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Authors: Melissa Francis

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Personal Memoirs, #Entertainment & Performing Arts

Diary of a Stage Mother's Daughter: A Memoir (6 page)

BOOK: Diary of a Stage Mother's Daughter: A Memoir
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Mom dressed Tiffany and me in brand-new holiday dresses from Saks for the occasion. They were both hunter green velvet, though mine was shapeless and short with a round collar, and Tiffany’s was nipped at the waist and more grown-up. Mom had washed and curled our long locks and even put a little blush on our fair cheeks and mascara on our lashes.
When Mom finished curling the last tendril of my hair, I looked in the mirror to admire the finished product, and saw two different-sized versions of the same doll looking back at me.
“You look so cute,” Tiffany said, putting her arm around my shoulders and smiling at my image in the mirror. When her eyes shifted to her own appearance, her shoulders tensed and she grimaced a bit, even though I thought she looked perfect.
“You look beautiful. I love your dress more,” I said wistfully.
“Do I?” she asked.
“You do,” I said, utterly convinced. She smiled.
Mom and Dad pulled out all the stops too. Mom shimmered in a long black dress that glittered and danced when she walked, and Dad put on his most handsome navy suit with a red tie. They looked as perfect and happy as I’d ever seen them, like the newlyweds I imagined they’d been before we arrived.
When we pulled up to the party, security and staff ushered us down a red carpet. Mindy Cohen and two other girls from
The Facts of Life
buzzed around a chocolate fountain inside and squeezed my cheeks and arms as they greeted me. They all worked on the set next to ours, and would allow me to come play with them during lunch, as if I were their mascot.
Mom floated joyfully around the party with the three of us in tow. She stopped to talk to the other moms, and drifted toward the bubbling fountain of melted chocolate. Her eyes lit up when she saw the show’s writers; she was eager to pick their brains and see if the show had any hope of being picked up for another season. Tiffany hung a step behind me and eventually stopped making the rounds with us. She and Dad gravitated to a table, where they sat and talked and eventually looked bored. They’d both been excited to dress up and come to the party, but the glitz wore thin once they’d visited all the food stations and danced a few numbers.
At the end of the night, we slowly coasted back out to the North Valley in our limo. Tiffany and I chose the novelty of riding backward, trying hard to fight off sleep.
I opened the robin’s-egg-blue box with the red ribbon they’d handed me on the way out. The colorful packaging fell away to reveal a shiny silver box lined with red velvet. It was as heavy as lead. On the bottom, the box was stamped TIFFANY & CO. On the top, the inscription read NBC with a tiny peacock next to it. I ran the tip of my finger back and forth over the engraving and thought about what treasures I’d hide inside.
 
 
That Christmas, Santa brought every toy I’d ever imagined, and a few I hadn’t thought to wish for. Tiffany and I awoke before dawn and crept to the top of the stairs, where we sat on the first step waiting for Mom and Marilyn to say it was time to go down and tear open the cornucopia of presents that spilled out around the base of our enormous white flocked tree. Marilyn always spent Christmas Eve at our house so she could see our faces in the morning when we greeted our haul.
“Whoa,” I said to Tiffany as we stretched to see everything that waited below. The lights on the tree danced and bounced off the wrapping paper and walls, making the living room look more like a disco.
“I know. They outdid themselves. They must have been up all night!” Tiffany said.
“They?” I asked, suspicious but still wanting to believe in the red-suited god who delivered pure joy once a year.
“The elves. That help Santa,” Tiffany reassured me with a smile.
Mom and Marilyn strode out of the kitchen, bleary-eyed, hair disheveled. They were already sipping coffee in holiday mugs.
“I thought I heard you two,” Mom said with a smile.
“Should I wake Dad, or can we start?” I asked with a jolt of excitement.
“Don’t wake him. Just come down and get started. But you have to open one at a time so Marilyn and I can see your faces. It will be hours before Dad stirs, but you still won’t be done. Look at everything Santa left!” she squealed.
As we came down the stairs, I could see that the presents stretched all the way to the far walls of the sitting room. We weren’t normally allowed to play in the sitting room, with its white couches and chairs, too perfect for dirty little hands. But once a year, the room was transformed.
This time there had to be nearly a hundred wrapped presents in every shape and size. Each one had a tag with an “M” or a “T” to tell us to whom the mystery delight belonged. Two new bikes with enormous bows sat in the middle of the room, a large blue ten-speed with white-walled tires for Tiffany, and a smaller, light blue two-wheeler for me.
By the time Dad woke up, the sitting room looked like a wrapping paper bomb had exploded, spraying red and green shrapnel everywhere. I sat in the middle of the debris, exploring a Fisher Price doctor’s kit I’d been praying for.
“Jesus,” Dad said in Mom’s general direction. “Think you overdid it?”
“Santa, darling. Not me,” she smiled back.
“Most of this was from Santa, Dad. It didn’t cost you anything,” I reassured him. “Although this was from Mom!” I said giving Tiffany a pretend shot in the arm with my toy needle. Next I planned to jump-start her heart.
“I’m too tired to keep opening,” Tiffany said. She brushed me off and laid back on the ground in her holiday pj’s, admiring a new white leather purse she’d just unwrapped.
“I’ll take everything that hasn’t been opened, in that case,” I said, eyeing the loot. Dad groaned and wandered into the kitchen for some coffee.
CHAPTER FIVE
 
M
om placed her hand on my shoulder to wake me up. I jumped.
“It’s okay. You just need to get up. It’s a special day. We need to go to school to get your assignments. Then we’re going on a plane to Sonora. Come on, sweetie,” she said.
I’d landed what Mom called the role of a lifetime on
Little House on the Prairie
, a show that was already a hit. Being cast on a huge show that was already up and running was like being born on home plate with the crowd cheering. You’d done nothing to help the team win, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t bask in the glory. The victory was especially sweet for Mom since my last show,
Joe’s World
, hadn’t lasted more than a season.
I plodded slowly down the hall to the bathroom I shared with my sister. She brushed her teeth at the far sink, which right now was hers. We each liked to claim ownership of one of the two sinks, but anytime we agreed on the division of territory, I got the sense I’d been had. I was eight years old, and she was nearly twelve. That was a lot more time to gather the skills of negotiation.
“How long are you going for?” Tiffany asked with toothpaste foaming out of her mouth.
“I don’t know. We’re shooting the first episode on location and then coming back for the rest of the season I think.”
“Mom told me you’re going on an airplane that doesn’t have regular people on it,” she added, wiping her mouth.
Who would be on it then? Aliens? I wanted to ask but she shut off the tap and left.
 
 
An hour later Mom and I walked down the outdoor pathway to my second-grade classroom. My black and white saddle shoes scuffed the cement walkway as we hurried along, the leaves of late fall occasionally drifting into our path and crunching under our feet. The swings in the middle of the playground right next to the classes hung silent and motionless. All the other kids were in class.
My mom opened the door to my classroom and I saw Mrs. Sandberg standing at the front by the chalk board, holding a piece of chalk. Her skirt flowed down to her ankles and her glasses were perched on the tip of her nose.
All eyes, which had been fixed on her, moved quickly to me. I shifted uncomfortably. I was wearing the uniform Mom dressed me in for every single audition: OshKosh overalls rolled at the knee, paired with a white blouse that had short puffed sleeves and a Peter Pan collar, white socks with eyelet trim folded over at the ankle, and saddle shoes. I wore the outfit so often that I hated every thread of it.
Mrs. Sandberg put her fingers in her short, curly, blondish-gray hair and smiled as she looked me over.
She liked me, and seemed to think highly of me, thanks to yet another tip on how to be first in the class, this time from Mom. At the beginning of the school year, Mom told me that when Mrs. Sandberg asked a question about something we read, I needed to repeat the question at the beginning of my answer. So if she asked, “Why did Mary buy an apple?” I was supposed to write, “Mary bought an apple because she was hungry.” Oddly enough, this tidbit came in handy on the first day of school during Reading Comprehension. I’d never heard of Reading Comprehension, but I was the first to raise my hand when Mrs. Sandberg asked, “Why did Billy bring his jacket?”
I responded, “Billy brought his jacket because it was cold outside.”
My answer dazzled Mrs. Sandberg, and just like that, I had started another year as the smart kid. That I had just learned this skill the day before was pure coincidence, but I’d take it. As a bonus, I knew that just across the room, Maryjane was fuming.
Now Mrs. Sandberg walked over to her desk and picked up a folder. “I have Missy’s assignments right here.” She addressed Mom as if the other kids weren’t there.
“Don’t you look adorable?” she said to me with a smile.
Mrs. Sandberg had never commented on my clothes before, or anyone else’s. I didn’t know what to say. Mom squeezed my hand hard.
“Thank you,” I piped up.
“This should get her through the next two weeks. After that, you’ll have to come back for more. I’m sure keeping up won’t be a problem, but we’ll miss her.” She tugged the bottom of my braid gently.
So I’d be gone for more than two weeks. That was news. I looked at my friends Mike and Christy and wondered when I’d see them again.
An hour later, we pulled up to the Van Nuys airport and got out of the long black limousine they’d sent for us.
“Just stay with me and be good, okay?” Mom said, her voice sounding strained. I’d never seen her this nervous.
The driver got out and ushered us through the airport and onto the tarmac, where a small jet waited with an even smaller staircase leading up to its door. I’d flown on planes a few times before, but they had been big and we’d had to wait with a bunch of people before getting on them.
Now just Mom and I mounted the stairs, and when we ducked inside, I saw a boy sitting there with his father.
“I’m Jason. Jason Bateman, your new brother,” he said officially. He had shiny reddish brown hair that fell to his collar, with a curtain of bangs, bright blue eyes, and freckles that covered his cheeks and nose.
He had a playful spark, which I welcomed, since it seemed clear we’d be the only two kids for a while. He was older than me, which would normally mean he’d ignore me, but I knew since it was me or nothing, I had a shot.
Just then a booming voice filled the plane. “Hey, kids! What do you think? Not bad, right?”
This was the man I’d seen at the audition. He ran his fingers through his long wavy hair and tugged on the front of his blue chambray button-down shirt. His tight jeans gave way to weathered tan cowboy boots. He laughed a big, bellowing laugh that made his eyes glint. It was impossible not to love him immediately.
Even though he stood a few inches shorter than the pilot behind him, he was larger than life. He had the magnetism of God and Santa Claus rolled into one. I looked over at Mom, who had been struck silent. He seemed to get a kick out of that.
“I’m Michael Landon,” he said, his lips curled up into a smile.
For once, Mom had nothing to say. She seemed to just melt.
I had no idea that this man was the creator and director of
Little House on the Prairie
, which was by then one of the most successful family dramas on television. Much of Middle America, especially in the Bible Belt, loved watching the tear-jerker about a pioneering family carving out a tough but wholesome life a century earlier.
BOOK: Diary of a Stage Mother's Daughter: A Memoir
3.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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