Unscripted Joss Byrd (14 page)

“But that house we're filming in…” No wonder Terrance doesn't mind showing that he was poor—because it isn't true! Well, he sure had me fooled. He had me, my mother, Christopher, the whole cast and crew fooled. And when the movie comes out, he'll have Hollywood fooled, too.

“Yeah. What a joke, right?” Norah stands and pulls a weed from the grass. “I heard the address. But I assumed they'd fix it up, put some movie magic into it. But no.” She throws the weed into the paper bag. “That's TJ, though. He knows what makes for a better movie. It's just too bad he can't rewrite my entire childhood.”

I understand what she means. The house was rewritten, but the awful parts about her and Rodney are true.

“But, Norah?” There's still something I want to know; I can't let it go. “Why do you
stay
here?” I look up at her from where I'm sitting, shielding my eyes from the sun.

“The ocean,” she says, as if it's so obvious.

“Hello there!” A man holding a babbling chubby baby steps out of the house. “You're Joss, aren't you?”

“Yes. Hello.”

“I'm Henry, Norah's husband. And this is Pearl.” He holds Pearl's arm out so that I can shake her soft little hand.

“Hey, Pearl. I'm Joss. Nice to meet you.”

Henry adjusts Pearl's white sailor hat. “Sunny today, isn't it?” He lays a blanket on the grass and sets Pearl on it. She sits up unsteadily, grabbing her toes.

“It's so nice of you to come visit us.”

I'm glad for Norah. Henry is calm and kind. He's the very opposite of her evil stepdad.

“Can I get you a lemonade or an iced tea?” he asks, and I like him even more.

“No, thank you. I can't stay.”

Norah kneels to play with Pearl. “I was just telling Joss the great things about living in our house.”

“Well, that's easy.” Henry gives Pearl a pacifier. “Montauk's beautiful. We can see the shoreline from out back.”

“We built a crow's nest,” Norah says.

All's we need now is a pair of binoculars. Then we can see clear through to the lighthouse … one of those old-timey pirate telescopes that stretch … If we get one of those, we'll have it made. We'll be the luckiest kids in Montauk …

Rodney may have ruined the crow's nest when Norah and Terrance were kids, but he couldn't stop Norah from building it when she grew up. I guess there are lots of ways to rewrite your life.

“Bah-bah-bah!” The baby is reaching her arms out toward Ray's bicycle.

“She's obsessed with bikes.” Henry picks Pearl up and walks toward Ray. “You want to see the big boy bike?” Henry holds the baby on the bicycle seat. She looks so happy blowing spit bubbles and clapping while Ray makes motorcycle noises and pretends to steer the handlebars.

If I do scene 20 will that make me weak, or will that make me brave? If I don't, will I be a quitter or hero?

“What will you do, Norah?” I ask, hoping to find my answer in hers.

“I'm suing my brother and the producer, or I'm trying to—for using my name and my image without my permission,” she says.

“You are?” I ask proudly. Now that is scrappy. “Then you'll get your brother's money and he'll have to live in that shack for real.”

“No way.” Norah laughs. “I'm not going to win, Joss.”

“Why not?”

“Because, aside from the pitiful house, the story's true. I don't have much of a case if it's true. And besides, my brother isn't TJ anymore. He's
Terrance Rivenbach
.” Norah lifts her hand as if she's reading his name on a movie screen.

For some reason, I remember Bella Pratt and her smart-aleck friends back at school. There are bullies everywhere.

“Then why are you even trying?” I ask.

Norah crosses her arms and pinches her elbow. “Because he didn't think I would. And if I don't stand up for myself, nobody will.”

And what about me? What should I do?
I want to ask Norah. But I don't. She's got enough of her own weeds to pull.

I should get back to basecamp. If I don't, Benji will have a panic attack about my schooling hours. When I turn back to Ray it's obvious he's overheard everything. Does this answer his question about what it's like to be an actor?

“Bah-bah-bah!” Pearl coos.

Suddenly, here's Benji running up the road. He's come to take me back. Fetch Joss. As soon as Benji spots me, he collapses, hands on his knees. “I found her.” He pants into his walkie-talkie. “I got the Bessie.”

*   *   *

In my schooling trailer, Viva and Damon are looking at me sideways like they're visiting me in a nut house. I keep my back to my mother while I dial my phone. If she won't do it, I'll have to fix this myself. But Viva isn't even trying to stop me; she's just watching quietly as if she knows what to expect.

“Creative Team Management,” says the voice on the other end. “Doris Cole here.”

“Doris?” My voice breaks. “I don't want to do this anymore.” I pull the crunched script from my pocket and throw it on the table. “It's just bad here, really bad. The real Norah doesn't even want Terrance to do this movie. Neither do I. They're making me … they're making me do an abuse scene!”

“Joss, calm down, honey.”

“They can't do this, right?” I beg. “I'm too young for any of that. You wrote it up in my
contract
.”

“Now, now. I've read the scene,” she says, easy breezy. “Everything's gonna be fine. I hear that you're doing a bang-up job out there. I'm so proud of you. Everyone in the office is proud of you, even Tubsy-ubsy. She says meow! She's right here … aren't you, Tubsy? Production is happy. Everybody's happy. So you just finish out what they tell you to do, and it's all gonna be—”

I hang up on Doris as I spin around with tears in my eyes. “Mommy!”

“Don't, Joss. Don't you dare cry,” my mother says, fighting a tremble in her own voice. “Don't you dare turn diva on me. Now you just sit down and you learn it.”

“You
promised
me. You said that Norah had it really bad and that we were drawing the line,” I say, shaking.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic.” She turns her back and spreads her fingers on the door. “Show the script to Damon. Learn it.”

 

13

Damon takes his seat. We listen to the faucet dripping in the bathroom, the air conditioner whirring, and someone outside dumping a cooler of ice onto the blacktop. A wardrobe rack wheels past my door. My phone vibrates. I throw it into my backpack.

“I'm really sorry that you have to do this,” Damon says.

Don't. You. Dare. Cry.

He takes a package of Twix candy bars from his pocket and slides it toward me. I flick the crumpled, rolled-up script across the table at Damon. We stare at it like it's a stick of dynamite.

“Maybe it isn't that bad?” he asks. “I'm just gonna read it aloud, okay? I'll do it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

I lay my head on my arms and hear him separating the pages.

“So. It looks like three pages … just you and Christopher.” Damon clears his throat.

At least that much is true—no Rodney. Maybe it'll be all right.

Damon reads, emotionless. It's like he's reading instructions on how to assemble a toy:

[At night. Norah runs through the path toward the beach. She is soaking wet in a T-shirt and shorts. TJ spots her as she bursts through the clearing. He chases her, calling her name. Norah reaches the sand. She collapses at the foot of the dunes, shivering, panting.]

TJ:   Norah? God, you're soaking. You're shivering. What happened?

[Norah hugs her knees, rocks back and forth.]

Norah:   I can't … I can't say it.

TJ:   It was him, wasn't it? He did something to you?

[He takes off his flannel shirt and wraps it around his sister.]

Norah:   Don't make me go back there, TJ, please. I can't go back there.

TJ:   We won't. We won't. I promise. But you have to tell me, Norah. You have to. What did he do?

Norah:   He was in the shower, and he was yelling for me to get him a towel. He kept yelling and screaming that when I do the laundry I have to replace the goddamn towels.

Damon's voice starts to shake a little, giving away what we both knew from the start—it really
is
that bad.

“You got it! You got it! You got it!” my mother is screeching through the house. She picks me up off the floor in front of the television and jumps up and down. I'm still holding my spoon and my cereal bowl. Milk and Froot Loops fly into the air and land all over the room as my mother swings me around.

“You're Tallulah Leigh! You did it! You got the part!”

And now we're both laughing from being hit so hard with so much luck.

Tallulah Leigh! Tallulah Leigh!
I say the name in my head to make it mine.

“They said you have sad eyes, deep as bat caves!” my mother says happily. I don't know why it's good to have bat-cave eyes, but if she's glad about them, so am I. Then, in her holey sleep clothes and with one fat roller in her bangs, she runs outside to our neighbors' yard. “Joss is gonna be in a movie! We're going to Hollywood!”

Anything that can make my mother this proud of me must be a miracle. While she hugs our neighbors I twirl behind her in my nightshirt, pretending it's a ball gown. Each time she says “Hollywood!” I picture my mother wearing big sunglasses, her hair in a scarf, and driving a convertible. Because of me she'll get to be the glamorous lady she's always wanted to be. Hollywood! will always be sunny. We'll never need to put the top up!

*   *   *

“… And that's it,” Damon says softly. “Sorry. I don't mean that's
it
, I just mean, that's all there is.”

I hold tears behind my eyes and stare at the Twix.

“We'll record it now, okay?” He reaches for my backpack.

“No. No recording.”

Damon touches my elbow. “It's okay, Joss. I'll go ahead and read both parts for this one.”

“No, Damon. I already know it.”

When dynamite explodes in your ear, you don't forget it.

“Oh, okay … well, good. Do you want to just run through it, then?”

I shake my head. “Thank you, but can you please get Chris for me?” For some reason, saying Chris's name pushes full, heavy tears from my eyes. “I'll just practice it with him, okay?”

“Yes, of course. I think that's a really good idea.” He rips a paper towel from the roll and hands it to me. “I'll go find him.”

*   *   *

I'm full-on crying by the time Chris comes in. He sits beside me without talking while I let out everything that I've been holding in.

“Terrance has gray hair—
gray
. He's an
adult
. He can do whatever he wants. He doesn't have to do what other people tell him to anymore. Why would he want to remember any of this? Why doesn't he just move on already?”

“I don't know … I don't know…” is all Chris keeps saying, real quiet-like.

I blubber into the scratchy paper towel. “Why can't he just forget about it?”

“I don't know…”

“Why can't he drop it, for Norah?” I say. “I went to see her. She isn't mad at me. It's Terrance. She wants to sue him. She told me herself. She doesn't want him filming
The Locals
.”

“What?”
He grabs the top of his head. “Sheesh…”

I rip another towel off the roll. “You're supposed to move on and not look back.”

“He should.” Chris nods. “He really should.”

“I don't want to do it, Chris. I don't want to say those things.” I cover my face.

“Everyone's gonna know it really happened to Norah. And she has a baby; when she gets older, she's gonna know, too.”

“That's not your fault. That's Terrance's fault,” he says. “Hey, it's hard for me to play TJ, too. Like, every time he tells me how sad, how pissed, how hurt my character is, it's weird because I know he's talking about himself.”

“But he wants everyone to know about his childhood. Norah doesn't. And getting hit is different than getting … getting…” I can't even say the word here in my trailer. How can I act on camera like I've been molested? “And everyone's gonna … remember me … like that … for the rest of my life.” I hiccup between sobs.

“You're right. They will,” Chris says. It's surprising how plain and simple the truth sounds. Because of
Camp Magaskawee
, no matter what other roles Chris plays, people still remember him having diarrhea against a tree. And Doris says I'll always be known for the parts I'm doing now. It was the same for Tatum O'Neal and
Paper Moon
. But I don't want to be remembered as a poor, abused girl. I want to be happy and light and beautiful.

“There's always crap parts of a movie. For me, literally, there were crap parts,” Chris says. “But you know what else I got on that movie? I got a motorized car that I rode around the lot all month, and when we wrapped I asked to take it home, and they shipped it to my house the next day.”

I bet he ripped that big box open right on his doorstep.

“So this scene is the crap part of
The Locals
. But after tomorrow, it's all cake, right? We get
surf
lessons!” He shakes my arm. “
Surf
lessons! We get to shoot our last scene in the ocean while every other kid on Earth is sitting in a classroom. How sweet is that?”