Read Online No Ordinary Life by Suzanne Redfearn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Suzanne Redfearn
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if I get the job, we can get a wreawlly good cawr. She says we could pwrobabwly even hiwre someone to dwrive Emiwly to hewr games if you and Gwrandma awre busy.”
I grit my teeth and don’t answer. I should have known there was a reason my mom volunteered to give Molly her bath this morning.
A few minutes later, when I glance in the mirror again, Molly is turned toward the window playing her own quiet game of Sweet or Sour, grinning at the drivers beside us and trying to get them to grin back. If they smile, they are sweet. If they don’t, they are sour.
I imagine her in fifteen years and wonder, if she gets the part, if it will change her. I picture a curly-haired young woman with saucer eyes beneath the Star Gazer ’s banner and the headline Molly Martin Enters Rehab Again!!!
I shake my head to clear away the image. Molly is not Zeke Aaron, and his fate is not hers. Bo is wrong—a bazillion kids who aren’t famous get into trouble with drugs and alcohol every day. We only think of it as prevalent in show business because it’s splashed all over the news.
Molly’s not the one I need to worry about, Emily is. It’s hard to believe that, in such a short time, a chasm has grown so wide between us that I have no idea how to bridge it.
Things will get better after today. I will get another job and get us back on our feet, then we’ll go back to Yucaipa and things will return to normal.
I sigh at the thought, surprised at my sudden apathy to the idea, when yesterday, all I wanted was for things to return to what they were. But today, things are different than they were before. Yesterday, Yucaipa was our certain fate, while today another possibility exists. It’s a long shot, but that doesn’t stop my mind from imagining a future different from the one of which I had been so certain, my thoughts churning with the possibility of something more, something beyond the impossible struggle that is less difficult and more fun. And in a single day, Yucaipa has been reduced to a consolation prize, the choice we will make if the dream doesn’t come true.
15
W e pull into Fox Studios, and a security guard directs us to the parking area. A man and a woman cross in front of us, and my eyes follow them, wondering if they are famous. They look familiar, but I don’t watch much television, so they could be and I probably wouldn’t know. I decide they are famous and try to memorize their faces so I can search for them in the Star Gazer when we get home.
In the past day, the weather has transformed from cool to stifling hot, and as we walk toward the warehouse-looking building with a giant number six painted on its side, sweat pools beneath my shirt and my hair sticks to my neck.
Molly seems immune. Taking my hand, she pulls me toward the building. Despite my pleading for her to wear the Gap dress, she insisted on wearing her Walmart overalls over her frayed white tank top and refused to let me braid her hair, and as we hurry toward the door, I bristle with self-consciousness.
Molly can be very obstinate, and this morning she was in a fit. Emily’s meltdown over missing her soccer game stressed Molly to the point of refusing to even go to the audition. This in turn broke Emily, who then convinced Molly that the audition was more important.
Emily might hate me, but her love for Molly is absolute and vice versa.
By the time all this came around, we were running perilously close to being late, so I gave in on the clothes and hair and let Molly have her way. But now, looking at her—her hair a mop of haphazard curls and her overalls rolled at the cuffs revealing a battered pair of red cowboy boots—she looks like a country bumpkin plucked off a farm, and I can’t believe I brought her to something as important as this looking the way she does.
Handwritten signs with arrows direct us through the building to the casting room, and as we hurry through the littered corridors, I’m surprised how industrial and drab the
I grit my teeth and don’t answer. I should have known there was a reason my mom volunteered to give Molly her bath this morning.
A few minutes later, when I glance in the mirror again, Molly is turned toward the window playing her own quiet game of Sweet or Sour, grinning at the drivers beside us and trying to get them to grin back. If they smile, they are sweet. If they don’t, they are sour.
I imagine her in fifteen years and wonder, if she gets the part, if it will change her. I picture a curly-haired young woman with saucer eyes beneath the Star Gazer ’s banner and the headline Molly Martin Enters Rehab Again!!!
I shake my head to clear away the image. Molly is not Zeke Aaron, and his fate is not hers. Bo is wrong—a bazillion kids who aren’t famous get into trouble with drugs and alcohol every day. We only think of it as prevalent in show business because it’s splashed all over the news.
Molly’s not the one I need to worry about, Emily is. It’s hard to believe that, in such a short time, a chasm has grown so wide between us that I have no idea how to bridge it.
Things will get better after today. I will get another job and get us back on our feet, then we’ll go back to Yucaipa and things will return to normal.
I sigh at the thought, surprised at my sudden apathy to the idea, when yesterday, all I wanted was for things to return to what they were. But today, things are different than they were before. Yesterday, Yucaipa was our certain fate, while today another possibility exists. It’s a long shot, but that doesn’t stop my mind from imagining a future different from the one of which I had been so certain, my thoughts churning with the possibility of something more, something beyond the impossible struggle that is less difficult and more fun. And in a single day, Yucaipa has been reduced to a consolation prize, the choice we will make if the dream doesn’t come true.
15
W e pull into Fox Studios, and a security guard directs us to the parking area. A man and a woman cross in front of us, and my eyes follow them, wondering if they are famous. They look familiar, but I don’t watch much television, so they could be and I probably wouldn’t know. I decide they are famous and try to memorize their faces so I can search for them in the Star Gazer when we get home.
In the past day, the weather has transformed from cool to stifling hot, and as we walk toward the warehouse-looking building with a giant number six painted on its side, sweat pools beneath my shirt and my hair sticks to my neck.
Molly seems immune. Taking my hand, she pulls me toward the building. Despite my pleading for her to wear the Gap dress, she insisted on wearing her Walmart overalls over her frayed white tank top and refused to let me braid her hair, and as we hurry toward the door, I bristle with self-consciousness.
Molly can be very obstinate, and this morning she was in a fit. Emily’s meltdown over missing her soccer game stressed Molly to the point of refusing to even go to the audition. This in turn broke Emily, who then convinced Molly that the audition was more important.
Emily might hate me, but her love for Molly is absolute and vice versa.
By the time all this came around, we were running perilously close to being late, so I gave in on the clothes and hair and let Molly have her way. But now, looking at her—her hair a mop of haphazard curls and her overalls rolled at the cuffs revealing a battered pair of red cowboy boots—she looks like a country bumpkin plucked off a farm, and I can’t believe I brought her to something as important as this looking the way she does.
Handwritten signs with arrows direct us through the building to the casting room, and as we hurry through the littered corridors, I’m surprised how industrial and drab the
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