Fame School
An excerpt from Servicing the Pole
Sharon crawls over to a large pile of clothes that’s sitting in the corner, and collapses on top of it. She looks like a broken doll that’s been tossed away. She breathes deeply to stop crying.
“Are you gonna be okay?” I ask reluctantly. I really want to go home.
“Stay with me… Please. I can’t be alone right now.” Her voice comes out small. I rub my eyes, and sit down beside her.
I glance around the bleak little studio apartment. It hasn’t been cleaned in months, if ever. There’s a stale aroma permeating the room. I wonder how much of that smell is the smell of blood.
“Nobody gets what they expect in life, unless they keep their expectations low,” Sharon murmurs.
“Maybe keeping them low is the problem,” I contradict.
Her response is a laugh that contains absolutely no mirth.
“I keep going on these auditions,” she says. “Sometimes I even get promised the parts. I didn’t really want the last one, you know that? I think I maybe even fucked it up on purpose.”
“Why would you do that?
“They wanted me to play a junkie prostitute.”
I start to chuckle, but I stop myself because I notice that she looks really hurt. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…”
“I know, goddamnit. Not much of a challenge, is it?”
“You want to kick?”
“I want to act. I ever tell you that when I was fourteen, I got into LaGuardia Arts?”
“Wait a minute… You went to the ‘Fame’ school?”
“No, I didn’t go. I just got in.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
She snorts. “My drunk bitch of a mother thought it would be better if I didn’t make the same mistakes she did. She came to New York to be an actress, and wound up waiting tables instead. She was a bitter old hag. You couldn’t even talk to her about acting. I used to have to sneak around behind her back to be in the school plays, even.”
“That’s nuts.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Where was your dad?”
“I think the real question there is, who was my dad,” Sharon says. “I never knew, and I don’t think she did either, although there’s a really excellent possibility that he was one of the same casting directors who leers at me now when I go to auditions.”
“Wow, creepy.”
“It’s reality, right? Or some semblance of it. Anyway, when I found out I couldn’t go to LaGuardia unless she approved, I tried all sorts of things. I talked to the guidance counselors, the admittance people, had them talk to her, got my principal to write her a letter… she wasn’t budging.” She takes a deep breath. “Then she came after me one night, wasted, and we beat the shit out of each other while my little sister watched. After that, I left.”
“And went where?” I rub my eyes again. This is the most that Sharon has ever told me about herself.
“Where a fourteen-year-old goes when she runs away from home, honey. Use your imagination.” She sighs. “There were always men around. There always will be. Willy’s the first guy I’ve been with who isn’t a sugar daddy. I think he feels inferior. He shouldn’t, though. I never loved any of them. He’s the only one who’s ever really had me.”
“Then it’s his loss if he leaves.”
“Don’t you understand that it’s not that simple?” she blurts, her voice rising again. “It’s my fault that Willy ever even laid eyes on a needle. I ruin people, do you know that? I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m a complete fucking failure. It’s over for me. I’ve just never admitted it before.”
“I don’t think that’s true. It can’t be. You’re still young, you still look great, and you could get out and do something with your life other than be a statistic. Both of us could.”
“What did you really want to be?” she asks.
I take a deep breath. “A singer,” I admit.
“Are you really that good?”
“I don’t know,” I say automatically.
Continue reading:
| « Previous: House Guest | Next: Sunday Walk » |
Subscribe via RSS
Subscribe via email