American Star

by Jackie Collins

  "So am I."

  They grinned at each other. It had taken time, but they'd finally

  formed an alliance.

  When Harlan came home he immediately knew something was up.

  "Where're you going'?" he asked Cyndra, his big eyes accusing.

  "Nowhere," she said, unable to look at him.

  "We gotta tell him," Nick warned her in a low voice.

  "Look, I love him as much as you do, but there's no way we can drag a

  kid along. I know my mom-she'll get used to me splittin'but if we take

  Harlan, she'll send the cops after us."

  "We can't just walk out on him."

  She stared at Nick, sour-faced. "If we tell him, he'll run straight to

  Aretha Mae."

  "Not if he makes us a promise."

  "What's going' on?" Harlan asked, edging nearer.

  "C'mere, kid," Nick said, patting his mattress. "Howdja like to have

  this trailer all to yourself? You're getting' older now, you can bring

  girls here, throw wild parties, huh?"

  Harlan's eyes filled with tears. He'd known it was bad news. "You an'

  Cyndra going' away, ain'tcha?"

  "Yeah-we gotta go," Nick said. "But it ain't that bad."

  Cyndra joined in. "One of these days I'll come back for you. That's a

  promise.

  Harlan shook his head. "No, you won't."

  "Yes, I will," she insisted. "Wanna bet?"

  "I'll take the bet," Nick said. "An' if she don't, I will. How's

  that?"

  Harlan was unconvinced. He wiped away his tears with the back of his

  hand and tried to pretend it didn't matter.

  Nick felt bad-but what could he do? He'd made a decision and he

  intended to stick to it.

  The next morning dawned exceptionally bright and clear. Since it was

  payday the plan was for everybody to go to work, pick up their checks

  and meet around six. Joey told his mother he would be away for the

  weekend. Cyndra told Aretha Mae the same thing. Unfortunately Primo

  overheard and launched himself into a sitting position. "Where you

  going'?" he demanded, as if he had a right to know.

  "None of your business," Cyndra replied sharply, hating the sight of

  him.

  Aretha Mae sensed something going on. She pulled her daughter to one

  side and said in a hoarse whisper, "You got money comin' Real money.

  Cyndra was surprised. "I have?"

  "Mr. Browning-he came through."

  "Why?" Cyndra asked suspiciously.

  Cause I told him he hadda do what's right."

  "I thought you didn't believe me."

  "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. It don't matter-he owes you."

  "flow much money?" Cyndra asked quickly.

  "We'll talk about it next week," Aretha Mae said.

  "Why not now?"

  "Now's not the time."

  On their way to work Cyndra told Nick about the conversation.

  "She knows," she said, nervously biting her thumbnail. "That's why

  she's telling me bout this money now. Whyn't she tell me before?"

  He shrugged. "Dunno. Why is old man Browning givin' you money

  anyway?"

  "It's a long story, she said, clamming up.

  He didn't push it; she'd tell him when she was ready.

  Now that he'd made the decision to leave he was impatient, although he

  did want to take the time to say goodbye to Betty Harris.

  She'd been good to him, and he owed her that.

  Since leaving the Brownings, Aretha Mae had been working over at the

  canning plant. It was a tougher job than maid's work, but at least it

  was a job. She hadn't told Primo she'd quit the Brownings, it was none

  of his damn business. Taking Primo back had been a mistake.

  She'd thought she might enjoy having a man around again, but what did

  he give her? Pure nothing.

  Benjamin Browning had kept his word. He'd had no choice really -he

  couldn't risk Aretha Mae revealing him for the pervert he was.

  She'd banked the five thousand dollars he'd handed over in cash.

  What a fine day that had been!

  At first she hadn't planned on telling Cyndra about the money-it was

  there for an emergency. But that morning she'd had a funny feeling

  when Cyndra said goodbye. The girl was up to somethingand that's why

  she'd mentioned the money. She didn't want her daughter doing anything

  foolish-like running off with Joey Pearson.

  A girl with Cyndra's looks could do far better than him.

  On Fridays Aretha Mae worked a half day. Lately she'd been meeting

  Harlan after school, taking him down Main Street and treating him to

  ice cream. They were both lonesome since Luke's death.

  She thought of Luke often, and her heart was filled with sadness.

  Poor Luke. . . poor baby . . he'd never had a chance.

  Harlan was standing outside school when she arrived. She tried to take

  his hand but he pulled away from her.

  "How ya doin', baby?" she asked, thinking what a fine-looking boy he

  was.

  "Don' call me that, Mama." Harlan glanced around, making sure none of

  his schoolmates had heard.

  "Gonna buy you ice cream," Aretha Mae promised.

  Harlan's heart was heavy. He didn't want ice cream-he wanted God to

  bring Luke back. And maybe at the same time God could persuade Cyndra

  and Nick to stay.

  Betty Harris wasn't surprised. "I knew you'd be on your way one of

  these days," she said, inviting Nick into her living room. "I didn't

  realize it would be so soon.

  "There's nothing for me to hang around here for," he explained,

  flopping down on her overstuffed couch. "I gotta get away from my old

  man before I end up like him."

  "What makes you think that would happen?" Betty asked.

  Cause if I stay anywhere near him I ain't got no chance."

  "And you imagine you'll have a chance in Chicago?"

  "Why not? It's a big city."

  "Big cities can be cruel places," she said quietly. "You're young and

  good-looking. I'm sure you'll get plenty of offers-perhaps not always

  the ones you expect."

  "I can take care of myself," he said edgily.

  "I know that." She sighed, thinking how vulnerable he was-in spite of

  his tough exterior. "I'll miss you, Nick. Teaching you has been a

  wonderful experience, you're really a talented boy. You have a natural

  ability to become whatever character you're portraying."

  She hesitated before giving him what she considered the ultimate

  compliment. "Sometimes you remind me of a young James Dean."

  He laughed, slightly embarrassed. "Hey, let's not get carried away or

  maybe I won't go.

  Betty Harris watched him, her expression serious. "If people see you,

  if you get the right opportunities . . . I shouldn't encourage you,

  because acting is the most difficult profession in the world." She

  sighed again. "You do know that most actors are out of work most of

  their lives, don't you?"

  "I gotta take the chance," he said, wishing she'd cut out the negative

  shit.

  She nodded wisely. "Yes, that's the right attitude. Positive

  thinking.

  Wait here a minute."

  She left the room and he got up and paced around. He loved being in

  Betty's living room, it was so warm and comfortable, a real home.

  There were photographs in silver frames
and stacks of interesting

  books. God, how he wished he'd been encouraged to read as a child.

  He hadn't even known what a book was until his first day of school.

  He picked up a picture of Betty in a white lace gown, her hair tumbling

  in soft curls around her youthful face.

  "I was pretty, wasn't I?" she said, coming back into the room and

  startling him.

  "You still are," he replied gallantly.

  "So young and so smart. There'll always be a woman to look after

  you.

  "That's not what I want."

  "I know." She smiled and handed him a padded envelope.

  "What's in it?" he asked, weighing it from hand to hand.

  "Something I want you to have," she said earnestly.

  "If it's money I can't take it."

  "It's not."

  "Can I open it?"

  "Go ahead."

  He tore the envelope open. It was Betty's precious signed copy of A

  Streetcar Named Desire.

  "Betty . . . Jeer, this is great."

  "Good. I want you to have it."

  He tucked the book under his arm. "Betty, I gotta tell you .

  you've been so good time, I'll always remember you."

  "I'll remember you too, Nick. Take care of yourself." Impulsively she

  stepped forward and hugged him. He hugged her back, tightly.

  Betty represented his last vestige of security and he was going to miss

  her and their intense sessions.

  When he left her house he did so without a backward glance. It was

  time to move on. His new life was just beginning.

  They met at six o'clock on Friday night-excited, maybe a little bit

  frightened, but none of them showed it.

  Joey had the trip all planned. The last bus to Ripley, and then they'd

  hop a freight train all the way to Kansas City, and from there

  -Chicago.

  The three of them stared at one another.

  "This is it!" Joey said.

  "Goodbye, Bosewell," Cyndra said.

  "I ain't comin' back till I've made it," Nick said confidently. "And I

  will make it. Then I'll come back for Lauren. Bet on it." very

  morning Lauren awoke with the same blank feeling. As soon as she

  opened her eyes she felt a dull ache of despair, and there was nothing

  she could do about it.

  She'd begun to hate her parents. Walking into the kitchen and having

  breakfast with them was an effort. Sitting at the table and listening

  to their inane conversation. Didn't they realize they were killing her

  inside? Didn't they realize they were mean-spirited and unrelenting

  and, above all, wrong?

  She thought about Nick all the time and in her heart she knew she had

  to see him. But how? That was the big question: How?

  Every day her father took her to school and her mother met her

  afterward, driving up in the family station wagon, giving her no chance

  to escape. This had been going on for six weeks-ever since she'd been

  caught.

  "When are you going to trust me?" she asked one day.

  "When your father and I feel that we can," her mother replied with a

  pious expression.

  There was no point in pursuing it. Trying to change their opinion of

  Nick was useless.

  Today it was Monday, and Nick was on her mind more than ever.

  She walked over to her bedroom window and gazed out. The sun blazed

  hot and steady-unseasonably so. Downstairs she could hear her mother

  calling out, "Lauren! Breakfast is ready."

  Soon she would have to sit in the car next to her father as he dropped

  her off at school. Delivered and collected. And she knew they checked

  with the school secretary every day to make sure she hadn't taken

  off.

  Listlessly she wandered downstairs, ate the breakfast her mother had

  prepared-picking at the food with absolutely no appetite at all -and

  collected her books.

  Phil Roberts appeared five minutes later. Was it her imagination, or

  did the atmosphere between her parents seem tense? They hardly seemed

  to talk anymore. She was sure she was responsible. It had to do with

  the fact that her father had not concluded the insurance deal with

  Benjamin Browning, therefore her mother had not received the social and

  financial boost she'd expected, and this had obviously put a strain on

  their relationship.

  Too bad. It was nothing compared to what she was going through.

  "It's hot today," Phil grumbled, struggling into his jacket and

  grabbing a slice of toast on his way through the kitchen.

  "The weather report says it will be hotter than yesterday," Jane

  remarked.

  Phil did not look in her direction. He walked into the hall and

  examined himself in the mirror, reaching up to pull out a strand of

  gray hair. "I'll be home late tonight," he called out, picking up his

  briefcase.

  Jane did not respond. She slammed dishes into the sink and ran the

  water.

  On the way to school Lauren decided to open up a conversation.

  "Daddy, can we talk?" she began, determined to get through to him.

  "Not today, Lauren," he said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

  "I'm not in the mood."

  "When will you be in the mood?"

  "Stop bothering me.

  Her life was breaking into little pieces and all her father could say

  was "Stop bothering me." Once she'd felt she could go to him with any

  problem, now there was a cold war between them. Didn't he care that he

  was driving her away?

  When he dropped her off she didn't even bother saying goodbye.

  Dawn Kovak lingered near the lockers. She and Dawn were not exactly

  close friends, but Dawn greeted her as if they were. "Did you hear

  what Nick did to Stock?" Dawn asked.

  Lauren was immediately alert. "What?"

  Dawn was determined to draw it out. "You mean you haven't heard?"

  "No. Are you going to tell me or not?"

  Dawn smoothed down her tight skirt. "No need to get edgy."

  "I'm not edgy. If you have something to tell me, go ahead."

  "Well, from what I hear, Nick knocked Stock on his ass." Dawn couldn't

  help giggling.

  Lauren waited to hear more. "Are you sure?"

  "It happened outside the drugstore. Stock was on his way in with a

  couple of guys, and Nick was on his way out. They got into some kinda

  beef and Nick creamed him. Funny, huh?"

  Even though she was dying to hear all the details Lauren attempted to

  stay cool. "Is . . . is Nick all right?"

  "To tell you the truth," Dawn replied matter-of-factly, "me and Nick-we

  don't see each other anymore.

  Lauren nodded. "Oh."

  "Look," Dawn said, suddenly sympathetic, "I got the message about how

  he feels about you. I wouldn't interfere with that."

  Lauren felt tears sting her eyelids. Nobody had spoken to her about

  Nick before, there wasn't anyone she could confide in. "My parents

  won't allow me to see him," she said miserably. "I don't know what to

  do."

  Dawn looked suitably concerned. "Yeah, Joey told me. Listen," she

  added jauntily, "parents are a pain-maybe they'll change their

  minds."

  Lauren shook her head. "Not my parents." She paused for a moment. "I

  feel so bad about everything.
It's my fault Nick got kicked out of

  school. I mean, if it wasn't for me . .

  "Don't sweat it. He's happy working down at the gas station, beats

  school any day. And it's not your fault. Stock's the one that had his

  parents do the dirty."

  "I know you're right, but sometimes I wake up in the morning and all I

  want to do is run away.

  Dawn nodded understandingly. "We all get that feeling."

  "Really?"

  "Sure. It's natural."

  A couple of girls rushed past on their way to class. "C'mon, Lauren,

  you'll be late," one of them called out.