[Critique Group 1] Leonard's Comments on Martia's sub

[Leonard Tuchyner]

(look down the body for comments.)

 

 

Back to the book…

1036 words

 

 

Chapter 16

Mother Dear

 

After meeting with Robbie, I rushedto the airport only to discover my flight to LaGuardia was delayed by threehours. A winter storm was hammering the northeast with temperatures as cold assteel and cement-like snow clogging the roads. To kill time, I visited a newsstand inside the Grand Rapids terminal. My mistake. Hoping for a distraction, Iencountered the last person I wanted to see. Plastered larger than life on thecover of Variety and The Hollywood Reporter was the face of my dear mother. 

 

“Glamorous Soap Opera Diva MarriesAgain,” the headline declared. “Daytime television actress, Mia Castle from“Hollywood Hills” rivals Elizabeth Taylor and Zsa Zsa Gabor for the highestHollywood husband count.” 

 

The tabloids took pleasurerecounting my mother’s multiple marriages. Mom’s stage name, Mia Castle, hadbeen chosen by her agent because it eluded to her being a princess. I didn’tmind that our surnames were different. Her pseudonym allowed me to preserve myanonymity. I noted the rumor rags failed to mention Mom’s numerous neglectedoffspring. Multiple babies weren’t as romantic for their readers as multiplespouses, I knew. The first of many children, I’d long been accustomed to thepress sweeping me and my siblings under the rug.

 

Relieved, at last I landed atLaGuardia hours later than planned. Navigating the crowded terminal, Iretrieved my luggage and ventured into the snowy outdoors to search for a taxi.Jumping a snow bank in my knee-high leather boots, I snagged a Yellow Cab aheadof a man too timid to leap ahead in his leather oxfords.

 

“The Waldorf-Astoria on ParkAvenue,” I instructed the driver.

 

Through the dirt smudged taxiwindow, I viewed New York’s Iconic skyline. The Chrysler Building’s crownglowed like a promising beacon against the stormy clouds. Under the EmpireBuilding spire, lights twinkled on and off like fireflies. Arriving at theWaldorf-Astoria, the city’s glamourous art deco hotel, I asked myself, “What amI doing here?”

 

Passing a 10 dollar bill to thedriver, I said, “Keep the change.” 

 

Unaware that I was the waywarddaughter of that day’s most famous daytime television darling, I was greetedcoolly by the valet. I strode unescorted into the hotel’s luxurious lobby.Stepping up to the highly polished registration desk, I presented Millwood’sAmerican Express card to cover the extravagant thirty dollar per day room rate.

 

“Are there any messages for me?” Iasked the clerk. It was too soon to hope that Robbie would have any news forme, but a message to “call your mother” was unexpected. Someone at Millwoodmust have shared my itinerary with my dear mom. 

 

I tucked Mom’s phone number into myclasp purse and turned to the elevators. Not a notable patron at the poshhotel, I was nonetheless escorted to my room with deference by a white-glovedbellman. Along the marble corridor embellished with bronze fixtures, my escortcalled my attention to the hotel’s stunning crystal chandelier and thetrademark Waldorf clock. 

 

“You must return later to peruse thehotel’s exclusive shopping arcade,” he insisted.

 

Tipped and dismissed, the bellmantiptoed from my room, the door satisfactorily clicked after his exit. Iretrieved my leather suitcase from its rack and released its contents onto theopulent bed. 

We certainly have a Veronica seenview of her mother. 

A real piece of work. 

Self involved, no doubt.  

This scenario does not tell us whyVeronica is in the  capital.

Did you include that information ina prior chapter.  

I feel the tension of  something about to happen. 

I really enjoyed the faupaus  that her mother makes in confusing hersoap  opera life. 

I’m not  sure she perceives the difference.  

I can’t wait to see what happensin   Manhattan. 

 

Shaking out my dresses, a tailoredsuit, blouses and skirts, I attempted to sort out my situation. After arrangingthe garments in an antique wardrobe, I arranged my cosmetics on the marblevanity. I placed a new bottle of Gloria Vanderbilt perfume in front of thegilt-framed mirror. Disappointed when I glanced at the dark circles under myeyes, I switched off the overhead light.

 

Reluctant, I dialed the front deskand asked for the international telephone operator. After a two-minute delay, Iwas connected to an operator in France who placed me on another hold while sheattempted to ring my mother’s hotel in Monaco. Did Mom intend to introduce meto my newest step-daddy long distance? I’d already learned all I needed to knowabout mother’s new man from the gossip pages. 

 

“Darling, how are you?” my momexclaimed when our call was connected. Without waiting for an answer, shecharged on like a race horse. 

 

“It’s a good thing that you reachedme today. Tomorrow, John and I, my new husband you know, are boarding a cruiseship to tour the French Riviera. What a wonderful location for a honeymoon,”she cooed like a dove.

 

Mom’s monologue only distanced mefrom her further. 

 

“And the best part is that“Hollywood Hills” has written a script around my lavish honeymoon with mytelevision husband, Mike.” Mom rattled on like an incessant lawn mower. “Thatmeans we’ll be filming the next six episodes on location for the first timeoutside the U.S.  Isn’t that wonderful?” Without a pause, my mother added,“I might be up for the Daytime Emmy this year.” 

 

As a daytime soap opera star,Mother’s melodramatic life mirrored her scripted one. Proving my point, shesaid, “I can’t wait for you to meet my new husband Mike, I mean John.” 

 

Hopefully, static on the linecovered my guffaw. I recalled that Mom had been married to Mike on thetelevision soap opera, but her TV star husband had been killed off the priorseason when the actor couldn’t reach a contract agreement with the network. Thisseason, he’d miraculously been revived from a coma, presumably after newcontract terms had been reached. Mother’s real life husbands disappeared andresurfaced year-to-year in a similar manner. 

 

Noise on the line interfered withMom’s monologue. I said, “Sorry, Mother. I’m having difficulty with theconnection. Why don’t you tell me more when you’re back in the states?” 

 

Eerily, my words echoed back like Iwas shouting into a void.  Contrary to the advertisement, thetransatlantic call was not “the next best thing to being there.” The call wascosting me six dollars a minutes, and I’d heard enough. 

 

Thankfully, Mom said, “Darling,you’re fading out. I’m signing off now.”

 

The international operator came onthe line to inform me the call had been disconnected. Like a television drama,the story was to be continued.

 

# # #

 

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Leonard I. Tuchyner, Author
 
https://www.dldbooks.com/tuchyner/

 
  
 
 

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