On the Come Up

by Hannah Weyer

  She talked to Blessed for a while, telling her about the house and the moose head and the queen-size beds and the quilted blankets and goose-down pillows—how they all staying in one place together like a family. Blessed said, That’s nice, AnnMarie. That sound nice. Then she put Niki on the phone. Niki said, You ain’t gonna believe this, AnnMarie.

  What happened.

  You not gonna believe this …

  What happened, Niki, tell me.

  We was playing, me and Star, and you know how she been pushing herself up and wobbling, well I kinda had one hand reaching out, you know, helping her and guess what she did—she took a step, swear to god AnnMarie, let go my hand and took a little step.

  And AnnMarie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She said, Oh, my god. How she do that, she only eight month old—put that girl on the phone. Let me talk to her.

  AnnMarie said, Hi Star it’s your mommy and I miss you and I’m proud a you and are you walking, you gonna walk for me when I get home?

  But Star started to wail and AnnMarie heard the phone drop, commotion on the other end. She sat down on the bed, felt her shoulders slump and a tiredness creep in, she felt tired all of a sudden and a little pang of loneliness, listening to Star screaming on the other end of the line. She pictured the apartment, Blessed standing in the middle of the room, leaning on her cane, Star’s face wailing, and when Niki got back on the line, she said, Word. I guess she missing you. Blessed got her though … she be fine.

  When AnnMarie got off the phone, the house was quiet. She wandered through the condo, looking in the bedrooms, smelled the little soaps in the bathroom, went downstairs. She felt a cool draft where the sliding door was cracked open, heard voices on the deck.

  She stood at the glass watching Maya in a one-piece bathing suit join the others, lifting her bare foot off the snow as she climbed into the hot tub. Steam rising off the surface, jets burbling the water, they breaths coming in little puffs. They was talking softly, Dean’s arm slung over the side. He look different, AnnMarie thought, his chest bare, glasses fogged over. Melody climbed out and sat on the ledge, steam swirling off her skin. Sonia wasn’t there. Last minute, she had to stay and do pickup scenes for the other movie she making. But everyone else was in the hot tub—Dean, Maya, the cameraman Bobby, Albert the sound man. She heard Melody say, Come on, AnnMarie, get in. AnnMarie glanced up.

  Y’all crazy, she said. It’s freezing outside.

  But they all turned, calling her name, saying Come on, AnnMarie. It feels good.

  Later that night, when she crawled into bed, she couldn’t sleep. She lay there for a long while thinking. She’d gone ahead and stripped down to her tee and undies, stepped across the deck, the snow burning her feet, and climbed into that tub. They’d been right, her body slowly adjusted to the piping hot water, her toes lifting, bumping into Melody’s under the water. It had felt good. Underneath the covers, she pulled her knees up to her chest. She pictured Star taking her first step, how it’d been Niki’s eyes and not hers to witness and a sudden longing for home swept through her. To be home and not here, in the big bed with soft sheets and a extra goose-down pillow under her head. She stared into the darkness, wondering if other actors and actresses felt this way too.

  41

  The day of the screening, they drove together in the crew van to the little town called Park City where the movie festival at. Out the window, AnnMarie saw mountains and snow everywhere and a ski lift cutting two black lines across a hill.

  Look, Melody said.

  People way up there, zigzagging through the powder, little tufts of white springing up behind they skis. It was mad beautiful.

  Dean was driving, tires crunching, a fresh snow falling, wipers blowing flakes from the windshield and when he rounded the corner, she could see the little town up there, like a fake village from a fairy-tale story.

  This is Main Street, Dean said.

  Banners hanging, flags flapping from poles, all different kinds of people walking along the sidewalk. Look like a black dude over there, standing by the curb. Sure was—one, two, three, four more stepping from a restaurant, looking mad stylish in big puffy coats with fur on they collar and mirrored sunglasses.

  Who those people, Dean, AnnMarie asked.

  Dean followed her gaze out the side window and said, I bet they’re with the movie Love & Basketball. Looks like Omar Epps over there.

  AnnMarie turned full around in her seat as they drove past, trying to catch a glimpse of that movie star. Her eyes scanning the group until she saw him, plain as day. Even from a distance, he was mad fine, standing with the others, talking on his phone. She’d seen all his movies—Higher Learning. Scream 2. The Wood. Dang, she didn’t know he gonna be here. He was too fine. Wonder if he coming to see her movie.

  Dean pulled up to the curb and AnnMarie heard someone slide the van door open. Everyone started to pile out but she didn’t. She couldn’t move, her heart pounding, it was like she stuck to the seat. The front of the theater was crowded with people, a line forming, bunching up the block, all the way to the corner. Her eyes fixed on the movie posters, a whole bunch of them spread across the wall—her face blown up big in between Sonia and Melody. Little twinkle in her eye, dang—she’d never seen herself macro-size like that …

  Dean leaned in. You okay, AnnMarie? You coming?

  Yeah, I’m coming. She took a breath and slid out the van, keeping her head down as she moved through the crowd on the sidewalk. She was mad nervous, crunching through the snow in her boots, feeling hot all over. Aware suddenly of her stonewash jeans up in her crack, and her hair—wondering whether she should take off the North Face earmuffs she got on. Which way more stylish. On or off. She bumped into Melody who had turned and was reaching for her hand as they entered the theater. More people inside, so many people, their voices swelled around her. A section of seats in the middle had been roped off with ribbon. Reserved. Reserved. Reserved.

  Sit here, Dean told them. I’m going to check on the projection system.

  AnnMarie took her coat off and tried to get comfortable—people filing in, finding seats, getting settled, cell phones pressed to their ears. She spotted Dean in the aisle, shaking hands with somebody, a small crowd forming around him. Who was all these people? Couple rows down, two white dudes sat, both a them with long sideburns and hair on their chin like goatees. Was these yuppies? AnnMarie didn’t know but they looked like college type—black-rimmed glasses, turtlenecks, wool scarves around they necks. She turned and looked over her shoulder, had the Love & Basketball people come in?

  White sideburn dude had put his boot up on the seat back in front of him, his arm slung over his knee, looking around. Blessed never let him get away with that, AnnMarie thought as she stared at that fella. He was kinda cute, his hair spiked up in front, his jeans cuffed just above his Tims. AnnMarie’s eyes drifted back to his face and saw that he was looking at her, smiling. She ducked her head, embarrassed and Melody nudged her, saying, Take off your earmuffs. So she pulled them off and tried to fix her hair, brush it back behind her ears.

  Feedback bounced off the walls as the festival people started to make their announcements and there was a shift in the room, AnnMarie could feel it, as the crowd settled down, the room growing quiet. The festival person talking about the movie and the director, Dean, and how happy they was to debut the film. AnnMarie turned, glancing around to see if Omar Epps had made it inside. Didn’t see nobody—where’d Dean go, everyone clapping all of a sudden so AnnMarie raised her hands and clapped along with them, then the lights went down and the movie start to play.

  She could barely pay attention, felt the flutterflies, her stomach bubbling but she held her eyes to the screen, watching herself act. Walking down the hall of the school with Melody, Sonia bent over her drum case, heard her voice say: What up, what up, what up. She thought, Dang. Is that what I look like … That what I sound like …? And she smiled, remembering the moment—Bobby with the big-ass camera up on his shoulder,
walking backwards out the door, three four five times they had to do it—all the project kids hanging outside. Maya passing them the walkie-talkie through the fence. She heard the audience laughing here and there but it was hard to get lost in the story because she kept thinking about everything she’d done and been through to get there. The lead drum majorette, Angie, teaching her to toss the flag high up in the air and catch it with both hands. How Darius had plucked her in the eye and made her suck his dick and all the sleepless nights with Star, those hazy hours of night, feeding time, diaper change. She wondered how Star doing. That girl took her first step and she’d missed it. She’d missed it. And before she knew what was happening, she felt tears burning—Sonia up there on the screen in the last shot of the movie. Riding on a train, just sitting, staring out the window, thinking about something. She could hear how quiet it had got—a hush like no one was breathing. Then the picture cut to black and names start to pop up in the credit roll and everyone was clapping. Clapping, clapping, clapping, mad loud.

  Melody reached for AnnMarie and pulled her into an embrace. AnnMarie hugged her back and they rocked each other, laughing, AnnMarie’s chin on her shoulder. She could feel all the people in the room, felt their eyes on her as the lights went up, but she dialed them down and scanned the room, like radar—looking for Omar Epps. Tried to spot his fine brown face in the crowd.

  42

  They went that night to a fancy restaurant to celebrate. It had crisp linen tablecloths and cloth napkins and two forks instead of one and wineglasses on the table, even before Dean had ordered the wine. It was the whole family—Melody, Dean, Maya, Albert, Bobby … Eating and laughing, having so much fun.

  The menu was in French but Maya leaned over and told her to get the linguine type thing with cream sauce. AnnMarie looked at her and said, You speak French, Maya? Maya laughed. She said, Only menu French, AnnMarie.

  People who’d seen the movie start dropping by the table. Just regular people, strangers coming over to say congratulations. Pulling up chairs, sitting down next to Dean, talking in his ear. Melody got up to use the bathroom just as a old white couple, like old in they fifties, dressed in matching ski coats and corduroy pants, tapped her on the shoulder. They said, We just wanted to tell you, we loved the movie. You were wonderful. We sooo enjoyed it. Smiling real big. Beautiful work, the man said. I’m a professor of film studies at USU. We drive in from Salt Lake City every year to attend the festival and this is one of the best movies we’ve seen.

  Thank you thank you thank you, AnnMarie said.

  It was so real, the lady said. And kind of sad if you think about it …

  Yes, the professor man said, it reminds me of that ethnographic film we saw recently, what was the title …

  Sad? What’s sad about it, AnnMarie thought.

  But she said, Yeah, Dean? He’s the director—he said our type movie, it’s called realism. That’s the movie style.

  Oh, they said. My goodness, a talented actress and smart too. Then they started asking AnnMarie questions, all kinds a questions—Who is she, where do she come from, you so young, what it like to be in a movie. And when Melody returned, they all got into a conversation about realism and the facts of life and how some girls choose to keep they babies, the professor and his wife pulling up chairs, leaning in to listen and Melody said, She a mother too, nodding to AnnMarie. They gasped, looking at her. You’re a mother and you acted in a movie? You’re so young. Oh my goodness …

  Two waiters had to come over, bring a extra table, put it at the end ’cause it was one big party all of a sudden—all the people spilling off the sides, Dean coming over to introduce himself, pulling up a chair, and for a long time the linguine with cream sauce sat untouched on her plate. It wasn’t until later, much later, when things had died down, that she got to it, picked up a fork and ate the whole thing cold.

  43

  The movie came out in Manhattan.

  It played for a month at a theater there in the West Village. Limited distribution, Dean called it. But it had a great run, great audience response, he told her. People loved it. It did so good that they moved it to another theater on Houston Street where it played for three more weeks. She remembered Albert, the sound man, talking about Houston Street near to where he lived by NYU. She took the train into the city one Saturday afternoon, just to see. To see the film title up there on the marquee. To look again at her face blown up big next to Sonia and Melody.

  It played in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle, Atlanta. It even went to Hawaii. She got her name in the New York Times, in the New York Post, in some other newspaper she never heard of called the Village Voice. They said she was compelling. A compelling performance. Authentic. Hell yeah, she authentic. When she met Dean for lunch, he brought her the clippings and she put them in the scrapbook that she’d started when Star was first born. Sonogram pictures, Star as a newborn, Star’s first birthday, pictures from the movie set.

  But it never played in Far Rockaway—ain’t no theater out there anyway. Got to go to Jamaica you want to see a movie. Take the dollar van to Green Acres you want to see a picture. And she realized there’d be disappointments.

  There gonna be disappointments.

  the brass ring

  44

  She never went back to high school. After stepping out, flying to the festival and having the time of her life—she never went back. She did some acting—a couple little roles here and there, but no starring role like Sonia.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t have her eye on the prize or that she’d lost track of the direction. But it was simple. Far Rock didn’t have no superhighway to Hollywood and one little art movie ain’t got enough gas to get you there. So when all the activity died down and the apartment on Gateway Boulevard shrunk back to size, she knew she needed to get herself a backup plan.

  It took her a whole year before she gave in and went out to Ida B. for a job training seminar. Her and three other teenage mothers sat on folding chairs underneath the hum of fluorescents in a basement room of the building. The job counselor told them there was lots of alternatives for girls like them—training programs and career paths and options. It was up to them to reach up and grab the opportunity. The lady presented a slide show, pressing the little clicker button, swapping out one picture after another, advertisements for various training schools, teenage graduates frozen on a pale yellow background, all of them dressed in uniforms, all different kinds of uniforms—hospitality, housekeeping, janitorial, customer service, food service, health industry. The lady passed out a information packet. AnnMarie flipped it open and stared at the glossy pages with the same teenagers smiling, teeth white and triumphant.

  Then she rode the bus home. She thought about how hospitality be code for maid training and janitorial be code for toilet scrubbing and how food industry meant McDonald’s. Do she want to have a career at McDonald’s. You work hard, the career lady said, climb the ladder, next thing you know you’re the manager, you’re running the restaurant, do you see? Do you see how it works?

  Do she want to be a manager at McDonald’s? How she gonna get another acting job if she working full-time at fast food. And where the fuck Darius. Hadn’t seen him in nearly two weeks. She knew his other baby mama, CeeCee, had given birth to a baby boy. Nadette had told her about it after he’d shown up at Crush one night, showing off a picture of his newborn. CeeCee back working, Nadette said. She on the money train, dancing, Darius don’t gotta do shit. Fuck all if he gave AnnMarie any money for Star. Last time was when she turned two. Took a twenty out his pocket, set it on the kitchen counter. She just looked at it. What the fuck she supposed to do with twenty dollars.

  By the time she stepped through the door, AnnMarie was in a foul mood, feeling sorry for herself and cranky. She dropped the information folder onto the couch and picked up Star, scowling.

  What’s the matter with you? Blessed said.

  AnnMarie ignored her. Why her pantie’s wet. You didn’t put her on the potty seat? />
  She refuse.

  AnnMarie tsked, walked Star into the bathroom, stripped her down and sat her on the potty chair. She said, You gotta learn, Booboo. You ain’t wearing a diaper no more, you got to pee on the seat. Now sit there ’til you go …

  I don’t gotta …

  Just sit there.

  Why? I don’t gotta go.

  AnnMarie groaned. I’m trying to teach you something. Now sit.

  Niki walked in right then, said, Hey y’all what up.

  Blessed glanced up. Don’t bother with her—she’s in a bad mood.

  Niki laughed, looking at AnnMarie. Why, what’s the matter with you.

  AnnMarie tsked. They telling me about options.

  Who telling you?

  Ida B. That job training thing over there …

  Blessed had been holding one of the flyers close to her face, her sight blurry, trying to read the words. What this say, Niki. Do it say Nurse School?

  Niki sat down on the couch, took the flyer from Blessed’s hand. Yeah. It says Caring. Nursing Aide Training Program.

  Blessed nodded. Um-hm. You got a brain in you, AnnMarie. You could be a nurse aide. Get yourself a job in a hospital.

  Hell yeah … Help out all the injuries, Niki said. Take a pulse … find a beat. Find a beat, take a pulse. Niki turning it into a rhyme.

  AnnMarie cracked up. Shut up, Niki. Crazy.

  AnnMarie shifted, thinking about it. Niki’d gone ahead and got her GED. Took her a year to do it, but she made it happen. Still didn’t have no job but she was looking. Wanted to work in a bank. Be around all that money. She’d even gone into TD Bank, asked for a application but they told her she need to get a degree first. Next step. Always a step.

  Do the nursing program, AnnMarie. You make a good nurse, her mother was saying, sounding positive.