A Dropped Stitches Christmas (2 page)

Fortunately, Marilee hasn’t gone all holy on us even though she has started going to church and saying things like she just said.

“It’s good to be alive,” Becca says with satisfaction.

We all nod. I don’t think it’s by chance that we all glance up and look through the French doors. For so many Christmases, the people on the other side of those doors seemed to have golden lives. They’d sit there laughing with their friends while we were back here worrying about staying alive. That first Christmas, we wouldn’t let Uncle Lou put decorations in our room and then we sat here jealous when we looked through the windows and saw the holiday fantasy he’d created on the other side.

Not that anyone could blame us. Who could not notice the difference when it was Christmas? We were like orphans in some Charles Dickens book; everyone else seemed happier. Now, though, we’re on equal footing with the people on the other side of the French doors and it is good to be alive. This year we even decorated. I think I might even bring in more red garland for our room and maybe some gold glittery stuff.

“Besides, I already went on a date with Randy,” Marilee says after a moment has passed. Her eyes turn from the crowd out front and meet mine. “Remember? He and I went out for coffee that night at the place in DeLacey Alley.”

Marilee calls DeLacey an alley even though it’s an avenue that just looks like an alley. Some of the hottest places in old town are in the alleys and the side streets. The main street, Colorado Boulevard, has these turn-of-the-century stone buildings that have been restored and filled with exclusive stores and really good restaurants. The alleys have the same style, but they are quieter, which makes them seem a little more European. And, with the Victorian swags on their signs this time of year, they look elegant.

“That wasn’t a date,” I say. “You and Randy weren’t even gone for half an hour. That’s barely a decent work break.”

Not that either of them were working that night so they didn’t even have that excuse for their short time together.

I suppose I shouldn’t keep pressing Marilee on this. It’s just that I have to be absolutely certain that she has no feelings for Randy and I think a cup of coffee isn’t really a good enough test after six years of daydreams.

“But she met her dating goal,” Becca says with a shrug. She’s the one who always keeps us on track with goals and, I must admit, going on three dates had been Marilee’s goal just like getting a cat had been my goal. Dancing in a ballet had been Lizabett’s goal and she was in a community Swan Lake performance several months ago. Becca met her goal and she’s currently serving an internship with a judge before she goes to law school next year.

“Besides, Randy can’t take his eyes off of you,” Marilee says to me with a smile. “You were all he and I talked about when we had our coffee.”

I was afraid of that. “Just because he talked about me, it doesn’t mean anything. You know how guys are.”

“How’s that?” Becca says with a frown. She looks up from the turquoise cap she’s knitting for a Hanukkah gift.

I know Becca would probably let the subject drop if I gave her a look that asked her to back off. But these are the best friends I’ve ever had in my life. If I can’t say it to them, I can’t say it to anyone.

“Well.” I take a deep breath. “With me, I’ve noticed that guys might want to date me, but they don’t want to get to know me.” I say the words quickly before I lose my nerve. “Not really.”

Everyone looks at me in astonishment.

“Of course guys want to get to know you,” Becca says. “You’re gorgeous.”

I grunt.

“And you’re nice, too,” Lizabett adds.

“They don’t care. I could be the wicked witch of never-never land. They don’t care
who
I am. They see a blond, blue-eyed woman with a San Marino address and the right clothes and they think their friends will be jealous of them if they show up with me, so they do.”

I hadn’t quite realized how it was with guys and me until I got cancer. Guys still wanted to take me out and around, but they’d just as soon I smiled and kept my mouth shut when we were with other people. I knew cancer was a downer, but that was my life then. I was tired of having to pretend my charmed life was as perfect as it looked, so I gave up on dating.

“Well, Randy’s not like that,” Marilee says.

I’m not surprised she’s defending him. She had those six years.

“Maybe not.” But I say it because I don’t want Marilee to think any less of her dream man.

“Randy was even worried about your
cat,
” Becca adds. “I don’t think most guys would rig up that trap with the tuna and—”

I can tell the exact second when Becca realizes I had asked Randy not to trap my runaway cat. I wanted to wait for my Marie to come out of the tree and back into the house all on her own. Everyone, even a cat, should be free to choose where they live.

“Randy wasn’t patient enough,” I say. “That’s never a good sign in a man.”

“I think he likes
you
though,” Marilee says. “He’s not just trying to impress his friends.”

“He doesn’t have any friends out here, anyway,” Becca adds. “I mean, I’m sure he has tons of friends down in West Hollywood by his diner, but you don’t need to worry that he’s planning to run into them here in Pasadena.”

Randy owns this sports diner in West Hollywood and enough of the professional athletes in L.A. hang out there to make it very successful.

“Besides,” Marilee says, “you are a beautiful woman so a guy
is
getting to know you when he thinks that.”

I shake my head and start pointing to my teeth. “Braces.”

I point at my nose. “Nose job.”

I point at my hair. “Dark roots, blond highlights.”

I touch my cheekbones. “Freckles bleached away.”

I turn to look at everyone. “I don’t even know what I would look like if my mother wasn’t so determined to see me look like this.”

I don’t need to look in anyone else’s eyes to know I have a tear in my own. Which is why I’m not comfortable with letting my emotions out. They come out messy, especially around the holidays. I’m not sure I’m ready to give up more secrets.

After a moment, Becca straightens her shoulders. “If it would make you feel better, you can go back to your natural hair color. You don’t need to be your mother’s Barbie doll.”

“I know,” I say. “But after all this time, it seems like I should be okay with myself no matter how I look. It’s the inside that counts anyway.”

Maybe it’s no coincidence that the discussion we had years ago about Marie Curie’s dress has been swirling around in my mind lately. We have to be about more than how we look or what address we have. Marie knew that. I knew that when I had cancer. I don’t know why it’s starting to bother me now.

“Remember Marie Curie’s wedding dress?” I ask the others. They haven’t seen what I was writing earlier, but they all nod. We talked about that dress for weeks. “Maybe the problem with me isn’t how I look, but that I need to find something to do that makes me not care about how I look.”

Becca nods. “I always thought your goal was too easy. I should have made you pick something besides getting a cat.”

“But it’s a Maine coon cat. I had to go to Seattle to get her. Besides, I love my Marie.”

I named my cat after Marie Antoinette but she could be named for Marie Curie, too.

“But your cat’s not a challenge. You need a deeper goal, something you’re afraid to reach for. With Marilee it was dating, but for you it should be—”

“The movies,” Lizabett almost shouts she’s so excited. “Carly should be in the movies.”

Lizabett has been quietly knitting so the rest of us are a bit startled when she makes her proclamation. Her face is flushed and she’s got a big smile. She’s always wanted me to be in the movies.

Lizabett’s shout causes a couple of people from the outside room to look back at us through the glass panes in the French doors. I can see they’re curious and it strikes me that, for as long as the Sisterhood has been meeting here, not many people out here have glanced back at us and wondered who we are. Uncle Lou keeps the room just for us, so the people must know we’re not customers like they are. It’s odd to realize we’ve been invisible to them all that time when we were so very jealous of them.

It’s a new experience to be staring at the people on the other side of the doors and watching them stare back at us.

“I don’t know that people find themselves in the movies,” Marilee says as she deliberately turns her head so she’s not looking at the people looking at us.

“But Carly has always wanted to be an actress,” Lizabett says. She seems to be oblivious to anyone looking through the glass panes at us. “She could be as good as Meryl Streep. Better maybe.”

“It’s not that easy to be an actress,” I add just so we keep the conversation going. I want the people on the other side of the door to know we have things to talk about, too. “No one is discovered just sitting in a drugstore in Hollywood anymore.”

“No, we will need a plan to make it all happen,” Becca says and I can hear the satisfaction in her voice as she sets down the cap she’s knitting. Becca loves goals and plans. I bet she’ll become a judge some day and rule the world. I’d vote for her. Or obey her. Whatever it is one does for a judge.

“Write this down,” Lizabett says as she points to the journal I have sitting in front of me. Of course, they would all want me to write down my acting fantasy so that the whole world knows that I am setting a goal that is so far-fetched that I’m almost certain to fail. I already know there’s no Santa Claus coming down anyone’s chimney at Christmas. Do I have to add my name to the list of no-shows?

The only good thing is that Marilee is smiling at me now. If I can’t give her her dream man back, at least I can keep everyone amused as we work on making me a star. There will be time later to talk about houses and uncles and who owns what.

I turn the page of the journal and write, “Carly’s Aim for Stardom Begins.”

“See?” I show the others. “It’s down there in black and white.”

“Put the date,” Lizabett adds.

I add December 9 and, with that, I close the journal.

I’m going to leave the journal here tonight. This journal comes from all of us and I’m sure someone will be anxious to write in it tomorrow and tell everything that I am doing wrong in taking the first step toward my goal. But at least, if the Sisterhood is urging me to become a star, they won’t be asking me why I won’t go out with Randy Parker.

Which is good because I don’t really know why I don’t want to go out with him. I’m beginning to think Marilee is happy with her Quinn. Maybe it’s not about her feeling sorry for me and giving me the cracker or even about the San Marino look. Maybe worrying about her is just an excuse for me not to date Randy. To tell you the truth, I’m a little nervous about dating him. What if Becca is right and he does want to get to know me?

When I was thinking about the Marie Curie dress earlier, I thought about how little a dress tells us about someone. When I first got cancer, I felt like clothes were a costume I could use to hide the real me. I could put on lipstick and a new DKNY tank top and I looked like every other eighteen-year-old heading off to San Marino High. Long, blond hair bouncing along behind me. A winter tan that was half salon and half leftover beach on my face. No one would ever know by looking at me that inside I was wasting away from Hodgkin’s disease.

By now, of course, everybody knows about the Hodgkin’s, but I’m still not comfortable telling people things about myself. I’m not sure how I’d go about telling Randy about me, that’s for sure. He already knows about the cancer and I can bluff my way through talking about becoming a movie star.

But what about my family?

As you know, even the Sisterhood doesn’t know about my crazy family. That’s the problem with dating Randy. He’d expect to meet my parents. Worse than that, my mother might expect to meet him.

Yikes.

And I’m not even worried about who owns the house. My mother is funny about me and dating. Sometimes I think she measures her happiness by the number of dates I have. Which I know can’t be good. It certainly makes me feel trapped, like I should go out with a guy whether I want to or not. So, mostly I just say no to any guy who asks me out. Which, of course, doesn’t make my mother happy and we start the cycle all over again.

Truthfully, it might be easier to become an actress like Meryl Streep than to have a normal dating relationship in my family. I’m not going to put that down in the journal, though. There aren’t enough staples left in the stapler to keep that page secure.

“I’m not funny. What I am is brave.”

“I regret the passing of the studio system. I was very appreciative of it because I had no talent.”

—Lucille Ball

L
izabett brought these quotes to us when she was completely bald. She used to play old
I Love Lucy
reruns and laugh and laugh. She even got a bandana and wore it tied over her head like Lucy used to do when she was doing housework. Lizabett seldom wore a wig. She used scarves or caps or turbans instead. I think Lucy inspired her to be brave. When Lizabett’s hair grew back, it came back with a tinge of red in it. We all said it was because of all the Lucy shows she’d watched.

I think Lizabett is still watching those Lucille Ball shows. That’s the only reason I can think of for her to be standing here this morning in The Pews, telling me I’ve got what it takes to become an actress.

We took the bus down Colorado together and arrived a few minutes ago. She has a cup of herbal tea in front of her and I have a cup of black coffee in front of me.

We’re both leaning on the mahogany counter that runs along the left side of the diner. Uncle Lou (we all call him Uncle Lou even though he’s Marilee’s uncle) keeps that counter so polished a person can almost see their reflection. I can actually see more than that. If I focus on the wood at the end of the counter, I can look into the kitchen area and see Randy working. It’s about ten o’clock and the breakfast rush has gone by now and Randy is making a big kettle of vegetable soup for the lunch crowd. He asked me last night, after the Sisterhood meeting, if I would be here this morning and I said I would be.

Lizabett and I are both taking a class at Pasadena City College so we meet here afterwards every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning about this time. Usually Marilee comes out of the diner’s office and talks with us. We’re a little early today, but she’ll be out soon. Sometimes Becca has time off from her internship and can join us, too.

Now and then we head out for lunch at one of the restaurants along Colorado Boulevard—Mi Piace with its white tableclothes or Johnny Rockets with its fifties décor—but usually we’re content to just eat at The Pews. It’s home to us.

“I read that Lucille Ball once said that she couldn’t sing or act either—she couldn’t even dance,” Lizabett says as she holds up a copy of
Variety
and points to the list of casting calls. “It’s all about having the courage to try.”

All of us in the Sisterhood have the highest respect for courage. Still…“I don’t think things are the same as they were when Lucy first started. Nobody gets anywhere in Hollywood without some talent.”

Truth be told, I’m kind of touched by Lizabett’s enthusiasm for my acting career. But I’ve read enough about getting into the movies to be a realist. People have to join SAG—that’s the Screen Actor’s Guild—to get any good parts. They can hang out and be an extra in movies, but basically all they get is the all-you-can-eat buffet truck and fifty to a hundred dollars for the day. Not many people actually work up to a speaking part that way, which is what a person needs to really be in the movies. Even one spoken word does the trick. Some lucky people go from being an extra to having a bit part and, with a bit part, they have a chance.

I have to admit I’ve read enough about becoming an actress that I know how it’s done.

“You might have talent,” Lizabett says stubbornly. “You never know until you try. You could at least audition.”

I’m watching the reflection in the other side of the counter so I see Randy walk to the door of the kitchen. “Audition for what?”

Lizabett turns and sees him. “Don’t you think Carly would make a great actress?”

“Sure,” he says.

Okay, so he’s looking at me now in a very nice way. Sort of like he’s happy to be my cheerleader.

“Most of the people who audition for things have experience,” I say just so no one gets their hopes up.

“So, get some experience,” Randy says as he walks over to the counter and leans on the other side of it. You know, I have to say right here that Marilee was right all of those times she went on and on about the grill guy’s eyes. He does have these amazing eyes that are blue and gray all swirled together and they crinkle when he smiles. Marilee never said anything about the crinkling. And his hair isn’t bad either. It’s full and dark and touchable. Not to mention that he’s tall, but not too tall. And he moves like an athlete. I don’t know that he has a San Marino look, but whatever his look is, it’s good.

Okay, so I need to get a grip on myself. I turn to Lizabett. “Things have changed since
I Love Lucy.
”

There’s nothing like Lucille Ball to throw some cold water on a fantasy. She might have claimed to make it without talent, but that doesn’t really happen.

“Don’t worry about that,” Lizabett says as she puts the
Variety
down on the counter. “Lucille Ball only
said
she didn’t have any talent—everyone knows she really did. We’re always our own worst critic. Maybe you have more talent than you think, too. Besides, you just seem like a movie star.”

“You’re the one who dances, I don’t. And I can’t sing. I can knit now, but that’s only thanks to Rose and I don’t think there’s a demand to see actresses knit. I don’t know what I can do that might be a talent.”

“You can walk,” Lizabett says firmly.

Both Randy and I look at her.

“Of course I can
walk
.”

“No, I mean like a movie star. If you just walk across the screen, people will know you were born to be a star.”

“There haven’t been silent movies for almost eighty years,” I say gently. I hate to be the one to disappoint anyone. “If someone is going to be an actress these days, they need to talk, too. I have a pretty average voice.”

Lizabett is hunched over her newspaper scanning the casting calls like she’s expecting a miracle.

I hear footsteps in the back of the diner.

“What’s up?” Marilee says as she walks toward us. She takes her baseball cap off and shakes her head to make her hair fluff out a little. Marilee used to wear baseball caps all the time and now she only wears them when she’s back in her office doing the books for the diner. She says they help her think.

“We’re trying to get Carly a place in the movies,” Randy says.

I watch Randy looking at Marilee, but the pupils in his eyes don’t get bigger or anything. I read once that you can tell if a man is attracted to a woman because his pupils dilate when he looks at her.

“I probably need to have experience before I can get a part,” I say, trying to keep a good grasp on reality.

Randy shifts his shoulders so he can look at me while I’m talking. I’m not sure, but I think his pupils do get a little darker. Maybe it’s the change in the light, though.

“Here’s one you don’t need experience to get,” Lizabett says as she holds up the newspaper. “It says right here. ‘No singing needed.’”

I stop looking at Randy’s eyes and look at the newspaper. “But they’d still expect some acting.”

Lizabett shakes her head. “It says you need to be calm and able to walk serenely across the stage with a pack attached.”

“Well, you can walk serenely, that’s for sure,” Marilee says. “You had to do that when you were the queen in the Rose Parade. You could even wave at people if you needed to. You did that, too.”

“And a pack—that’s nothing,” Randy adds. “You had to stand for hours on that float with a crown on your head.”

“And you like animals,” Lizabett says as though that settled everything.

“I have a
cat.
That doesn’t mean animals. What kind of a job is that, anyway? I’m not doing a circus show. I’m afraid of heights.”

“It’s not a circus show,” Lizabett says. “It’s the Christmas pageant that’s going to be at the North Hollywood Cathedral. They’re running it just like community theatre with an open casting call and everything.”

“Oh, you should try out,” Marilee says. “Maybe you could be an angel or something.”

I see the crinkles start in Randy’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not sure there’s angels,” Lizabett says as she frowns at what she’s reading in the paper.

“How can it be a Christmas pageant without angels?” Randy looks away from me to ask.

“It says it’s a Christmas pageant set in the Dust Bowl of the 1930s—sort of in
The Grapes of Wrath
style with migrant farmworkers. It’s written by a novice playwright.”

“Really?” For the first time since Lizabett started talking, I’m optimistic. I might be able to do dust in a beginner’s play.

“If you want me to go with you to the audition, I will,” Marilee volunteers. “I can drive you.”

“It’s today at three o’clock,” Lizabett adds as she hands me the paper. “I’d go, but I have a class.”

“Okay,” I say and I’m kind of getting excited myself.

If nothing else I will get Sisterhood points for trying something new. Speaking of which, maybe I’ll take the journal with me. If I have to sit in a room with the others who are auditioning, I’d like to have something to do. I know that each actress will have to wait her turn to perform before the casting director.

Hi, this is Marilee. Carly left the journal with me while she went over to stand in the line with the other actresses, so I am sitting here and writing a bit. We made it down to the auditions in Studio City in plenty of time and were even lucky enough to find a parking space on the street. I had never noticed before that Carly does walk like royalty. It must be all the training she had when she was competing for the Rose Queen crown. I wouldn’t have known, if she hadn’t told me, all that is involved in preparing for that competition. She could have been practicing for the Olympics and not have spent any more effort on it.

Anyway, I’m glad Carly wanted me to come with her. This place is just what I would imagine they would use for something like this. It is a big metal warehouse building with those low-hanging bulbs that give off cold, blue light. It is chilly enough outside that everyone is wearing jackets or sweaters inside, but the light doesn’t make it seem any warmer than it is. Maybe they want it to be uncomfortable to weed out the people who aren’t serious about auditioning. I look around me. Lots of these people are dressed up like
The Grapes of Wrath
kind of people. I feel an urge to go around and hand out quarters. Or was it dimes, back then?

I’ve heard some of the people talking and, apparently, the playwright has money to pay actors even though he’s never had a play performed before. His uncle’s footing the bill. The play might not be prestigious, but it looks like a lot of people want a chance to act in it.

I look at Carly in her designer blue jeans. She doesn’t look like anything from that era. Oh, well, it’s too late for her to change. Besides, someone had to have nice clothes, even in the Depression.

They have Christmas music playing from speakers here and there. The assistants who are organizing everything are walking around with clipboards and telling people which line to stand in. I lose track of Carly for a minute while she changes lines. She was going to try to get in the angel line, but it looks like the clipboard people told her to get into some other line.

Oh, there she is again. Changing lines must have worked because Carly is walking across the stage right now. She’s stopped and is standing in front of the casting director and a few other people. I am too far away to hear what they are saying to her, but I know they’re talking because she’s nodding her head. A nod should be a positive thing, shouldn’t it?

I didn’t think I would be this nervous when I came with Carly. Maybe it’s just the combined anxiety of all of the others in this warehouse. So many people have dreams in the world and it doesn’t seem like there’s enough happy endings to go around. I’m not sure that’s exactly Biblical. I’ll have to ask Pastor Engstrom the next time I meet with his group. It’s sort of one of those how-big-is-the-goodness-of-God questions. I know God says He gives us the desires of our hearts, but is a role in a nativity pageant included? I hope so because I have the feeling Carly needs something extra in her life right now. She’s worried about something, but she doesn’t say anything about it when we ask her.

I know she’s been focused on how people see her, but I think the problem may be how she sees herself. I’ve noticed more and more how the steps we’re taking in the Sisterhood are steps we all should have taken a few years ago. We never had the luxury of the usual teenage angst and now it’s all piling up on top of us. That’s one reason why I wanted us to do this journal. We need a place to grow and, sometimes, a person grows faster when they have a place to think. I know I do and writing in the journal does that for me.

Oh, here comes Carly now. I am going to put the journal away so she knows she has my full attention. Or, better yet, maybe she’ll want to write a few words in here since I see she is holding a manila folder in her right hand and the others don’t have one. That has to be a good sign, doesn’t it?

Hi, this is Carly. Don’t get excited. I told Marilee I didn’t even want to write it out, but she insisted. So here it is. I got a part, but it’s such a small part it shouldn’t even be on the list. I am the understudy for Mary. The casting director told me I have the wrong look, the wrong hair, the wrong walk, the wrong everything except for the right height and body type. I’m going to be the understudy which means I get to watch the play for almost two weeks of rehearsal and three days of live performance and, of course, I get to help the director block out Mary’s moves so that the real Mary doesn’t have to strain herself by standing in one place too long. If she could ride a donkey when she was nine months pregnant, I would think she could do her own standing.

Well, I suppose the original Mary would have been able to do it. But then again, I don’t have a clue what the real Mary was like. Maybe I should find out since I’m going to be standing in for someone pretending to be her. I don’t see how Hollywood can do her justice, though, not even if the performance is going to be in a church.