Chapter 6

“Is family important? Sure,” Dahl sighed. “But it’s really the family you create. It’s not just about bloodlines.” The increasingly press-shy actress might be expected to hedge when the topic of familial love comes up, as she recently petitioned to be emancipated from her mother Sheila. Still, there’s something not quite convincing when she insists, “Really, it’s for the best. It’s not like I’m ever lonely.”

—The Los Angeles Times Sheila stood there alone, tottering on a pair of platform sandals, a crooked smile painted on her already overly made-up face. She looked as trashy as ever in her miniskirt and gold lame bolero jacket, but even from a distance I could tell that life had been rough for her since Madison cut her off. Her shoes were worn, and I remembered the jacket from a few years back. It was pretty clear she wasn’t updating her look at Fred Segal every other day anymore.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked.

All I could see was the back of Madison’s head, but I could practically feel the hate emanating from her. “How did you find me?”

“It took some work,” Sheila admitted. “I called a photographer I know.”

“A paparazzo,” Madison sneered.

“Are you okay, Madison?” I asked. But she ignored me. I probably should have asked if Sheila was okay, too, because I could see the woman’s confidence crumbling.

“It smells good in there,” Sheila said. “A lot better than Denny’s.”

“This dinner is invitation only,” Madison spat. “Why don’t you go back to the hole you crawled out of, Mom? Or maybe you can sell another story to the tabloids about how I wouldn’t let you crash my party?”

Sheila winced. “They twisted my words,” she said. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t care. Scat, Sheila.” Madison shooed her away like a fly.

“Wait,” my father said, stepping forward. “Madison, can I talk to you?”

Dad looked over Madison’s shoulder. “Sheila, please wait outside.”

Sheila’s face flushed red with anger, but she nodded.

My dad shut the door and looked at Madison. “It is Thanksgiving. Do you not think it would be best to show forgiveness?”

“No, I don’t,” Madison snapped. “Because I don’t forgive her, and I don’t want her in my life. You don’t know Sheila like I do. Erin can tell you.”

My dad looked at me. I thought about all the crappy things Sheila had done, like stealing Madison’s stuff and making her work to earn it back piece by piece and dumping us at the beach with no way to get home. “She’s not a nice person, Dad.”

“What would you give to see your mother again?” Dad asked me.

I felt my throat tighten. “This isn’t about Mom.”

My dad looked at Madison. “You never know what happen, Madison. Day to day, things change. Today may be last chance to make peace. Look at her.”

Dad tapped on the peephole, and Madison peered out at her mom. “Sheila make big effort today. She bring peace offering. Maybe you should take.”

“I don’t know,” Madison whispered.

“What if you never get another chance?” Dad asked.

I thought about how Mom and I had never really made up, how much that still hurt. “Maybe just for today,” I said to Madison.

Jenna buried her face in her hands. “This is like staying home for Thanksgiving,” she sighed. “Too much drama.”

We all looked at Madison and waited for her decision. After a long moment, she opened the door.

“Fine,” she muttered, stepping back to let Sheila in. “Just don’t embarrass me.”

***

Sheila saw me and, to my horror, gave me a hug. “Erin! It’s been so long!” she cooed in my ear. I reluctantly patted her on the back. Even if I missed my own mom, that didn’t mean I missed her. At all.

She did the same thing with Victoria and Jenna. She tried to hug my dad, but he quickly stepped back and bowed in her direction instead. To her credit, Sheila caught on and bowed right back.

In the dining room, there were introductions and awkward hellos. Clive’s eyebrows almost lifted off his face when he spotted Sheila, and I saw him whisper something in Ernesto’s ear when she wasn’t looking. Even if everyone didn’t know Sheila, they knew of her. Including Benny, who kept eyeballing the woman as if she might steal some silverware.

Our Thanksgiving dinner, which had been relaxed and fun, became quiet and subdued, even a little tense. I think we were all trying to listen in on Sheila’s conversation with Madison, just in case one of us had to leap in to separate them.

“How have you been?” Sheila asked, smiling over the bits and pieces of dinner Miss Do had scraped together for her. I knew there had been an extra little turkey chicken, but I guessed Madison had told Miss Do to save it in case Jasper arrived. But if Sheila was disappointed with her Korean Thanksgiving, she didn’t show it.

“I’m okay,” Madison said. “Show’s good.”

“I heard about Nikki,” Sheila said, shaking her head. “So sad.”

“Uh huh,” Madison said.

We all ate in silence for a while, as Sheila worked up her courage to broach a more difficult topic. “I heard about you, too,” she said hesitantly.

“Can’t believe everything you read, Sheila,” Madison snapped.

“No, you definitely can’t,” Sheila agreed. “But I worried about you.”

Okay, I’d only ever seen brief flashes of humanity from Sheila in all the times I knew her, like when my mom died and when my dad went temporarily nuts. And, I could be wrong, but this seemed to be one of those moments. The way she spoke, softly, without any judgment, was so sincere I almost wanted to cry. She wasn’t mad, she wasn’t going to lecture. She just wanted to let her daughter know that she’d been thinking about her.

Madison didn’t say anything for a while. She just stared at her plate, carving her little turkey chicken into pieces.

We all watched as Madison picked up some slices of the meat and dropped them on to Sheila’s plate. “It’s good,” she said quietly. “Erin and I made the hens all by ourselves.”

After that, the rest of us relaxed a little. Clive started telling a story about the worst audition he’d ever had, and pretty soon none of us were paying much attention to Madison and Sheila. All I know is that on the few occasions I turned my head to check on them, they were talking quietly to each other, and both of them were smiling.

***

After dinner, Miss Do disappeared into the kitchen while the rest of us waddled into the living room. I was just settling in on the sofa (even though Madison had never gotten around to outfitting her kitchen, she had recently sprung for some cushy, painfully expensive furniture) when Benny tapped me on the shoulder. “Think she’s okay?” he asked. “I don’t want Madison to get hurt again.”

I wondered if Benny had ever witnessed Madison during one of her babyish bad moods, the times when she was the hurtful one. I didn’t think so, and I hoped he never would. He seemed like a nice guy, and just watching him over dinner I could tell he obviously loved her to death.

Of course, seeing Madison’s adoring boyfriend made me wonder what Jeremy was doing. He’d driven up north to snap the old wishbone with his mom and stepdad. Not that I could have invited him to dinner at Madison’s, not with my dad and Miss Do around.

I was wondering if I’d ever be able to pull my boyfriend out of the closet when Jenna waved a hand in front of my face. “Hey,” she said. “You ready for class?”

The idea of sitting through more bad art “films” made me want to toss my turkey chicken, but honestly, I was chomping at the bit to finally screen my short. “As ready as I’m going to be,” I said, trying to play it cool.

Having been so wrapped up in my own project, I’d never really asked Jenna about how things had gone with Kelly. “Are you happy with how your project turned out?”

Jenna shrugged. “I think so. I mean, it was kind of intense. I don’t think Kelly really wanted to do it.”

“How’s she doing, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Jenna said. “I can’t get her to return my calls. I think her mom was going to take her skiing or something over the holiday, but I don’t see how. If the girl won’t get out of bed, I’m not sure how you push her down a ski slope.”

I looked over at where Madison and her mom were still quietly talking. I watched as they stood up and walked towards the front door, all smiles as Sheila made her surprisingly discreet exit. “Well, at least someone has something to give thanks for this year,” I said. And I really hoped that was true.

But with Sheila, it’s never that simple.

***

It was getting late, and when I saw my dad try to stifle a yawn I figured it was time to head for the door. After all, I had class the next day. No rest for the wicked.

I staggered into the kitchen, where Miss Do was scrubbing dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “Madison has someone come in to clean.”

Miss Do shook her head. “No, bad to leave the morning. Make stick to pot.”

She’d already scrubbed most of the really gross stuff, like the roasting pan and the gravy boat, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to pitch in. “Need help?”

Miss Do turned and looked at me. “Thank you, no, Song. But talk? Passing of time helps.”

Actually, I would have preferred to scrub the dishes so we could get the heck home, but whatever. “It was a great meal,” I said, propping myself against the kitchen counter.

“Thank you.” Miss Do was working herself into a sweat trying to get a pot clean, one that I remembered my parents having when I was a little kid. Even back then it had a greasy brown coating to it, but Miss Do was scrubbing like her life depended on it. “So Madison, that her man? The Benny?”

“I guess so.” It wasn’t like I had the inside track on Madison’s love life. Not at the moment, anyway. “He’s her personal trainer.” Miss Do gave me a confused look, so I mimed jogging. “He exercises with her.”

“Ahhh. He athlete?” Miss Do asked.

I was tempted to ask Miss Do if she was good at math, but I figured I could chalk up the totally racist comment to the language barrier. But then she kept going. “You like the blacks? For couple time with?”

“I… don’t know,” I stuttered, not quite sure how to answer such a creepy question.

Miss Do nodded. “You couple with Korean boy, better,” she said, smiling. “Your kind. You marry, make pretty face Korean babies.” Miss Do held up the pot. It wasn’t shiny yet, but it was getting there. “Nice boys at church. I meet them with you on Sunday. Love God, good boys.”

I couldn’t believe it. Miss Do was trying to fix me up.

I hadn’t had many boyfriends, but not one of them had been Korean. It wasn’t a conscious choice or anything, but there were a hundred items on my check list that were so much more important to me (good hair, nice smile, smart, funny, you get the idea). I wondered what would happen if I did bring Jeremy home. If it wasn’t okay for Madison to date a black guy, I bet my dad would lock me in the garage for the rest of my life for dating a white guy.

Lately, being Korean had become a gigantic pain in the ass for me, no joke. I didn’t feel different from anyone else, but it was like the rest of the world was conspiring to make me think I was. And if being truly Korean meant being subservient like Miss Do and wearing ugly clothes to church on Sundays, I didn’t want to be Korean at all. Even when my race opened doors, it always felt kind of insulting, like the way Jasper stared at Miss Do like she was a really amusing zoo animal and I was her handler.

It was time for Miss Do to get an American education. “In the United States, it’s not nice to talk about the color of someone’s skin,” I said slowly but sternly, wanting to make sure my babysitter was getting the point. “Here, it’s in the Constitution that all people are treated equally. Black. White. Korean. All of us.” Not that this was true and not like I’d been treating Miss Do like an equal, calling her the Pillsbury Doughlady behind her back, but she didn’t know about that anyway.

Miss Do’s eyes opened wide. She looked thoroughly embarrassed. “Che sohng hahm ni da,” she mumbled.

I nodded. “Gwaen chan ah yo,” I responded stiffly, turning to leave the room.

I was sure she was sorry. And even though I was admittedly kind of snotty about it, I had no problem accepting her apology. But I still felt bad about the whole conversation, as if I’d lied to Miss Do. The truth was, in the United States everyone wasn’t really treated equally. That was just the way I wanted things to be.

***

Class started at nine a.m., but because there were almost no cars on the freeway the day after Thanksgiving, I was in class a full twenty minutes early. But I wasn’t alone. Mike was there, too, watching something on his laptop.

He gave me a quick smile, then went back to staring at the screen. I sat two chairs down from him and waved. “Hey,” I said. “You’re here early.”

Mike pushed a key on his computer and looked up, removing his headphones. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said, feeling ridiculous.

Mike smiled at me. “Hey, we both have films up today, don’t we?”

I nodded. “I was thinking of tossing mine out and filming the grass growing in my lawn, but I didn’t have time.”

“No kidding!” Mike howled. “But I have to hand it to Larry. He seems to find something good to say about everyone’s projects. Which can only bode well for us. I’m still a little nervous.”

I wasn’t, but I didn’t say that. “I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t look too anxious,” Mike said. “I’m guessing we have a future auteur in our midst.”

“Auteur? Is that a kind of bug?” Jenna said, plopping into the seat next to me and swatting at the air.

I was about to respond, but students were pouring into the soundstage and Larry was pulling his water and snacks out of a backpack. It was time for class to begin.

After Larry bored us with the details of his Thanksgiving movie binge (it sounded miserable, all these old movies from the 1930s, but he seemed to have fun), it was show time. The first two movies were more of the usual crap; one was two people in a room talking about breaking up, and the other was a just footage of a goldfish bowl. Larry loved the fish for some reason, even if it was about as exciting as a screensaver. Then, it was Mike’s turn.

“What, no ‘Star Wars’ intro?” Harold sneered when the image of an Asian girl playing a violin flashed on the screen.

Watching the movie, I had to hand it to Mike. For someone who hadn’t been carting around a camcorder since he was five, he did nice work. The plot was basically about a student and her music teacher, and the joke was that, after he’d lectured the girl on her lack of commitment to classical music and sent her home, he walked over to his piano and banged out some crazy heavy metal song (I know it doesn’t sound like much, but come on, how meaty of a plot do you expect in five minutes)?

When it was over, there was actually scattered applause. “That was pretty good,” Harold admitted.

“Clean and to the point,” Monique added. “In five minutes, you told us a lot about that guy. His frustration and disappointment.”

I didn’t get frustration or disappointment, but I was still happy for Mike. “Good acting,” I said.

“That was my uncle,” Mike shrugged. “He’s a natural born ham.”

Larry rubbed his chin, preparing to give his verdict as the room fell silent. “Mike, you have a truly remarkable story sense,” he said. “There wasn’t a single wasted moment, we had a clear understanding of who these people were, and you even managed to work in a touch of humor. Truly an accomplishment.”

Mike grinned, and when I caught his eye, he winked at me. I almost winked back, but then I thought that might be borderline cheating, so I smiled instead.

Next up was Jenna. She tossed her dongle to Larry like it was a Frisbee. “Fire her up,” she said, getting out of her seat. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

Larry looked at the dongle, then at Jenna. “We can wait for you,” he said. “Seeing an audience’s reaction can teach you a lot about what works and what doesn’t.”

Jenna sighed and slouched into her chair. “Whatever,” she grumbled. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I wasn’t sure what to expect. Okay, I knew it was about a depressed girl and it starred Kelly, but I didn’t have a clue whether it would be any good or not. Jenna, after all, was not exactly in love with filmmaking.

All I can tell you is I never could have expected what I saw.

Kelly, her skin grey, her eyes dull, walking through the wasteland of her life. Kelly, curled up in bed. Kelly, screaming at her mother until her face was red while helpless tears streamed down her face. Kelly, staring at the wall. Kelly, watching the television without seeing it. Five minutes in the life of a broken girl.

The room was hushed when the lights went up. I heard someone sniffling, and realized it was me.

“That was the most powerful short I think I’ve ever seen,” Helen whispered at the front of the room.

“Where did you find that girl? Is she a professional?” Harold asked, turning around to look at Jenna, who had mostly slid under her chair.

“Why are you hiding?” I whispered. “That was really good.”

Jenna wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “I’m just sort of freaked out in general.”

Larry walked over to where Jenna was sitting/sliding. “I know you said you’re only taking this class to get away from your family obligations,” he said softly. “But I really hope that’s not true. Because, Jenna, this film shows such insight, such talent. I would hate it if you didn’t pursue this. Yours is a voice that needs to be heard.”

I looked at Jenna. Her eyes were glued on Larry, and she slowly got back into her chair and sat in it like an upright life form. “Thanks,” she said quietly. She seemed kind of stunned. I don’t think Jenna had ever been told she was talented before. Mostly teachers seemed to fixate on how she wasn’t living up to her potential, or her latest neon hair color, or her lousy attitude.

When we broke for lunch, Jenna elbowed me hard in the ribs. “Let’s drive somewhere,” she said. “I don’t want to bump into all these people at McDonald’s.”

“What about Mike?” Was it weird that I wanted to invite him to lunch?

“Grab him and let’s go,” she hissed, running for the door.

In an instant, I understood why. The other kids in the class were staring after her with what was either surprise or jealousy. Harold lumbered over to me. “Where’s Jenna going?” he asked. “I want to hire her actress for my next project.”

“Kelly?” I asked. “She’s not really an actress. She’s a friend.”

Harold made a pouty face, which just looked funny considering that he already could pass for a big baby. “Well, she’s good. Tell Jenna I want her number.” He walked away, not even bothering to say good-bye to me, like I was Jenna’s dreary assistant. Suddenly, I was very happy to drive anywhere to get away from boot camp.

***

After Jenna, Mike and I gobbled down a Denny’s lunch, the rest of the class seemed to take forever. More movies (films, whatever), more discussion, more of Larry’s chin rubbing. Then, finally, it was my turn.

“And now our last film of the day,” Larry said. “But just because we’re almost out of here, don’t give it anything less than your full attention.”

Even though I didn’t think I would be nervous, my palms started to sweat the second Larry lowered the lights. Jenna leaned towards me. “If you’re anxious, maybe Mike will hold your hand,” she whispered.

“Stop it,” I hissed.

When the long shot of the movie set burst onto the screen, I could hear some of the other students whispering to each other. “Is that Berlin?” Harold squeaked.

When Clive appeared, there was more whispering. “That’s that guy on TV,” someone said.

But then there was Madison’s close-up.

At first, everyone was completely silent. Until Madison started throwing punches at a bad guy (actually Jenna in a black hoodie).

That’s when I heard the snickering.

I looked around. Jenna was trying (and failing) to hold back a smirk, and Mike had this awful expression on his face, as if it hurt him to watch my “film.”

I wanted to bail, run for the exit and never look back. What was so funny? How could everyone be laughing at my movie when total crap like a scene acted out with Bratz dolls passed for cinematic brilliance? Not that it was really my movie. Watching it, I remembered how Jenna held the camera and Madison called the shots while I stood on the sidelines, watching the action from a distance.

The lights went up, and the knives came out.

“Why are you even taking this class?” Helen snapped, turning in her chair to glower at me. “If you have access to name actors and a studio set, why bother with student films at all?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Mike barked. I was glad he came to my defense, since I certainly couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“I think it’s interesting that Jenna makes a great movie with almost no resources and an untrained actor, and Erin makes a mediocre movie with name actors and a studio set,” Harold stated, his words dripping with contempt.

“We are not here to judge the film based on the resources Erin had at her disposal,” Larry said. He sounded surprisingly angry. “However, this does bring up an interesting issue, which is to what degree do audiences make decisions about films based on the baggage actors or directors bring to the project. How do the beliefs we have about the players affect our views?”

“I’d never buy a gangly, anorectic junkie as a spy, for starters,” Monique sneered.

“I don’t think it’s fair she can use name actors in her projects,” Helen continued.

“Enough!” Larry looked truly pissed now. “Clearly, none of you are capable of giving Erin constructive feedback. Go home and think about your behavior here today.”

I gathered up my belongings, trying not to make eye contact at anyone. It was bad enough hearing the bits and pieces of conversations as my classmates trickled out the door.

“…ridiculous in that catsuit…” someone muttered.

“If I had that kind of budget…” another grumbled.

“…stupid high concept schlock…” a voice tittered.

Jenna put a hand on my shoulder. “Ignore those jerks,” she said. “I thought it was good.”

“Then why were you laughing?” I hadn’t forgotten Jenna’s smirk, a betrayal in the dark.

“Because I was there, remember? It was that scene we had to do ten times because Madison kept falling on her butt because of those boots.” Jenna looked at Larry, who was holding my USB drive at the front of the room. “Want me to wait for you?”

“No,” I said. It was bad enough to be humiliated in front of (and by) the whole group. It would be even worse to end up sniffling on the shoulder of the class darling.

As the last students trickled out of the class, shooting me dirty looks in the process, I walked up to Larry, hoping to grab my dongle and run.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Larry said. He looked exhausted, as if barking at the class had completely worn him out. “I think a lot of the criticism is based on the access you apparently have that others in the class don’t. It’s great that you have can use established actors and real film sets, and I completely understand why you did. But for the purposes of this class and for your growth as a filmmaker, I think your voice will come through much more profoundly if you follow your own instincts.”

“Because otherwise I’ll literally be torn limb from limb?” I joked.

“That’s part of it,” Larry said, taking a deep breath. “But it appears that this project wasn’t really the one you wanted to make.”

“How can you tell?” I was a little freaked. I wondered if Larry’s chin rubbing was actually a mind reading technique.

“Obviously, I don’t know you well, but the film feels as if you relied on the resources available to you at the expense of your own voice,” he explained. “Every movie, no matter how short, says something about the person making it. And what this said to me was that you have some impressive industry connections, but you weren’t really in it.” Larry was telling me exactly what Jeremy had tried to tell me. A warning which I had ignored.

I must have looked a little shattered, because Larry smiled at me sympathetically. “I’m not saying it wasn’t good, Erin. It was well shot, it was a fun idea, and the choreography was exceptional. By all measures, it was very accomplished. You’re clearly talented. But I’d like to see more of Erin Kim in the next film, okay?”

I nodded. But considering everything he liked about it was stuff I had almost nothing to do with, I wasn’t sure more of Erin Kim was such a good thing.