Another Mother Read online

Two run-throughs, and we were done. “We’ll start shooting tomorrow,” Jim said.

  Finally. My head was pounding—those drinks last night might not have been a good idea. Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I headed for the door.

  A tap on my shoulder came at the same time as a hesitant voice. “Katie?”

  I honestly thought it was the kid until I turned around to see her mom looking at me with a hangdog expression. “What? Autograph? Sure.” I fumbled for a pen.

  “Oh. Um, no.” Sarah looked even more sheepish. “I was just hoping we could talk to you a little. Emma’s feeling a little nervous about having a pretend mom, so I thought it might help if we all got to know each other a little.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds very lovey-dovey and all, but I have somewhere to be.” My bed, with an icepack over my eyes.

  “Okay, no problem. Maybe another time?” She retreated a little with every word.

  “Yeah, maybe not.” I cut a glance toward Emma. “It’s not actually necessary, and plus, I don’t really do kids.”

  Emma’s mouth hung open as if she’d never been so insulted in her life, and Sarah didn’t look a whole lot better. It was almost enough to make me feel guilty. I’d only spoken the truth! Kids were weird and funny-looking, tiny humans without an operating manual. I barely remembered my own childhood, and I’d been working through half of it anyway.

  “Sorry,” I said curtly. “See you tomorrow? First day of filming.”

  Sarah grabbed her daughter’s shoulder and pulled her close, and Emma spun around to cling to her waist, already emitting a moan.

  Good job, Katie. You made a little kid cry.

  Three – Sarah

  “I don’t want to go back!” Emma wailed as soon as we got into the car. “I hate it. The story is scary, and the mom lady is mean!”

  Starting up the engine, I frowned. “Is the story that bad, sweetie? You watch horror movies all the time.”

  I sometimes questioned my parenting when she kept running to my room after having nightmares. She always wanted to watch the same movie again the next day, so I figured it was okay.

  “It’s scary,” she said again. “But not as scary as that lady.”

  I sighed. Emma had a point. Katie Days had been openly rude to her, and generally seemed like a bit of a train wreck. Showing up late and clearly hung over, then making a scene about the outrageous idea that she could pass for a mom.

  “I know she’s not so nice,” I said. “Sometimes we have to deal with not-so-nice people. This will be a good experience for you.”

  “But I don’t like her,” Emma said, playing with her seat belt. “I don’t want to do the show.”

  “Buckle your seat belt, would you?” I accelerated onto the highway. “I thought we talked about this. You’re going to have fun and learn a lot, and the money you make is going straight into your college account. Trust me, you’ll be happy you did this when you’re eighteen and don’t need to take out student loans.”

  “But…”

  “Plus we signed a contract.”

  She sighed loudly. “Can’t you be my mommy on the show, though?”

  “We talked about this, too. You know I’m not an actress.”

  “I’m not an actor either, but they said I’m going to learn as I go. Why can’t you do that, too?”

  Because they hadn’t asked me to, and never would. The standards for grown women’s acting were higher than child actors. Plus, why would they want a dowdy, washed-up thirty-one-year-old when they could pretend that gorgeous Katie Days had given birth to my daughter instead?

  “It’s not quite the same,” I said. “It doesn’t work like that. She’s talented, she’s experienced, she has name recognition.” And she had the right look to be on TV.

  “You have name recognition,” Emma huffed, crossing her arms.

  “Only to the other parents at your school.”

  She was quiet for the rest of the car ride, leaving me plenty of time to consider whether I was doing the right thing. I wasn’t turning into some kind of showbiz mom, pushing my child to do something she didn’t want to, was I?

  We could break the contract if we had to. I could get a lawyer to look over it. Just because I thought this would be a worthwhile experience didn’t mean Emma needed to do it. Gymnastics was worthwhile, too, and being on a TV show would take away from her practice time. Wrong Headed might be the one factor that kept her from reaching a competitive level.

  I turned up the radio, trying to drown out the thoughts in my head.

  “Not this song,” Emma said, jabbing the button to change the station. “Oh, I love this one!” She cranked up the volume and sang along.

  Maybe things weren’t so bad after all.

  *

  After talking it through with my own mother, I decided to keep pushing Emma to stay on the show. She’d been given this opportunity—it’d practically fallen into her lap—and a short-lived bad mood shouldn’t prevent her from pursuing it. If she really hated the show after a week or so, we could rethink the idea of dropping out.

  In the meantime, Mom had suggested that we find an agent and join a union. I stayed up late researching online, trying to find what was best for Emma. By the morning, she was officially a member of the Screen Actors Guild, and I’d reached out to a few agents by email. Since she already had a role, I figured they’d line up to represent her.

  “Rise and shine,” I said, pulling the blanket off Emma’s sleeping form. “We have to get to work.”

  “Ugh, five more minutes.” She clung to the edge of the blanket.

  “You only have twenty minutes to get ready, and that’s including the time to eat breakfast.”

  “Are you serious?” She shot up to her feet.

  “I thought I’d let you sleep in, since you have to leave earlier than you do for school.”

  “I still need the same amount of time to get ready, Mommy.” She shook her head at me, chastising—I’d made a grave mistake. “If anything, I need more time. I need to look good if I’m going to be on TV!”

  “Then you better get going.”

  I got myself ready quickly, not too concerned with how I looked. There was only so much I could do about my lifeless brown hair or the ever-present bags under my eyes. I generally didn’t bother with much make-up, so I only swiped my usual coat of mascara over my lashes before heading down to the kitchen.

  Emma had squeezed herself into the poofy white dress she’d worn to her first communion last year, and her lips were smeared with red lipstick. Where had she even gotten that from?

  “You do know they’ll pick your clothes for today, right?” I asked, suppressing my amusement. “They’ll do your make-up, too.”

  “I knew that,” she said, her eyes darting around. “What do you think I am, a baby?”

  She ran upstairs, returning later in leggings and a plain T-shirt—although the mystery lipstick remained on her face.

  When we arrived at the studio, they took her in for hair and make-up right away. I hovered by the door, unsure whether they needed me or not. I’d brought my laptop in case I had the chance to get some work done. I set my own hours, but I’d barely had time to do anything yesterday, and I was afraid of falling even further behind.

  People bustled around, everyone else seeming to have somewhere to be. I’d kind of pictured myself setting up my laptop at the table where the actors had read lines yesterday. As a court transcriber, all I needed was my computer and headphones.

  But I couldn’t just go in there and start working. What if other people were using that space? I wished Jim was around—shouldn’t he have been here to tell me what to do?

  I was on the verge of going into the make-up room, figuring I’d just watch Emma get made up for however long it took, when someone brushed by me, leaving me in a cloud of sweet-scented perfume. The woman stopped to look back at me, and I saw she was Katie Days.

  “Oh, hi,” she said. “You good? You look a bit lost.”

 
I cleared my throat. “I’m perfectly fine.” No thanks to her.

  To her credit, she looked ashamed. “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot,” she said. “I had a good night’s sleep, and I’m excited to act beside your daughter. She seems very talented.”

  If she was trying to butter me up, well… it was working a little. Still, I needed to let her know what she’d done wasn’t okay. “My daughter didn’t want to come back today. She was crying about the way you spoke to her.”

  Katie winced. “I was a sensitive kid, too. I’m honestly sorry.” She looked around the hallway. “So, are you good? I think the schedule said Emma’s hair and make-up will take an hour, same as mine, so you’re free until then.”

  “Schedule?”

  “They emailed it this morning.”

  “Oh… I haven’t checked my email.”

  She gave me a funny look. “Doesn’t it just come to your phone?”

  “I try not to use my data, it’s expensive. Anyway, I’ll check it now. Thanks, Katie.” I hesitated. “Do you think I’d be able to do some work in the boardroom we were in yesterday?”

  “Sure, I don’t see why not.” She moved toward the door. If she was getting made up at the same time as Emma, she was already several minutes late.

  I should’ve let that be that, but— “Wait.”

  She paused, her hand on the door.

  “I never watched Great Takes Eight… but I did love that one movie you were in, Trail Mender.”

  Her eyes lit up. “You saw that? No one’s ever seen it.”

  I remembered reading an article at the time about how it was a big change for her career. She’d been best known for the sitcom, which was on for several years, and then she’d had a supporting role in the serious indie drama. Unfortunately, it’d been a box-office flop.

  “I told everyone I knew to go see it,” I said quietly. “You’re a great actress. It’s going to be amazing for Emma to learn from you.”

  “Well… thank you!” She turned away, still smiling as she headed into the make-up room.

  Part of me was still angry with her. An even larger part definitely resented her.

  Still, it felt nice to have left Katie Days smiling.

  *

  “Mommy, you missed my make-up! It was so cool!” Emma pointed at her face, which was caked with beauty products. She’d been primped and powdered so that she looked nothing like her usual self.

  I knew enough about the industry to know she’d look closer to normal when she was filmed. Actors looked different under the studio lights, so they needed make-up to correct their appearance. Even so, my heart twinged. I felt a little like I’d lost my daughter.

  “You look great,” I said, tugging on her ponytail.

  “Sorry, do you mind leaving her hair alone?” the stylist asked. “We put a lot of effort into making it look like that.”

  It looked like a normal ponytail to me, but okay. “Sure.” I took a step away, nearly bumping into another actress’s chair. The place was set up like a beauty salon, with several of the cast getting their hair and make-up done at once. Most seemed to be close to finished.

  Next up was wardrobe—I’d checked the schedule once I’d gotten my laptop set up. I’d managed to transcribe a few minutes of a court case, and then I’d decided to check on Emma. Not that any of these people needed or wanted me around—I just felt better knowing I was close in case anything happened.

  “I’ll see you again when you have your costume for today.” I patted her shoulder—hopefully that was okay.

  “But I want you to come with me,” she said, pouting. “You can help me choose.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to have much choice, sweetie. They’ll probably have chosen for you.”

  “Actually, she’ll have some input,” Katie piped up from her chair. A stylist was still working on her hair, probably since she’d arrived late. “They’ll have a few options for her to try on, and she can certainly tell them which one she likes best.”

  “See, Mommy? Katie says I can choose.”

  “Oh, you’re on a first-name basis now?” I cut a glance toward Katie, feeling oddly jealous. Had they been bonding in my absence?

  The sheer force of her attractiveness left me breathless. Fully made-up with her hair teased into a layered bob, she could’ve just stepped off a screen. Her blue eyes looked even bigger than they usually did, and her full lips were painted a soft shade of pink. I quickly looked away.

  Wasn’t she too pretty to be gay? I knew that wasn’t how it worked, but… wow. A woman like that had to be fighting off men left, right, and center. It was strange to think none of them would have a chance with her.

  Not that my love life was active, either. I only rarely got approached, but the odd time that a man came up to me in the grocery store or on the street, I turned him down. I’d barely dated since my divorce five years ago, preferring to devote myself to Emma.

  I couldn’t justify investing time and energy into a man I didn’t even know, just to figure out if he could be a potential partner. Every time I wanted to go out, I had to impose on my mother for help or call a babysitter. If I’d been able to meet men through work or friends, they might’ve had a chance, but I had no coworkers, and my few friends were other moms. Although I had my needs, I satisfied them on my own.

  I glanced at Katie again, trying to picture her with a woman. Somehow, I could see it. Despite her femininity, something about her body language, or maybe the shape of her features, made it clear where her preferences lay. I’d never seen it onscreen—evidence of her acting talent—but it was there in real life.

  She turned her head, and our eyes met. I blushed, hoping she didn’t realize I’d been staring at her. As conceited as she was, she’d probably take it the wrong way—she’d think I was some obsessed fan, or something. Or, worse, that I had a crush on her. Ha!

  Her lips turned upward as the stylist took a step back. “I guess my hair is done,” she said. “Let’s go get our costumes.”

  Four – Katie

  “I feel like Ivy’s into designer clothes,” I told Gina, the costume artist. “Silk, cashmere… she has a taste for the finer things in life.”

  Gina frowned, putting a hand on the rack of clothes she was trying to get me to pick something from. “That’s not the directions Jim gave me for what you should wear.”

  Off to the side, Sarah coughed. “I think Katie’s putting a little of her personal taste into this. The character is someone who went off to a cabin in the woods for a few weeks of tobogganing and snowshoeing.”

  I huffed. “And Ivy can’t do her winter activities in style?”

  Gina rolled her eyes and turned the rack toward me. “See if you can’t find something for the first episode. There’s plenty of choice.”

  Shaking my head, I started to go through the clothes again. They were all poorly-made, mass-produced items that’d come from somewhere like Target. Clothes someone like Sarah would wear in real life.

  I took a peek over at her as she and Gina looked at the rack of Emma’s options. She was basically who I was supposed to be playing, now that I thought about it: a young-ish mom of an eight-year-old. It’d be good for me to watch her more, analyze her, get in her head.

  That wouldn’t be an unpleasant experience, I thought as I cast my eyes up and down her body. She had a great figure, despite the baggy clothes she covered it up with. She was definitely easy on the eyes.

  “Naomi would love this,” Emma said, holding up a pair of ripped jeans and a knee-length sweater.

  “Want to try them on?” Gina asked.

  “She wouldn’t wear them,” Emma said, as if that was obvious. “I mean she’d love to, and she’d be jealous when she saw other people wearing stuff like this, but she wouldn’t feel cool enough. She’d stick with something plain and simple, like this.” She pulled out some non-ripped jeans and a hoodie with the Gap logo.

  I snickered to myself. She was already getting in her character’s
head. Either that, or she was projecting her own feelings—but somehow I didn’t think that was the case. She seemed like a person who’d wear whatever she felt like and not care what anyone else thought.

  Sarah looked at me, and I could see the question in her eyes—was I laughing at her daughter or with her? I nodded to her, and that seemed to be good enough.

  I had to admit Emma was growing on me. At least, she wasn’t the most annoying kid I’d met. Normally I found kids on set downright insufferable.

  I’d gotten my start when I was around her age, so maybe I identified with her or something. I just hoped she wouldn’t hold up production too much when we filmed.

  *

  A room in the studio had been set up to look like the interior of a cabin. Jim handed out updated copies of the script, which I glanced through to make note of any changes. I’d memorized my lines during the rehearsal yesterday—years of experience on a sitcom had given me the ability to learn them fast.

  “All right,” Jim said, “let’s get started. We’ll do the conversation between Katie and Richard first, the one talking about Ivy and Archer’s financial troubles.”

  Emma flipped through her script, counting. “But you’re skipping the first five pages.” She frowned, clearly concerned that Jim was making a grave mistake.

  “Shh, sweetie,” Sarah said. “They don’t film everything in order.”

  Emma looked thoroughly confused. It was actually kind of cute.

  We got mic’d up, running the lavalier mic wires down our shirts and sticking the transmitter pouches in our back pockets. Then I went into the “bedroom” and took a seat on the bed, folding one leg over the other while Richard stood by the window. Apparently he wasn’t quite in the right position, so the camera operator rearranged him and put tape on the floor to show where he should be.

  The other actors stood around the edge of the room, outside the set itself. “Lights… camera… action!” Jim said, standing in front of the camera with the clapboard.

  “Finally,” Emma sighed.