and Susan churned up, breathing hard. “Guess who's here! Complete with skates! Guess!”

“Scott Borkowski,” Jenny guessed.

Tina looked sour. Sue stuck out her tongue. “Turkey. Think you're so much just because you're an extra.”

“Listen, girls, I have to be off,” their father said. “Behave yourselves and come right home when this is over, will you? I don't know when your mother will show up—maybe not until tomorrow—but I'd like you there anyway. Be good,” and he bussed them both on the cheek and left.

“It's a good thing my father was in a hurry,” Mary said, rolling her eyes. “He might've punched Scott Borkowski out. He was so mad last night he almost called up Scott Borkowski's parents, but we talked him out of it.”

“Mary,” Jenny said, but Mary had Sue and Tina on tenterhooks and wanted to keep them there.

“My father practically had steam coming out of his ears, he was so mad when he got a load of the empty beer cans. He nearly blew his cork. I never saw him so mad. He was just about to call up our grandmother, to ask if we could stay with her, when the telephone rang.” Mary's timing was perfect. She stopped talking, leaving Sue and Tina with their mouths hanging open.

“So what happened?” Sue asked, running her tongue over her lips, almost panting.

“We were saved by the bell, you might say.” Mary tossed her hair in an expert manner, adjusting her black velvet ribbon. “It was our mother saying she was coming home.”

“How come she's coming home so soon?” Tina asked.

“It's not so soon. She's been gone for ages,” said Sue.

“She has not. She's only been gone for eighteen days,” Jenny snapped.

“How come they picked you to skate in this movie?” Tina decided to change the subject. “I can understand why they picked Scott Borkowski on account of he's a super skater. But Jenny skates on her ankles. Doesn't she?” Tina turned to the others. “You know she does. She always has. Every time we go skating at the pond, we have to wait for Jenny because she's always tagging behind, skating on her ankles. Wait'll they find out! Just wait!” She and Susan went into gales of laughter. “They'll take one look at Jenny skating on her ankles and they'll throw her out on her ear!” They fell on each other's shoulders, overcome with glee.

“All right, people. Let's get the show on the road.” Norm Dubie spoke through a little megaphone. “With your cooperation we'll get this scene shot in jig time. The sooner we start, the sooner we're done. So let's all pull together, please.”

Jenny was glad to get away from Susan and Tina. But she wished Mary were with her as she joined the crowd pushing its way toward the skating rink. Scott Borkowski had star shine, like Mrs. Carruthers had said, she thought, wishing she had some star shine of her own. Scott Borkowski could do no wrong. People thought of him as a star. Even if he drank beer and threw it all up, he was still a star. It was an odd thing.

She hadn't skated since last winter. Maybe her ankles had gotten stronger. She certainly hoped so. And although she was still outside in the blazing heat, she shivered. She should never have said she could ice-skate. Because she couldn't.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“No refreshments on ice,” the sign said. Underneath, someone had written in a big red scrawl, “N
O
H
ORSING
A
ROUND
E
ITHER
.”

Jenny sat down and began to put on her skates. With a pang, she realized she'd forgotten socks. That was dumb, really dumb, but she hadn't worn socks all summer and it was hard to remember everything. If her mother had been home,
she
would've remembered socks.

I'm going to have to tough it out, Jenny told herself. I wish I wasn't even here. That wasn't true; she was glad she'd been chosen. But right now she felt small and alone. If only Mary was here. Mary would help.

Jenny rummaged through the Lost and Found, looking for some socks. She stuck her head down deep inside the large grimy gray bin and decided it was better not to breathe until she got out of here. The smell was overpowering. There were plenty of socks in there, all right. Gingerly, she fished out a couple of beauties that smelled like low tide. One was too big, the other too small. They would have to do. She crowded her feet into the socks, then into the skates, hoping for the best.

Again she wished for Mary's comforting presence. Lacing her skates had always been a problem. Mary usually helped. She could never seem to manage to lace them tightly enough by herself.

I think I can, I think I can, ran through Jenny's brain as she tugged on the stiff laces. They didn't seem to budge. She could feel the borrowed socks lumping up inside the skates. Jenny pulled and tugged and, having done her best, stood to get the feel of things. Which was not good. She sat down and, chin in hand, stared out across the rink. Skaters crowded the ice, skating somewhat self-consciously, carrying on animated conversations with friends or turning wooden faces toward the cameras that were set up at various intervals.

“Want some help?” It was Scott Borkowski, a.k.a. Harpo, sitting beside her on the bench for all the world to see. Despite her dislike of him, Jenny was pleased he was there.

“I can do it myself,” she said, and untied the laces, preparing to start all over.

“Here, let me.” He knelt, and with one pull on each, the laces tightened obediently.

“Try them now.” She stood. Things were much better. “Thanks,” she mumbled grudgingly.

“O.K., troops.” Norm Dubie's voice rang out. “Pretend it's snowing and blowing outside. It's January, right, and you're all having a ball. Let's have some smiles here, folks, to show what a ball you're having. A little winter music, please!”

The music commenced, and Jenny was astonished to see the flat-haired lady she'd spoken to in the line at the church hall take to the center of the ice, where she twisted and swooped solemnly, her little velvet skirt standing out from her narrow thighs as if it had been starched.

Emboldened by the flat-haired lady's performance, as well as by her newly tightened laces, Jenny wobbled out onto the ice. Man, but those borrowed socks felt like lumps of coal inside her skates. Glide, glide, she told herself, gliding as best she could. Which wasn't great, but it
was
her best. Her ankles, already feeling bruised and cold, grazed the ice. And she'd only just begun. Oh, for Mary's hand holding hers!

Skaters whizzed by, hands clasped nonchalantly behind their backs, à la Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates. Jenny longed to clasp her hands casually behind her back, but knew in her heart that if she did, she'd fall on her face.

The flat-haired lady spun like a top in the rink's center, her face devoid of expression, her hands and arms as graceful as any ballerina's.

Doggedly Jenny skated on. If she stopped, she might never start again. Plus, the hordes of bozos zooming behind her might trample her to death. It was best to keep going. Even if she left a trail of blood behind herself.

A side door opened briefly to let someone out, and Jenny caught a glimpse of Mary and Sue and Tina huddled outside, peering in. She pasted a big phony smile on her face and skated faster, wondering when this torture would end. Not only were her feet killing her; she was also on the brink of starvation. She'd even eat goat cheese if that was what was on the menu. She'd close her eyes and hold her nose, but she'd eat it. Gladly. A brief picture of hot chocolate with marshmallows bobbing on the surface, and of popcorn smothered in butter, passed briefly through her head and disappeared.

Around and around she went, like a windup toy. Forty bucks a day was a lot of bucks, but she was beginning to think it wasn't nearly enough.

“All right, people! Let's take a break.” Norm Dubie's voice sounded sweet to her ears. “Snack bar is open, and it's all on me. We'll start filming again in ten minutes.”

A chorus of groans greeted this. “All right, all right,” said Norm Dubie. “Make that fifteen minutes.”

Jenny staggered off the ice and sat down. Heaven, just to take the load off her feet. How was she going to get to the snack bar without taking off her skates? And if she took them off, how would she get them back on?

“You looked like you were having a rough time.” Scott Borkowski stood there, looking at her. “Would you care for something to drink?” he asked, and his face flamed as they both remembered Mary asking just that not long ago in the kitchen.