Another Mother

by Kim Hartfield

  Another Mother

  by Kim Hartfield

  Published by Kim Hartfield

  Copyright © 2018 Kim Hartfield

  All Rights Reserved

  May not be copied or distributed without prior written permission.

  Cover photo: © Deposit Photo

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  One – Sarah

  Emma rested her chin in her hand, a serious expression on her face as she flipped through the newspaper. Occasionally her brow furrowed and her lips moved as she sounded out a word.

  I took a bite of scrambled eggs. “What’s going on in the world today, kiddo?”

  “Trump is at it again.” Rolling her eyes, she pushed the politics section over so I could see the headline.

  I suppressed a laugh, knowing Emma hated any implication that she was “cute.” She was eight years old, after all—finished with third grade, soon to be entering fourth. Practically all grown up. “Let me see that.” I scanned through the Trump article while she picked up the entertainment section.

  After a minute, she shoved that section in my face. “Look at this, Mommy.”

  I shook out the newspaper and set it beside my plate. “What am I looking at?” All I saw was an article about the upcoming Oscars and a gossip piece about Jennifer Aniston.

  Emma pointed to an ad at the bottom that took up a tiny fraction of the page. “This, duh.”

  I squinted to read the minuscule type. CHILD ACTORS NEEDED for original TV production. Open casting call Wednesday July 4th, 5pm.

  “What, you want to be an actress now?”

  “An actor, Mommy.” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “The word ‘actress’ is outdated.”

  I blinked. Emma had a point—I just wondered when her social justice knowledge had surpassed mine. “So you want to be an actor now?”

  “I always wanted to be an actor!” She spoke as if that was completely obvious.

  “That’s news to me.” She’d talked about being an author, a dancer, a trombone player, an astronaut, and of course, a competitive gymnast. She actually had a good shot at the last, in my possibly-biased view. “When did you start wanting to act?”

  “Um, like, the first time I turned on a TV?” She held up her glass of orange juice like a microphone. “I wanted to act, and dance, and si-i-i-ing!”

  “Okay, Shirley Temple.” I shook my head.

  “Who?”

  God, I was getting old. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” I said. “You don’t want to take time away from your gymnastics, do you?” She practiced three times a week. “Or your hip-hop dance?”

  “It’s summer,” she said. “I have to fill my time somehow.”

  That was true. I’d wanted to send her to camp, but my finances wouldn’t quite stretch that far this year, and my ex-husband was no help. “My company isn’t entertaining enough for you?”

  “You’re always working!” She rolled her eyes—again. That was her favorite thing to do lately. “If I was an actor, we’d be rich. I could buy you a new house, and you wouldn’t have to work anymore.”

  “Yeah, that’s not too likely.” I was pretty sure no big-budget TV shows would be seeking new talent with an ad like that. More likely, it was some non-paying gig for a local public access channel. The location was in another suburb of LA, nowhere near Hollywood.

  Emma pouted, and my chest tightened. Shouldn’t I encourage her dream of acting? She certainly had enough charisma for the job. What could it hurt to give it a shot? Wasn’t it my responsibility to give my daughter the opportunities I’d never had?

  I could just take her to the audition and see how it went. We didn’t need to get an agent or anything like that. Realistically, Emma wasn’t likely to get the part. Soon she’d forget about wanting to act, like she’d forgotten about wanting to be an astronaut. She would, however, remember that I’d been there to support her.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll shift my work schedule around—”

  “Mommy, you work from home.”

  Now I was the one rolling my eyes. “Could I get a ‘yay’ or a hug or something?”

  Emma grinned. “Ya-a-ay!”

  *

  The audition was on the other side of town, and Emma talked nonstop through the thirty-minute drive. Apparently she was a fan of a few child stars, and she’d been especially inspired by Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen in the Full House reruns I’d made her watch. Oops.

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high, sweetie,” I said. “The other kids are going to be talented, too. Besides, we don’t even know what kind of show it is. You might not even want the part.”

  “Of course I will.” She leaned back, putting her feet over the glove compartment. “I want all the parts!”

  “Feet down, little superstar.” I swatted her shins until she reluctantly lowered them.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as we reached the audition location. It was a professional-looking office building, not some sketchy warehouse, and the directory in front of the elevator pointed us to Mercury Productions on the third floor.

  I reached for Emma’s hand, which she promptly pulled away. This was all starting to feel real. What if the director loved her as much as I did? What if she did get the part, and this was the start of a whole new life for us?

  “Stop worrying, Mommy.”

  I blinked. Had she read my mind? Or was it just that I was standing motionlessly as the elevator doors opened at the third floor? Probably the latter, I decided.

  We both stepped out and were greeted by a bored-looking receptionist who gave us a number and told us to wait. Although we’d arrived on the dot of five, most of the dingy-looking chairs in the lounge were already occupied.

  I sank into a seat, pulling my Kindle out of my purse. I offered it to Emma, who had some age-appropriate novels on it. Thankfully she shook her head, preferring to keep looking around, bright-eyed, instead. She didn’t seem to mind the slight shabbiness of our surroundings. In fact, excitement radiated off her.

  The numbers went by quicker than I expected. They were taking small groups of would-be actors at once, which I assumed sped things up. I glanced at my watch, wishing we could get this over with. I’d already decided I’d take Emma for ice cream afterwards, as much for me as for her. My stomach was rumbling.

  Once we were called in, I checked out the competition. They were around Emma’s age, give or take a few years, and their expressions ran the gamut from bored to hyper. Emma stood beside me, outwardly calm even though I could feel the pent-up energy underneath the surface. No one but her mom would’ve noticed the way she fidgeted slightly as a man at the front of the room began to speak.

  “Welcome, everybody. My name is Jim Barton, and I’m the director of the TV show we’re auditioning for today. Wrong Headed is a suspense-horror-mystery program about two families trapped in a cabin. The character will be six to nine years old and either male or female. If that doesn’t appeal to any of you, you’re free to leave now.”

  One mother coughed and stood up. Her son, who looked about fifteen, followed her out of the room. Everyone else stayed crowded around the director, waiting for our next instructions.

  “We’d like to hear each candidate read a few lines,” Jim said. “Richard Blake, who will play the child’s father, will read along with you.”

  I took note of the man standing beside Jim. He did look vaguely familiar, like a B-list celebrity, although I couldn’t have said where I knew him from. Maybe this wasn’t a public access show after all.

  The auditionees separated from their parents and formed a line. Emma was the third one up, with two people behind her. Moving to stand against the wall, I gave her a thumbs-up. I hoped
my face didn’t betray how nervous I’d suddenly become.

  The first boy read his lines without much emotion. For the feeling he put into it, he could’ve been reading a list of names out of the phone book. The second candidate didn’t do much better. Her acting was fine, from what I could hear, but her voice was so soft I couldn’t make out any of the words.

  Then it was Emma’s turn. Standing next to her, Richard Blake read his lines without looking at the script. “It’s snowing hard, Ivy. We might get stuck here.”

  Emma glanced at her paper, then looked up at him plaintively. “What will happen if we get stuck?”

  “Shh, honey, don’t worry. This is between your mom and me. We’re not going to get stuck.”

  “You just said we could.” She stepped over to the window and pointed outside. “It’s really coming down. Is it even safe to drive?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Richard said. “That’s why we’re not leaving now. The snow will definitely have melted by the morning.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Emma’s lips trembled. “I’m scared, Daddy. I want to go home.”

  I watched as the scene continued, pride swelling within me. Emma was doing great—better than I’d expected, honestly. I knew plenty of kids were talented, and others had more experience than her. Still, even if she didn’t get the part, I was so proud of her for doing her best.

  This seemed to be going on longer than the other two’s auditions. The two kids waiting for their turns shifted on their feet, glancing over at their parents. Emma never spared a glance in my direction. She was single-mindedly focused on the part she was playing, and even when she stumbled over a line, she didn’t miss a beat.

  “Nothing bad is going to happen,” Richard said. “We’ll leave in the morning, and everything will be fine.”

  Emma bit her lip, looking up at him with suddenly-huge eyes. “Daddy, I really hope you’re right.”

  The director began to clap, and I eagerly joined in. The other candidates and their parents, despite looking reluctant, put their hands together too. No one had clapped for the first two, and I hadn’t heard any applause coming from the room before this group—but I tried to rein in my hopes. This didn’t mean Emma had the part.

  “Emma,” Jim said, “you have the part.”

  Emma let out a shriek and ran over to me, and I spun her around in a joyous circle. My baby girl was going to be an actress! An actor, rather—I didn’t care. Someone else had acknowledged how amazing and special she was.

  I let her go, breathless. I barely noticed as the other people filed out of the room, grumbling about not getting a fair shot.

  “Mommy,” Emma said, clinging to my leg, “we’re going to be on TV!”

  I frowned. “We?”

  She pointed at Jim. “He said the show is about two families.”

  Jim coughed. “Richard will be playing your father, and Katie Days will be your mother.”

  Katie Days—the name rang a bell.

  “But I already have a mother,” Emma said.

  “It’s just pretend, sweetie.” I ruffled her hair. “I’m sure Katie’s a wonderful person.”

  “No, Mommy.” Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  Two – Katie

  Eight in the damn morning. God, I hadn’t been up this early in a long time. Being back on set was going to be trippy, and not in a good way.

  I shoved open the door to the movie studio and nodded to Jim, the director. Slipping into a chair at the head of the table, I took off my sunglasses. I’d only had a few drinks last night—I didn’t think my eyes were too red.

  “Good of you to join us,” Jim said mildly.

  I glanced at the wall clock. Okay, I was ten minutes late. So sue me. Jim was the one who’d reached out to me about this role, not the other way around.

  “Hi, everyone,” I said, ignoring the jibe. “Katie Days.”

  “You probably know Richard Blake,” Jim said. “He’ll be playing your husband, Archer.”

  The rest of the people at the table introduced themselves. Quinn Hart, who played my friend Charlotte. Aaron Monk, who’d be her husband Wesley. Cole and Autumn, whose last names I didn’t catch, would be their teenaged kids Gavin and Lida. Then there was a little girl named Emma, pouting beside her mother Sarah.

  I didn’t recognize any of them. Apparently my name would be the star power behind this show. I snorted to myself. Good luck with that.

  “Who’s she playing?” I asked, nodding toward Emma.

  “Our daughter, honey.” Richard grinned.

  I choked on nothing and began to cough. “Excuse me?”

  “Is there a problem?” Jim asked.

  Sure, there was a goddamn problem. I was twenty-five years old, for Christ’s sake. Only a few years ago, I’d been a child actor myself! I’d thought Jim wanted me to play a sex symbol or some smoldering seductress, not a mom. I fought the urge to pull out my phone and check my appearance in the camera. How old did I look?

  But I needed the money. My savings from years ago were finally running low, and the contract I’d signed had some nice numbers on it. Jim was a well-known director, and the show was pretty much guaranteed to be successful—as long as I could swallow my pride long enough to make it.

  “I’m just a little surprised,” I said. “As you’re obviously aware, I’m best known for playing a preteen on Great Takes Eight.” Recognition flashed in the kid’s mom’s eyes. “Am I really going to be believable as the mother of a—however old that kid is?”

  “She’s eight,” Sarah said softly.

  Jim glanced at the other actors, and I wished briefly that I’d started this conversation in private. If he was going to tell me I looked older than my age, I didn’t need everyone else to hear it, too.

  “Like it or not, age means nothing on camera,” he said. “Surely you must know there are thirty-year-olds playing high school characters.”

  Sure, so why wasn’t I doing that, too?

  “It’s not to say you look old at all,” Jim said. “In fact, we’ll be using make-up effects to age you a little. I just thought, from what I’ve seen of your acting, that you’d be the perfect person to play Ivy.”

  “And I’m only thirty-one,” Sarah put in. “Some people have kids young.”

  “Right, I guess I technically could’ve had her at seventeen, if I wasn’t gayer than a three-dollar bill.”

  I glared at her hard, and Sarah withered. All right, now I felt bad. She was only trying to help—and she was cute, in a housewifey kind of way. Shoulder-length brown hair, rosy skin, chubby cheeks. Her outfit looked like she’d bought it at Target without trying it on. I didn’t see a ring on her finger. What’d happened to the kid’s dad?

  “Anyway,” I said, “it’s fine. If you’re going to make me look older, I’m sure no one will even associate me with the twelve-year-old that I played on another show.” I wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, but it came out that way anyway.

  “Katie, you’ve been out of the public eye for a few years,” Jim said. “The general public is aware that people get older. They’ll be able to handle seeing you as a mom. If you have any other concerns about this, let’s address them later.”

  “Fine by me.” I picked up my purse.

  Jim coughed. “Um… we’re actually just getting started. We were going to do a cold read of the first episode.”

  “Right.” I rubbed my temples. “Of course.”

  *

  A few minutes into reading, the episode had captivated my attention. The two families—my character Ivy, her husband Archer, and their child Naomi, along with Charlotte and Wesley with their kids Gavin and Lida—were neighbors who’d gone to spend the winter holidays at a cabin in the woods.

  They began arguing a few days into their trip, Ivy and Archer clashing over longstanding money issues while Charlotte and Wesley got annoyed with Lida over her performance at school. Realizing she wasn’t enjoying herself, Ivy was thinking about lea
ving early.

  Unfortunately, a massive snowfall trapped all of them there halfway through the episode. They weren’t able to dig themselves out of the cabin, and their phone service and Internet were down. Tension grew throughout the day as they tried to figure out whether they’d have enough to eat.

  “This snow can’t last forever,” Richard said, playing Archer. “It’ll be melted by morning for sure, and everything will be fine. Everything between us, too.”

  “I don’t know,” I read. “We clearly have a lot of issues that we need to work on. Being in this situation has really brought them to light.”

  “Then we’ll get counseling,” Richard said. “We’ll work things out as long as we love each other. And I do love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “All characters go to bed,” Jim read. “Fade in to the kitchen at dawn as Katie makes her way down the stairs. Pan out to reveal Charlotte’s lifeless body bleeding on the floor.”

  The room was silent—then exploded. “What?” I said, yelling over everyone else. “Quinn’s character is dead, just like that? Who the hell killed her?”

  “That’s what you’re going to find out.” Jim smirked. “Ready for a second read-through, or do we need a coffee break?”

  “Seriously?” I demanded. “You’re not going to tell us?”

  “No, that would influence your acting.” He flipped back to the start of his script. “Let’s read through it again.”

  Cursing, I settled into my chair.

  *

  Another read-through, and then we discussed the episode—what our character motivations were, what was going on beneath the surface. I huffed as Jim explained my character Ivy’s backstory. The only thing I needed to know was whether she was the killer or not. I didn’t think she was, but how could I know for sure?

  After that, we all got up and acted out the scene with blocking. “That’s the details of how you move in relation to the camera,” Jim explained for Sarah and Emma’s benefit.