Читать книгу Thursdays at Eight - Debbie Macomber - Страница 13

KAREN CURTIS

“The worst part of success is to try finding someone who is happy for you.”

—Bette Midler

This lunch was destined to be even worse than Karen had imagined. As she stood in the foyer of the yacht club restaurant, she saw her mother pull up to the valet attendant and step out of her Lexus. Catherine Curtis wore a pastel-blue linen dress with a huge wide-brimmed matching hat and white gloves. Victoria looked like her twin, only she had on a tailored blue suit with a white collar. Apparently, three-year-old Bryce was spending the day with his father. Karen was disappointed; she’d looked forward to seeing her nephew. It went without saying that her mother and sister weren’t going to approve of her jean overalls from Old Navy.

“Hi, Mom,” Karen said, standing when they entered the yacht club.

Her mother’s expression spoke volumes. “Karen.” She leaned forward and presented her cheek for Karen to kiss.

“You’re early,” was her sister’s sole greeting.

“My car’s on the fritz, so I took the bus.” Actually, Karen had made a day of it, shopping in Willow Grove that morning, then catching the bus out to the marina. She’d read the current Vanity Fair during the forty-minute ride, which had been relaxing and enjoyable, calming her before the inevitable confrontation.

Her mother and Victoria exchanged glances.

“Don’t worry,” Karen said in a stage whisper. “No one saw me get off the bus. Certainly no one who’d connect me with the two of you.”

“Shall we have the hostess seat us,” her mother said, ignoring the comment.

“Yes, let’s,” her sister piped in with phony enthusiasm. The two headed in the direction of the restaurant, leaving Karen to trail behind. The temptation to slip away was almost overwhelming, but the consequences wouldn’t be worth it. So, like an obedient child, she followed them.

The hostess directed them to a window table and handed them menus before she left. Karen sat across from her mother and sister and gazed out at the marina for several minutes. The water sparkled in the January sun, and boats of every size lined the long dock. Everything from the simplest sailboat to yachts with price tags that ran into the millions.

“What looks good to you?” Victoria asked Catherine. Karen observed, not for the first time, that Victoria rarely made a decision without consulting their mother.

“The crab and shrimp quesadillas, perhaps. With a small avocado salad.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Victoria said, closing her menu. “What about you?” she asked Karen.

“I’ll have the crab Louis.”

“Excellent idea,” Catherine said approvingly.

At least Karen had enough ordering savvy to please her mother.

Catherine set aside her menu and focused her attention on Victoria. “How’s Roger?”

Karen frowned. She’d hoped all conversation regarding the twit would be over by now. They’d probably spent the entire drive out to the club admiring Roger and then discussing Karen—her lack of direction, her fanciful dreams, her multiple shortcomings.

Victoria smiled benignly at her mother. “Busy, as always.”

Wishing now that she’d taken the time to change out of her jean overalls and into her new skirt, Karen leaned sideways, searching for the shopping bag. She’d purchased the skirt in a close-out sale, so the price was affordable. It would be the perfect thing to wear on the days she subbed for the school district; in fact, it was the most respectable thing she’d bought in years. She could hurry into the ladies’ room and make a quick change. That way, she’d definitely gain a few points with her mother. Easy points.

Pretending to be enthralled by the witless conversation taking place, Karen edged the shopping bag closer with her foot. She reached for it without success, so she had no option but to lean down, peek under the table and grab it.

All at once her mother turned and glared at her accusingly. “What exactly are you doing?” she demanded.

Caught in the act, Karen flashed a brilliant smile. “What do you mean?”

“You’re squirming around like a two-year-old in church.”

“Oh,” she said innocently. “I was getting my bag.”

“Your bag? Whatever for?”

“I thought I’d change into my new skirt.”

Her mother nearly leapt out of her seat, then regained control. Tight-lipped, she spoke in a slow, stiff voice. “This is neither the time nor the place for you to be changing your clothes.”

“I intended to put it on in the ladies’ room,” Karen told her.

“At the Yacht Club? Karen, do I need explain that the facilities here are not dressing rooms?”

“Mom, don’t get all worked up. I should’ve changed earlier. I meant to…” She hadn’t, but then how could she know that her mother and sister would arrive looking like they expected to have lunch with the Queen of England?

“Please.” Her mother was breathing hard. “Don’t embarrass me any further.”

“Embarrass you?” Karen asked in a puzzled voice. She’d had good intentions, and for her efforts she was rewarded with a hard, cutting look.

“Shall we order?” Victoria said, her voice slightly raised as the waitress approached the table.

Both her mother and sister ordered the shrimp and crab quesadillas, plus avocado salads as planned, and Karen asked for the crab Louis. As soon as the waitress left, the three went quiet.

Victoria was the first to speak, asking Catherine about her bridge club. It wasn’t long before the two of them were involved in a meandering conversation about people who were of little or no interest to Karen.

She tried to comment once, but was cut off when their lunch arrived. The discussion continued with Karen feeling more and more out of place. It was just as bad as she’d feared. Worse.

Suddenly her mother turned her attention entirely on Karen. “You haven’t contributed to the conversation once.”

There was a very good reason for that; she couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “What would you like to know?” she asked carefully.

Catherine raised her eyebrows. “You could tell me about school. I always knew you’d end up teaching. You’re so good with children.”

Karen felt gratified by the unexpected praise.

Victoria stared at her with more enthusiasm than necessary, obviously taking their mother’s cue. “Mom’s right,” she announced. “You’d make a wonderful teacher. You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

“Well, enjoying isn’t exactly the word I’d use. It’s, um, a challenge.”

“All children are a challenge,” her mother said pointedly.

“How many days a week are you working?” Victoria asked.

“No more than three. Two’s better, but that’s pushing it financially. Teaching is exhausting and the little darlings couldn’t care less, especially when they’ve got a substitute.”

“Personally, I think teachers are grossly underpaid,” Victoria said.

Her sympathy didn’t go unappreciated, and Karen found herself warming to her sister. “Me, too. What I’m really hoping for is a part in a commercial. I’m trying out for another spot next week. The director liked me the last time and wants to see me again.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed and she put down her fork.

“Naturally, I’d love a role in a weekly series,” Karen added. “But according to my agent I need a few credits first. She thinks I should get my feet wet doing commercials. Plus, the pay isn’t bad, and there are residuals. Then she wants me to audition for a part in a situation comedy.”

With great deliberateness, her mother smeared a dollop of sour cream on the quesadilla, and Karen saw that her hand shook as she did so.

“Even if you got a part in a commercial, you’d go back to substitute teaching, wouldn’t you?” Catherine asked.

“Well, yes, I suppose, but teaching is only a means to an end for me. I—”

“I thought you were finally putting your college degree to good use. Your father and I paid a great deal of money for your education. You can’t imagine how much it distressed us to hear that you’re more interested in…in cleaning toilets than in making something worthwhile of your life.”

“It wasn’t exactly a housecleaning job,” Karen muttered. “Not that there’s—” She stopped abruptly, forcing herself to swallow the rest of her retort. “I deeply appreciate my education, Mom.” Which was true, but only because it allowed her to support herself while trying out for acting roles.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Victoria asked, once again diverting the conversation to a different subject.

“Jeff and I went out the other night.”

“Jeff Hansen?” her mother asked. “Isn’t he the boy from your high-school drama group?”

“Yes, he’s teaching aerobics classes at Body and Spirit Gymnasium, and wants to get back into acting. I hooked him up with my agent.”

“Oh, dear,” Catherine murmured. “I play bridge with his mother…She was so pleased when Jeff got a real job, and now this.”

“Why do you think acting is such a horrible career?” Karen burst out. “Can you explain that to me once and for all?”

Her mother sighed as though the answer should be obvious. “You mean you don’t know? Just look at the class of people who become professional actors! They’re all involved with drugs and not a one of them stays married. These women get pregnant and most don’t even bother to marry the child’s father. They have babies by a bunch of different men. They take their clothes off for the whole world to see. They have absolutely no morals, Karen—and everyone knows the successful ones sleep with their casting directors. The unsuccessful ones are just unemployed.”

“That’s so unfair,” Karen cried, not caring that she’d attracted attention to herself. “You’re judging me by what’s in the tabloids. There’s more to being an actress than what those headlines scream and furthermore, you can’t believe everything you read!” The only true thing her mother had said was that remark about unemployment, which Karen chose to ignore. “Besides,” she added, “not all actors use drugs.”

“I’ve read about those Hollywood parties with the drugs and sex and God knows what else. I don’t want my daughter mixing with that kind of crowd.”

“Mom, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I do. They’ll lure you in. Weird cults and casting couches…”

“I’m not doing drugs,” Karen insisted. “I’ve never come across a cult, weird or otherwise. And I’ve never even seen a casting couch, let alone done anything on one.”

“What about this director? He wants you to audition for another commercial?”

Karen sighed. “It’s for a dog-food commercial. He told my agent he liked my style and—”

“I’ll just bet he did,” her mother said, lips pinched tight. “Exactly what are you going to have to do for that role?”

Enough was enough. As politely as possible, Karen placed the pink linen napkin on the table and picked up her purse. “I think it’d be best if I left.” She kept her voice expressionless.

“Sit down right now!” her mother ordered. “I won’t have you making a scene by leaving before we’ve finished our lunch.”

Karen reached down for her shopping bag and held onto it with both hands. “If you’re worried about creating a scene, then I suggest that the next time we meet, you refrain from insulting me.”

“All I said was—”

“Thank you for lunch.” Karen did her best to hide her anger—and disappointment. She should’ve known better. Whenever she saw her mother, they always played out some version of this encounter. The simple truth was that her family didn’t respect her and had no confidence in her talent or, apparently, her judgment. And that hurt.

“Karen, wait,” Victoria pleaded, rising to her feet.

Karen shook her head, fearing that if she stayed she’d end up saying something she’d regret.