I squirm a little in my seat, uncomfortable with Mom’s rare moment of honesty. I’m so used to her shifting blame that I don’t know what to say when she finally accepts some. “You did the best you could, Mom.”
She lifts her eyes but not her head and looks at me from under her stringy hair. “Wasn’t good enough.”
I shrug. “We turned out okay.” For the most part.
She pulls her head out of her hands and looks at me for a long second, as if finally realizing maybe it’s true. Her face looks younger all of a sudden, less haggard, as she straightens her arm and brushes her bony fingers across the back of my hand. “I guess so. You’re a pretty good kid, aren’t you? Maybe I didn’t screw up too bad after all.”
I don’t even know what to say. For some unexplained reason, a wet lump forms in the back of my throat. It’s not like she said she loved me, so why does it feel that way?
A tired smile pulls at her mouth as she draws her hand back. “So, if that’s true, when are you gonna find a man?”
And just like that, the moment is gone and we’re back on track.
I take a deep breath and swallow. “I’m still living with Brett. It’s been almost a year.”
“The model?” she says, her eyebrows rising.
“He’s an actor, Mom. On Broadway. Not a model.”
“But you don’t got no picture,” she says with a skeptical squint. I’m pretty sure she thinks Brett is a figment of my imagination. Somehow it’s not real if she can’t see proof.
“You know they take my phone. I can’t bring it in here.”
She crumples the Oh Henry! wrapper and shoots it basketball style at the trash can in the corner. It misses by a mile and uncrumples itself on the cement floor. “What about cigarettes? Did you bring me any?”
This is the part of the program where she gets in all her jabs to remind me what a shitty kid I am.
“You know we’re not allowed to bring those in either.”
She frowns deeper. “You’d have snuck some in if you loved me.”
Who said I loved you?
The thought springs out of my mind like some demented jack-in-the-box. The scary-clown kind that gives little kids nightmares.
In Mom’s defense, I’ve never told her about anything that happened to me after she got her sorry ass thrown in jail. Maybe that’s why, despite everything, I don’t mind coming here. She never gives me that look I get from Mallory—the one that reminds me she knows all my shit and she feels sorry for me.
“Are they keeping you busy?” I ask, just for something to say.
“Oh, yeah.” She makes a big production of rolling her eyes. “Big trip planned for tomorrow. I’m walking the runway in Paris, then shopping in Monte Carlo.”
I slouch in my chair and fold my arms across my chest. “Sorry.”
We sit in silence for the next fifteen minutes, and the visitor room starts to fill up. The chatter gets louder by the second, which only punctuates our silence.
“You want another candy bar?” I finally ask.
She shrugs.
I get up and buy her two. I come back and drop them on the table, then we sit in silence for another fifteen minutes while she eats them.
“So, I gotta go, but I’ll see you next month,” I tell her when she’s done.
She stands and turns for the door, and I pull myself out of my seat as the guard opens it for her. But just before she disappears through it, she glances at me over her shoulder. “Bye, Hilary.”
The lump is my throat is back. I can’t remember the last time she called me by my name. And the look in her eyes when she said it . . . like it was the saddest word known to man . . .
I head back through security and collect my bag, looking forward to the walk back to the train station.
“WHERE YOU BEEN?” Brett asks when I come through the door. He’s on the couch slipping on his shoes.
I peel off my jacket. “The same place I always am on the first of the month.”
He just looks at me for a minute, then understanding dawns. “Your mom.”
I nod.
“Crazy as ever?” he asks with a smirk.
“She’s not crazy,” I say. Ever since I told Brett about Mom, he keeps thinking she’s in some mental institution or something. “She’s incarcerated.”
He shrugs, then scoops up his gym bag and stands, hiking it onto his shoulder. “So, I heard from Tim about that audition.”
I look up from where I was hanging my jacket on the peg near the door. “And?”
“They’re replacing the pregnant chick after the first of the year, so they’re auditioning the first week in December.”
My heart sinks as I step deeper into the room. “That’s over a month away.”
“Chill, Hilary. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.” He squeezes my ass on his way to the door. “Wish I had time for a quickie.”
Something in my gut squirms in a not-so-good way and I slap his hand away.
He grins and pulls the door open. “See you after the show. Your ticket’s on the counter.”
Shit! I totally forgot it’s opening night. Guess my mind has been elsewhere for the last few weeks. “Great. I’ll see you down there. Break a leg.”
He grins over his shoulder and swings the door shut.
I move to the kitchen and pull my phone out of my pocket, dialing the bar.
“Yo!” Jerry yells into the receiver.
“Hey, Jerry. It’s Hilary.”
“Don’t you dare bag out on me,” he warns.
“I’m hacking up a lung here, Jerry,” I lie, barking out a cough. “You seriously don’t want me there.” I need the money, so it’s almost never that I do this. I can’t believe I forgot to ask for the night off.
“You better get your ass better before tomorrow. I need you this weekend.”
“I’ll find some drugs. I’ll be fine.”
He hangs up without another word.
I shower and pull Brett’s favorite dress out of the closet. It’s a black backless number with an asymmetrical hem. The last time I wore it, we had sex in the back of the cab on the ride uptown from closing night of Brett’s last show. I think about wearing no underwear in case he’s planning a repeat performance, but that uncomfortable tightening in my stomach is there again at the thought.
I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me.
I pull on a black lace thong and slip the dress over my head, then turn and look in the mirror. This dress is perfect with my butterflies. They’re a slash of color that sweeps up from the waist at the lower right and disappears behind the strap at the top left. I don’t even need any jewelry. “Yep, baby,” I tell the mirror as I adjust the neckline. “You still got it.”
I smooth my kinks back into a loose bun and twist a few corkscrews down the side of my face, blend on some blush, and brush on some mascara, but just as I’m slipping on my shoes, the buzzer sounds for the door downstairs. I go to the intercom. “Yeah?”
“It’s Alessandro.” Mmm . . . that accent. But what the hell’s he doing here?
I press the button for the door latch. “Wait there. I’m coming down.” I grab my bag and my coat, and head for the elevator.
When the door opens on one, I find Alessandro standing just inside the front door. “I thought you might be missing these,” he says, holding up my gloves. “You dropped them when you ran screaming from my company yesterday.”
I take them from his hand. “You did not come all the way uptown to give these to me.”
He shrugs with half a smile. “I was in the neighborhood.” I smile at his repeating my words from the Y back to me, but then his eyes scan down the front of me and there’s something burning in them when they find my face again. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. You’re obviously on your way somewhere.”
“My boyfriend’s show opens tonight.”