Sammy Keyes and the Hollywood Mummy (26 page)

Whoa! Pitchfork or not, that woman knows how to jab.

And while we're all stinging from what she said to my mother, she turns to Hali and says, “I want no part of his properties. No share in his business. There are a few sentimental things I'd like to take with me, but that is all. The rest is yours and your mother's.”

Hali says, “Take with you? Where are you going?”

“Back to Austria.” She shakes her head. “I knew my first month here that I should've gone back. All the ways he tried to make me fit in…it never worked. The truth is, I don't belong here. I belong with my fields and my flowers, and nothing he tried to change on the outside ever changed the way I felt on the inside.” She smiles at Hali— a sad, painful smile. “I'm going home, Hali, where these scars won't matter—where people will accept me for what I am, not how I look.”

Without another word, she was gone. And I just stood there feeling kind of, I don't know,
sticky
. Like my lips were glued closed and my feet were taped down, and the elastic of my dress had become a permanent part of my body.

Finally my mother whispers, “Maybe I should just take that Greyhound home with you.”

From the way she was saying it, it seemed to me that she was trying it on. Seriously trying it on. Like of all the clothes on the rack, this was the one thing she could afford, and she was standing in front of the mirror telling herself that with a sash here and a necklace there, hey, it could look all right after all.

I looked at her and I knew—this was my chance. My big chance. She really would come home if I asked her to.

My heart started banging around, and suddenly I felt like
a puppy freed from the pound. Somebody wanted to take me home! And home could be a little apartment of our own. We could have a normal life—one where I wouldn't have to sneak in and out of my own house because I wasn't supposed to be living there. One where I'd have a real bed instead of a couch and a whole dresser instead of just the bottom drawer. One where I could actually have friends over and make some noise.

Her eyes were searching mine, and I almost jumped right up and said, “Yes! Please, come home!” but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I mean, she was so close—
so
close—to making her dream come true, and after everything she'd been through, after everything she'd done, I couldn't snatch it away from her at the last minute.

So instead of jumping up, I looked down and blinked at the floor. And that's when I noticed the heels of her ruby slippers peeking out from beneath the bed, and the folder I'd gotten out of Max's secret room lying near them on the floor by Hali's chair.

Hali catches me looking at the folder and hands it over, saying, “You left this in the car. I wasn't sure what you wanted with it.”

I took it from her, and then with a swift kick I sent those shoes flying under the bed. I handed the folder off to my mother, saying, “I didn't practically kill myself and my friends here so you could come home and serve burgers at Big Daddy's. Here. Have a bonfire.”

She takes the folder and says, “What is this?”

I smile at her, but there's a tear stinging my eye. “Your freedom.”

She opens it up, and when she sees what's inside she whispers, “How did you ever find this?”

“Oh,” I laugh, “piece of cake.” Then I add, “Not that you really need it anymore.” I grin at Hali and say, “I mean, ol' Toe Rings here would probably have just ripped it up for you, but how was I supposed to know?”

Hali says, “Hey, Burdock, watch who you're callin' names! You got no way home, you know?” Then she turns to my mother and says, “There's one more thing I gotta know. Were you really born on Valentine's Day?”

My mother shakes her head and says, “No, I wasn't. I should've just changed the year, but I was so busy changing
every
thing that I …well, I changed the day, too.” She blushes and adds, “I wanted something easy to remember, plus I thought it would make me sound more romantic.”

Hali grins and shakes her head. “Worked a little too well, didn't it?”

Marissa says, “Yeah, but to have all of this happen because of a birthdate?”

My mother frowns. “He made connections everywhere, Marissa. At Trouvet's he was telling me all the little things that made him know I was Claire.”

“Like what?”

“Like the dress and the shoes fitting me so well, like me being from Montana—at that point I tried to tell him the truth, but he wouldn't listen. He said he knew I was Claire because I like a slice of
lime
in my water, and because of the way I say ‘motion picture.’”

I couldn't believe my ears. “Because of the way you say ‘motion picture’? How do you say ‘motion picture’?”

“Apparently I say it just like Claire did—with a lot of
shuh
in it. There were other ridiculous little things like that, too. Obviously he saw what he wanted to see. He knew his time was limited, and I think that sooner or later he would've picked some reason—any reason—to believe that someone was his long-lost Claire.”

We all sat there quiet for a minute; then Hali slaps her thighs and says, “So, you gonna be up to that audition tomorrow? I'd be willing to drop you curbside if you need me to.”

My mother looks at me, then at the folder and back to me. Finally she whispers, “What do you think, Samantha?”

I take a deep breath, then say, “What I think is, if you don't get that part,
I'm
going to be the one who kills you!”

“Really?”

“Heck, yeah.”

She looks down. “Well, you know, there's a good chance that I won't get the part.” She glances up at me. “After all, they're expecting Dominique Windsor, and Dominique Windsor will not be appearing.”

I just stood there, looking at her. I didn't want to ask. I didn't want to breathe. I just wanted to stand for a minute in this vacuum of hope.

She smiles at me and says, “Who
is
going to show up is Lana Keyes, proud mother of a certain thirteen-year-old who goes by the name of Sammy.”

As much as I tried to stop it, my face crinkled up and my tears gave me away. Completely away. And for the first time in over a year I fell into my mother's arms and hugged her.

She was back.

After my mother was released from the hospital, Hali gave us all a ride back to Beverly Hills. It was my mother's first ride on the Bug Blast Express, and during one little do-si-do maneuver on the freeway I thought for sure she was going to wind up back in the hospital with a heart attack.

Hali did manage to get us home in one piece, though, and while she spent the rest of the day with her mom, Marissa and I spent the day with mine. Not that my mother helped us carry the mattress back upstairs or anything. But she did hover around giving what she thought was good advice, and really, I didn't mind. I was just glad she was up and walking around.

And while we were untying our clothes, trying to figure out which ones were totaled and which ones would bounce back, my mother was down the hall on the phone, telling all to Grams.

She came back a little red around the edges, so I knew the update hadn't flown real well at home, but all my mother would say about it was “Well. I'm glad that's done.”

And after everything was reassembled, we just hung out—by the pool, in the kitchen, just sitting or walking around, talking. Of course, Tammy and the other women
kept buzzing up to us, trying to get the straight scoop, but my mom did a good job of holding them off, saying she didn't want to talk about it just then.

That night we were back in Opal and LeBrandi's old beds, but I was so tired that I didn't even think about them—or Max, for that matter. I just put my head down and
click
, I was out.

Until 3:30, that is. I don't know why, but at 3:30 I woke up with a start, and when I sat up and looked over at my mother's bed, she was gone.

I sat there listening for a minute, then got up and went down the hall.

My mother wasn't in the bathroom, but there were some fuzzy cottontail slippers in a stall, so I waited, and when Tammy came out I asked her, “Have you seen my mother?”

She rewrapped one of her bunny-ear pigtails and eyed me. “We don't have a regular date down here or anything, you know.”

I nodded, then got a drink from the tap and started to head out. But Tammy flicked on her faucet and said, “Check the viewing room.”

“Where's that?”

“Downstairs. Basically, it's right beneath us. Can't miss it.”

I thanked her and took off downstairs, and sure enough, there was a door with a
VIEWING ROOM
placard on it. I peek inside, and there's my mother, watching an episode of
The Lords of Willow Heights
, taking notes.

“Samantha!” she says when she sees me. “What in the world are you doing up?”

I sit down beside her. “It was 3:30. You were gone, I got worried.”

She says, “I'm sorry,” then laughs and adds, “I guess I should've left a note.” She points her pen at the TV and proceeds to explain who's who on the soap opera she's watching and what she's looking for.

Now, to me the acting seems corny and overly dramatic, but my mother is
into
it, studying it like it's swept the Oscars or something.

Then suddenly she stops the tape and says, “I know! You can play Roullard.”

“Roullard?”

“The man who brings Jewel back to Willow Heights!” She digs through her papers and says, “Here! I've got the script right here.”

“But, Mom…”

“Just pretend you're Roullard and read the lines. It'll be fun!”

“How do I pretend I'm Roullard? I don't even know who Roullard is!”

She looks at me, stunned. “Don't you
ever
watch
Lords
?”

“Never.”

“Well.” She takes a deep breath and says, “Roullard is Jewel's older brother. Half brother, to be exact. Her mother was married earlier to a wealthy businessman who died mysteriously the night Jewel ran off with—”

“Mom!”

She blinks at me. “What?”

“Do I need to know all this?”

“Well, yes, to get into character.” She was still blinking at me.

“Can't I just read the lines?”

“Hmmm…I suppose. But it would help me tremendously if you could get into character. Just a little?”

“You want me to be a man, older than you, who goes by the name of Roullard.”

“Yes.”

I blink at
her
.

She holds me by the shoulders and says, “Close your eyes, Samantha. Close your eyes and just imagine. Put yourself into his body, into his mind. Feel his soul. He's tortured that his sister doesn't remember him. He's torn by the knowledge that Sir Melville
must
be told that she is still alive and the suspicion that Sir Melville has fallen in love with Cassandra Salvador.”

“Cassandra Salvador? Who is—” I put my hands up and whisper, “Never mind. Can you just tell me what I'm supposed to
do
?”

“Here,” she says, handing me a script. “Do Roullard's lines.”

For the rest of the night I tried my best to be Roullard, and let me tell you, I was terrible. Even after she took a break and showed him to me on tape, I couldn't “touch his soul” or “channel his essence” or “feel his spirit.” I even really
tried
for a while, but the only thing I felt was dumb.

Finally she said, “Well, I think I'll do all right. I'm not exactly at one with her yet, but I'm close.” She put her arm around me. “Thanks for the help.”

I laughed, “Oh, right.”

“Really, Samantha. It helped.”

We ate breakfast, then took turns taking showers. And while Marissa and I packed, my mom went off somewhere to meditate—to commune with the spirit of Jewel, I suppose.

Then all of a sudden Hali was calling that it was time to leave, so we crammed into the Bug, battered pink suitcase and all, and headed out to the audition.

The first thing my mother did was pull the casting director aside and tell him the truth about who she was. And the funny thing is, he didn't seem to care. No one seemed to care. Here she went and practically killed herself trying to be someone she wasn't, and for what? She would've been way better off just being herself.

Besides, by the end of the audition, no one on the set was thinking of her as Dominique Windsor or Lana Keyes. To them she was Jewel—she absolutely knocked them out.

When it was over, we congratulated her, and after about a zillion hugs all around, we left her there, buzzing with the real Roullard and Sir Melville and some other soapy stars, happier than I've ever seen her. Then Hali blasted us down to the bus station to catch the Big Dog home, only she couldn't hang around for very long. We exchanged phone numbers and promised to stay in touch, and then she was off, saying something about needing a latte and a pair of shoes before giving up blood at the doctor's office and trying to set up a meeting with a counselor at UCLA.

So there we were, back at the Hollywood bus station, all by ourselves.

At first we waited inside, trying to ignore the people around us, but it was hard. They just sat there with their baggy eyes and sunken cheeks, holding small packages or clutching their purses, waiting. And after we'd sat there a while, too, I realized that they reminded me of the guy we'd seen at the Peppermint Peacock. Their eyes just kind of spaced off into the distance, dull and blind.

I grabbed the pink suitcase and whispered, “Let's go wait outside, okay?”

Marissa was all for that, and we wound up planting ourselves outside the back door, Marissa on her suitcase and me on a parking curb. And we're just sitting around wondering why the bus is late when all of a sudden Marissa points and cries, “Look! Over there!”

At first all I notice is the bus station parking lot wall. It's about eight feet tall and sprayed here and there with graffiti, and on top of it are rolls of razor wire. There's no way anyone would climb it, even if they were suicidal.

Then I look past the wall and razor wire to the corridors of tall buildings—cold gray cinder-block buildings with phone lines crisscrossing between them. And then above those, to the billboards of glamorous-looking people selling tight jeans and vodka and twenty-four-hour lipstick.