by Beth Ciotta
She shooed him away from her car and revved the engine. “I can tell you one thing. She tires quickly of pushovers. Next time she asks you to run an errand, tell her you’re busy.”
And with that she stepped on the gas, leaving Murphy in the dust.
Or so she thought.
Chapter Two
When was Sofie going to stop toying with men’s affections? Lulu cranked up the car’s heater and sighed. One day her sister’s outrageous flirting and string of affairs were going to catch up to her. One day she’d meet her match and then she’d be in deep doo. Sofia Marino, the youngest descendent of the famous theatrical Marinos, was hot-blooded, ambitious, and irresistible to the opposite sex. When like met like—BOOM!—beware of fireworks.
Lulu glanced in the Bug’s rearview mirror and adjusted her tiara. Speaking of fireworks, she’d experienced a few sparks when Murphy, the poor besotted slob, had touched her hand. She didn’t know who was more pathetic: him or her?
No, wait. Definitely her. She’d bet her Austrian crystal jewels Murphy wasn’t sexually deprived. He was, after all, dating her sister.
So where was this one from? Philadelphia? New York? With his dark jeans, maroon crewneck, and stylish leather jacket, he had a hip look about him that suggested he was in the business. Sofie usually stayed away from actors as they were stereotypically self-absorbed and Sof, herself, craved enormous attention. Murphy didn’t strike her as needy. The man hummed with quiet confidence. Maybe he was the screenwriter her sister had been emailing. Or that cameraman she’d mentioned hooking up with on her last commercial shoot. Although hadn’t she raved about his beautiful, long black ponytail? Murphy had a salt and pepper buzz cut à la George Clooney. S-e-x-y. Not that she’d noticed.
Actually, she had been oblivious at first. She’d been preoccupied with finding her shoe, memorizing the details of Molly McGuire’s personalized fairy tale, and hitting the road on time. She’d rather stick a needle in her eye than to be late for a child’s birthday party. You only turn five once. Sofie often joked that the sun could explode and Lulu wouldn’t notice if she were “in the zone.”
Only she wasn’t “in the zone” now, thanks to Murphy. He’d wrapped his warm, strong hand over hers, breaking her concentration and rousing physical desires she’d thought comatose. One heart-jolting touch and she’d been ready to rip off his clothes and tackle him in the driveway. In broad daylight. At least that’s the way the racy scenario had played in her brief fantasy.
Rudy and Jean-Pierre would be so proud.
Her meddling friends constantly urged her to explore her sensual side. Rudy Gallow, a man who’d spent the last few months with his nose stuck in a growing library of self-help books, was especially committed to helping her discover the joy of a healthy physical relationship (stress on the word healthy). Even more so than her buttinski sister. That was saying a lot.
But Lulu had been so shocked by her burst of sexual interest, that instead of flirting with Murphy, she’d raced away from him as though he were the devil. Which in a sense he was. Tempted by her sister’s boyfriend. How wicked was that?
Focus on Molly McGuire’s loonytale. Get into character. Focus.
She merged onto the Garden State Parkway heading north and stepped on the gas. Soon she’d be surrounded by little children and everything that was good in life. Focus.
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
Maybe Sofie met Murphy during one of her shifts at the casino. As a scantily-clad greeter-girl she rivaled the poker tables in attracting male gamblers. In the four weeks that she’d been employed at the Carnevale, the exotic, mocha-skinned brunette had racked up an astonishing total of proposals, only half involving marriage.
Given her sister’s unique beauty and innate talent, it boggled Lulu’s mind that she’d failed in her attempts to secure a major Broadway role. Sure she’d landed supporting roles, several cable infomercials, and had even enjoyed a stint as a QVC spokesperson, but major stardom eluded her. Credible roles had dwindled this past year along with her bank account. Though Sofie would never admit it, Lulu knew the moment the ambitious actress had reached her emotional limit. The phone call in which she had griped, “If I could just lose ten more pounds” had prompted Lulu to take control.
Enough was enough.
She’d immediately guilted her little sister into moving back into their grandmother’s home for the winter. “Viv’s in Florida for the next several months,” she’d said. “It’ll be good for both of us. I could use the company and you could use the financial break. You can work part-time at the Carnevale Casino like me, and zip up to Manhattan for prime auditions.”
When Sofie balked, Lulu played the sympathy card, crying loneliness and depression. Her ex-husband, Terry Ross, had moved to Chicago with his girlfriend, and their grandmother Viv had temporarily transplanted to Orlando to “reminisce” with an old boyfriend. It wasn’t entirely a lie. She had been lonely. But mostly she’d been worried that if Sofie didn’t get out of Manhattan fast, her insecurities and the competitive acting market would eat her alive.
Funny, Sofie considered Lulu the vulnerable one, but Lulu knew without a doubt that beneath her baby sister’s tough exterior beat an ultra-sensitive heart. As restless and driven as her sister was, she also knew Sofie would soon tire of living down at the shore. If she’d just stay long enough to recharge, Lulu would feel a heck of a lot better about her leaving. Surely the attention she was getting at the Carnevale was boosting her confidence. Sofie adored flirtatious men and reveled in witty, sexual banter.
Not Lulu. Although enormously popular in her role as Gemma the Juggler, she couldn’t wait until the day she could afford to quit the adult playground.
Then stop daydreaming and focus on your real passion. Get into character. Focus!
Miraculously, by the time she hit the cookie-cutter housing development, parked the Bug, and knocked on the McGuire’s front door, she was firmly back in the zone.
“Princess Charming!”
Six boys huddled at the opposite end of the McGuire’s spacious living room. The younger ones too shy to approach. The older ones too cool to care. Lulu wasn’t worried. She’d win them over with her wizard sticks, her creative answer to the girly magic wand. She hadn’t met a boy yet who wasn’t a sucker for her wizard stick.
Fifteen girls, ranging in age from four to six, stampeded Lulu. Grinning ear to ear, she reveled in the delightful assault. Several hugged her while others stared up in awe. All of the girls “oohed” and “ahhed’ over her latest creation—a shimmering pink gown inspired by Glenda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz. Thank you, Jean-Pierre for the sequined trim and daisy appliqués! Her friend, and costume designer extraordinaire, was right. The extra glitz and whimsy made a definite impression.
“I’m Molly!” a red-haired girl exclaimed. She was tall for her age, plump with baby fat and cute as a kitten. She wore a frilly white and yellow dress, yellow tights, and white sneakers with (surprise) yellow laces. Her ponytail, held high on her head by a yellow satin scrunchie, drooped to the left.
“It’s her birthday,” two other girls said.
“Indeed,” Lulu said, affecting a British accent. “‘Tis why I am here.” She bent at the waist, coming eye to eye with Molly. “‘Tis a very special day. And you,” she winked, “are a very special girl.”
“Princess Charming.”
This time the voice was adult. Molly’s mother. Lulu had never met Mrs. McGuire face-to-face. They’d conducted their business over the phone. But she recognized the voice, not to mention the way she was looking at Molly with motherly pride.
“Go into the family room, kids,” she said. “I need to speak to the princess.”
The boys hightailed it. The girls didn’t budge.
“I’ll be along shortly,” Lulu promised. “And have I got a surprise for you!”
The girls squealed in delight and skipped after the boys.
Mrs. McGuire smiled. “Molly’s been look
ing forward to this all week. She fell in love with you at Lisa Hadley’s party last February. It’s such a shame Lisa came down with the flu this morning. She cried buckets when she realized she was going to miss you.”
“Please give her my best,” Lulu said, scrambling to put a face with the name. This year she’d appeared at nearly a hundred parties. After a while names and faces blurred. Not to mention her memory was less reliable than her seventy-two-year-old grandmother’s. Which is why she kept detailed files. Repeat calls and referrals constituted most of her freelance work.
“I know once you get started I don’t stand a chance of getting you alone, so I thought I’d square things with you ahead of time.” She handed Lulu a folded check. “Could I bother you for some business cards for the other mothers? It’s extraordinary what you do with these children. Getting them involved. Encouraging their imaginations. Teaching morals. And the personal storybook!” She squeezed Lulu’s hand. “I can’t wait to see Molly’s.”
“I think she’ll like it.”
“I know she’ll love it.”
Lulu fidgeted. “Thanks.” No matter how often a parent gushed over her loonytales, she still got embarrassed. She’d never been comfortable with compliments, but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the kind words. They reminded her of why she continued to pursue a stressful, financially unstable career. Making a positive difference in impressionable children’s lives was worth the occasional cancellation, bounced check, or obnoxious client.
She stashed the payment in the side pocket of her patchwork prop bag, dug out a handful of business cards, and passed them to Mrs. McGuire. If she was lucky, she’d book three to four future engagements based on this evening’s performance.
What she wouldn’t give to be able to support herself solely on Lulu’s Loonytales. Unfortunately, since she refused any sort of financial support from Terry, she now had to supplement her freelance business with the part-time job at the Carnevale. In addition to the steady income, she needed the health benefits. Thank goodness she’d inherited her grandfather’s talent for circus skills. She’d watched, learned, and practiced at an early age, and therefore, she was proficient at juggling balls, torches, and clubs.
The Carnevale had been thrilled to welcome her into their strolling entertainer program. She’d been there nine looong months. It wasn’t the job that she resented, but the revealing costumes the specialty performers were required to wear. It was one thing if you were a cast member of Venetian Vogue, the featured variety show in the casino’s showroom. There was a big difference between appearing on the main stage, where that imaginary fourth wall separated you from the audience, and performing your act in public areas, where patrons assumed they had unlimited heckling privileges. Day after day she endured catty comments from petty women and the stares of rude men. The worst were the sexual innuendos pertaining to her juggling. If she had a nickel for every time a man had said, “I’ve got a couple of balls you can handle,” she’d be a flipping millionaire!
She blamed Anthony Rivelli. The former casino vice president had set a precedent embracing the not-so-original motto “sex sells.” Even though the Casino Control Commission had demanded Anthony’s resignation due to a personal scandal, the casino had retained his policies. The current powers-that-be didn’t care that juggling required mobility. They didn’t care that her boobs almost popped out of her sequined corset at least once daily. They cared that the Carnevale was the highest ranking casino in Atlantic City, largely due to its aggressive, T&A entertainment campaign.
Some days she felt like cheap eye candy instead of a talented performer. Thank goodness she only had to sell out three days a week.
A burst of girlish giggles reclaimed her attention, reminding her that this was not one of those days. Today she was in her element. In her glory. Today was devoted to young minds and pure hearts yet untainted by the cynical world. Focused and energized, she smiled at Mrs. McGuire. “I should probably get in there.”
“You go on,” the woman said. “I’ll slip into the kitchen and let the other mothers know you’re about to start. The loonytale takes an hour, right?”
Lulu nodded.
“We’ll have cake after. I hope you’ll stay.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” She usually stayed an additional half an hour anyway, free of charge for casual hang time with the kids. More than a gig, this was her contribution to mankind.
Adrenaline pumping, armed with her imagination and a bag full of magic, she hustled into the balloon and streamer filled room. Coming face-to-face with twenty-one expectant, sugar-crazed munchkins would have intimidated a normal grown-up. Lulu beamed. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” she said, looking up and to her left. “Dexter the Dragon.”
An hour and forty-five minutes later, she said her good-byes.
Or tried to anyway.
Of the six boys who’d started out wary, three now wiggled their wizard sticks at their parents, hoping to turn them into frogs. The other three stood on the lawn, waving farewell to Dexter the Dragon, Princess Charming’s invisible sidekick.
She had a devil of a time shaking the girls. They wanted her and Dexter to spend the night. She finally convinced them that Dexter would lose his ability to breathe fire if he didn’t return to the Enchanted Forest before nightfall. The girls eyed the setting sun and then hurried the Princess and Dexter on their way.
Halfway to the corner, she experienced the icky sensation of being watched. She’d had a similar feeling a few times over the past few weeks. It was ridiculous really. As a performer she naturally drew attention. If people didn’t watch her she’d be unemployed. Still, this was different, the creep factor enough to give her the nervous prickles.
“Snap out of it,” she grumbled, attributing the paranoia to an overactive imagination and exhaustion. The only thing she was in danger of was falling asleep at the wheel.
Just then a small voice screamed, “Wait!”
Lulu whirled to find Molly McGuire racing down the sidewalk, her cheeks sparkling with pixie dust, her hair braided with the royal ribbons of Loxley Castle. The little girl launched herself at Lulu and hugged tight. “I love you, Princess Charming.”
Lulu’s eyes misted as a lump the size of a juggling ball welled in her throat. It didn’t get better than this. How many times she’d wished she had a child of her own to cherish. “I love you back, Molly.” Children were easy to love. Children inspired joy and hope.
If only adults could be so pure of heart.
She pushed the bitter thought aside. No matter what Sofie lectured, she wouldn’t blame her ex-husband when it was she who was flawed.
Forcing a smile, she kissed the top of Molly’s head and then sent her back to her parents. Once the little girl skipped into the safety of her front yard, she lugged her May Pole and prop bag down the street and around the corner. It wasn’t until she was sitting in her Bug that she let out a weary sigh. Mentally and physically drained, she looked forward to getting home, stripping off her costume and makeup, and soaking in an aromatic bubble bath.
She’d been crazy to book two loonytales in one day. Between the driving, the costume changes, the personalized stories and games … This morning she’d been a mermaid, princess of the magic seas. This afternoon a fairytale princess of the enchanted forest. The McGuires had booked months ago. The Ditellis just last week. She’d tried to beg off, but Mr. Ditelli had been persuasive, saying that they’d only just heard about her and his little girl was set on an under-the-sea adventure with Princess Charming. How could she break the heart of a four-year-old? She’d convinced herself that, despite the added pressure and two hour round trip out of her way, it was worth the effort if only to see the smile on Farrah’s face when she introduced her under-the-sea sidekick, Seymour the Sea Serpent.
Envisioning that bubble bath and a cup of French vanilla coffee, Lulu followed her scribbled directions in reverse and headed back toward the parkway. With today’s loonytales behind her, she was fin
ally able to relax. Once she merged onto the divided highway, she cranked up the radio and gunned the accelerator.
She was singing along with an old Cyndi Lauper song and zipping merrily south when she spotted the state trooper car sitting in the median. “Crap!” She took her foot off the accelerator and tried to slow down ever so discreetly, but the trooper had already flicked on his siren and peeled onto the highway. “Rats!”
Wondering how she was going to get out of this one, she turned off the radio (this girl was no longer having fun) and pulled over to the side of the road. She couldn’t afford another speeding ticket. Another point on her driver’s license and her auto insurance would skyrocket beyond her means.
Pasting on an innocent smile, she rolled down her window and blinked up at the stern-faced trooper. “Good evening, officer.”
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked in a deep, bored voice.
Why did they always ask that? Was there some clever answer? If so, she wished someone would clue her in. She twirled a renegade corkscrew curl around her finger. “Um, was I speeding?”
“Yes.” Unsmiling, he checked his radar gun. “Seventy-eight in a sixty-five zone.”
It was all she could do not to ask how many points that would be. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t afford even one. “Gosh. Really?” she asked in her best blond-bimbo voice.
He held out his hand. “Could I have your driver’s license, registration, and insurance card, please?”
Crap. “Sure.” She dug the plastic coated IDs out of her poodle purse and passed them to him. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she watched in the side mirror as he walked back to his car, climbed in, and conversed with his partner. Wait until they ran her name though the computer and got a load of her driving record. Double crap. She tensed when he walked back, leaned down, and returned her ID.
“You have quite a record, Ms. Ross.”
She screwed up her face. “Please don’t call me that.” She’d been trying to revert to her maiden name for months. The legal process was proving painfully slow.