Ascent (22 page)

She pulls out her makeup bag and adjusts the rearview mirror. She reapplies eyeliner, shadow, and bright red lipstick. She powders her face and pulls out a can of aerosol hairspray. The smell fills the car and coats the closed windows. The glass gets foggy and I can barely see outside. I turn my face so I don’t choke.

The second hand ticks closer to two. “Mom, I think you’re going to be late if we don’t start towards the building.”

She wipes a tube of sticky gloss over her dark lipstick. From the backseat I can see her hand shaking.

“Okay, Farrah, I’m counting on you to be my good luck charm today. Let’s go.”

She steps out of the car and I follow her into the building. From the back she looks like all the other young hopefuls walking to an audition with stars in her eyes.

Mom liked to flip her hair like a 70s icon, like she was back in a time when everyone wore their hair like Farrah Fawcet and wore skinny shirts with bellbottom jeans. Mom’s hair was always a variation of that flip. And she was always super skinny.

It’s the lines on her face that gives away her secrets.

We walk in the front door and Mom stands in the doorway, looking around the room. It’s clear by peeking around her side that I’m the only kid. I try to make myself invisible behind my mom’s small frame. I’m sure everyone can see me though and I start counting tiles on the well-worn floors.

A woman sits behind a desk with a notebook full of names in front of her. Mysterious asterisks highlight some of the names. Mom’s isn’t one of them.

Mom walks up to the lady behind the desk. “Hi.”

“Name please?”

When I was little everybody knew Mom’s name. I remember clinging to her leg as people would come up and ask for her autograph. We always got the best seats in restaurants. But the public has a short memory.

“Lynette Ryan.”

The lady looks over the top of her glasses and points her pen down the list. She spots it and places a check mark next to her name. Not an asterisk.

“Okay, Ms. Ryan, have a seat. Someone will be right with you.”

The lady goes back to a crossword puzzle she has hidden underneath some official looking papers. I follow Mom to the back of the waiting room, towards a spot with two side-by-side chairs. She sits and I perch down next to her. I try to glue myself to her leg to try to hide from the curious looks aimed our way.

A hipster with long greasy hair and a clipboard comes out and calls a name. A woman with jet black hair and vampire white skin follows him behind the doors. Mom picks up a copy of
Good Housekeeping
magazine and starts flipping through the pages without reading anything. I fold my hands on my lap and size up the other women in the room to guess at Mom’s chances for getting the part.

None of the women can hold a candle to my mom.

We sit flipping through magazines for an hour. The other women’s names are called out. Even a youngish-woman with platinum blonde hair and lipstick the color of Mom’s rhododendrons who came in after us has her name called before Mom’s. Mom watches her go when she’s called. I look at my watch for the one-hundredth time.

“Maybe the receptionist forgot about us,” I lean over and whisper in Mom’s ear.

Mom’s eyes narrow. “I don’t see how that’s possible since I’m sitting right in front of her,” she whispers back.

The doors open and Mr. Hipster returns with his clipboard. “Lynette Ryan?”

Mom’s hands shake again. I have no idea why Mom’s so nervous. She’s the prettiest woman in the world and the only one here that I’m sure has been in movies. She’s special. She stands up and takes a deep breath and follows the guy to the back room.

After she’s gone, I move to an empty seat next to the door, hoping to hear what’s going on inside. My eight-year-old self is sure Mom will get the part. My seventeen-year-old self realizes Mom’s light shone brightest for me.

But try as I might, I can’t hear anything. When the receptionist turns away I press my ear against the wall. The voices are too far away to make out the words. Mom’s voice sounds like it’s coming from another world. In some ways, I imagine it is.

The audition doesn’t last long. It’s the shortest of all the auditions. Mom walks out alone and her face is blank. It tells me nothing. I’m dying to ask her how it went. I give her a hopeful look for a clue, but she walks past me, towards the exit, like she forgot I’m even there. I jump off my seat and follow her. The receptionist doesn’t look up as we leave.

“Mom, wait for me.”

Mom turns around and it’s evident from her expression that she did, in fact, forget about me. I run to catch up.

“Come on, Farrah, let’s go down to the pier.”

“Okay!”

I love the pier but I also know it’s where Mom goes when her life isn’t as she wants it. By now, Mom and I had been spending a lot of time there.

***

Mom buys me one of those multi-colored lollipops from a street vendor and I follow her out to our ‘spot’. She sits down and faces west. The sun drifts down towards the horizon, casting a pinkish glow on the blue water. I sit down as close to her as I dare and transfer the red and blue colors onto my tongue.

Mom doesn’t say anything. Instead she rocks back and forth. The rocking is new. I’d never seen her rock before. She places her hands under her legs and kicks her legs back and forth over the edge of the dock. Her bony knees jut out from her skirt. The sun drifts lower before it becomes a glowing orange ball on the water. I want to reach over and hold her hand but I’m too scared.

Lower and lower sinks the sun. When it becomes a sliver I hold my breath until it’s gone. Then darkness takes over the sky. Lights go on around us. Little stars of light on earth. The bustling of families on the beach disappears and I wish I had a jacket. I know Dad will worry about us.

I’m worried and I want to go home. But I know we’ll sit there for a while. That’s one thing I remember.

It’s as if Mom has forgotten I’m next to her. She can’t take her eyes off the horizon or stop rocking.

The voices in the distance change from family fun days to teens on a night out with friends. Even though they’re getting further away, the voices get louder.

I want to ask Mom about the audition. And I want to go home. But I can’t. I’m stuck here on the time continuum.

Slowly, surely, stars begin to wink into view.

Mom’s watch glows in the dim light.

She turns to me and smile, but her eyes are far away. “You know I’m part of you, right?”

I nod my head, not really sure what she means, but feeling like it’s something I should agree to. “Yeah.”

“Whatever happens, wherever life takes us, I’ll always be right here.” She reaches over and places her hand against my heart. Her hand is cold, like her life is already seeping out of her. “I’ll live my life through you, Farrah. I’ll always be right there with you.”

I don’t know what to say so I say nothing. Darkness overtakes the sky and the activity from the pier gets louder. Minutes tick by. Time keeps moving, pulling us along.

“Well now, I think we shall go.” She gets up and her skinny legs wobble from sitting too long. The planks underneath us have etched weird lines into the backs of her legs.

Mom starts walking towards the car and I follow behind in silence.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Farrah–Kate

At home I study my reflection in the mirror. The reflection is from the past. I examine the person looking back at me as I run the brush through my hair one hundred strokes. I read that in a magazine. It’s one of those things you believe when you’re eight-years-old.

I’m wearing Hello Kitty pajamas, bright pink with little white kitties. I loved these pajamas.

I hear soft footsteps padding down the hallway. The soft footsteps belong to mom. Dad’s were like a horse with metal shoes walking on the wood floors. Mom’s were like a fairy steps.

It was almost as if she had wings.

A knock on the door and then the door creaks open and mom peeks in her head.

“Farrah, sweetheart? Are you ready for bed?”

I look at her and I want to cry, but I can’t.

“Almost.”

“You need to get your sleep Farrah.” She walks into my room and sits on my bed. She looks around at the walls, taking in the posters like she’s seeing them for the first time.

“Mom… I…” I pause. There are a million things I want to say to her. I want to reach over and hug her, I want to tell her I love her.

I want to give her another chance.

Dad and I should have tried harder earlier. Told her we loved her more. Not let her attribute all of her self-worth to her career.

But it was almost too late. There’s only one more chance.

She leans down and kisses my forehead. Her lips are cool and they linger just a tad bit longer than normal. They feel like deli meat right out of the refrigerator against my skin. Even at eight I could tell right then that her life was slipping away.

She gets up and walks to the doorway. The lump in my throat grows, it sinks down into my chest where it feels like it will explode.

She pauses in the doorway. “Farrah-Kate, you know I love you, right?”

I nod my head. “I love you too.”

“I’ll live forever in your heart. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

I nod my head. “Yes.”

“Okay sweetheart, sweet dreams,” she closes the door so slowly that if I hadn’t watched her leave, I would have barely known she was gone.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Farrah–Kate

The next morning I sit in my room, straining my ears to hear the voices arguing in the living room. Dad’s in his third year at law school and we need Mom to work. Mac and cheese for dinner every night is proof that we’re running low. Dad hates mac and cheese. The only reason he eats it is because he has to.

“Lynn, if you’re not going to be acting then you need to find some other type of job. Until I graduate, I won’t have any income. In a few years you’ll be able to go out on auditions again. But we need the money. Our credit cards are maxed out, the rent is late, and the fridge is empty. What are we going to feed Farrah if neither of us is working?”

There’s a long pause before Mom starts speaking. For a moment I wonder if she’s whispering and I just can’t hear her. But then her voice is loud and clear. “I don’t have a couple of years, Bill. A couple of years is an entire lifetime for an actress. I’m thirty-seven. No one will cast me once I’m forty.”

Dad doesn’t skip a beat. “So what are we supposed to eat? My law books? Are these auditions handing out food for the hopefuls in the lobby?”

“Don’t call me a hopeful.”

“Well, what are we supposed to eat?”

“I’ll go down to the food bank.”

“Jesus, Lynn, my family doesn’t get food from the food bank. We need for you to find steady work. Pick up a newspaper tomorrow and start researching job opportunities! Acting is a pipe dream. Your agent hasn’t called in months. The last movie you were in was from before Farrah was even born! Your auditions come from an ads in the newspaper, for Christ’s sake.”

I cringe at Dad’s words. They slice through the air, sending a chill through the house. Dad will regret them later.

The sound of something like high-pitched hiccups comes from the living room, followed by silence.

A few minutes later I hear the heavy sound of footsteps. They stomp down the hallway and don’t hesitate outside my room. A door slams and the house falls silent, save the sound of the evening news on TV.

After Dad leaves I walk out of my bedroom. The channel has been changed: now it’s a soap opera. I pad down the hall as quiet as I can towards the living room. I’m afraid if Mom hears me she’ll run away.

She’s sitting on the only couch we ever owned, sunken down with her knees pulled up to her chest, resting her chin on her knobby joints. She’s staring at the characters on the box, watching their every move: Mom studies acting so closely. For her it’s the only thing that matters.

I tiptoe to the edge of the room, unsure what to do next. I need to stop Mom from spiraling down into her dark place. The night at the hotel is closing in on us. But how do I make it stop?

Lisa’s instructions were to not let her go to the hotel that night. But she didn’t tell me
how
.

“Mom?”

She looks away from the TV. Rivers of mascara have dried on her cheeks. Her eyes are red and puffy. But she smiles at me. Mom always saved her smiles for me.

She wipes the back of her hand under nose and then runs her fingers through her hair. “Farrah, I didn’t see you there. Shouldn’t you be at school or something?”

“It’s spring break.”

“Oh.”