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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>Back to the book…<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>1036 words<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Chapter 16<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Mother Dear<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>After meeting with Robbie, I rushed to the airport only to discover my flight to LaGuardia was delayed by three hours. A winter storm was hammering the northeast with temperatures as cold as steel and cement-like snow clogging the roads. To kill time, I visited a news stand inside the Grand Rapids terminal. My mistake. Hoping for a distraction, I encountered the last person I wanted to see. Plastered larger than life on the cover of Variety and The Hollywood Reporter was the face of my dear mother. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>“Glamorous Soap Opera Diva Marries Again,” the headline declared. “Daytime television actress, Mia Castle from “Hollywood Hills” rivals Elizabeth Taylor and Zsa Zsa Gabor for the highest Hollywood husband count.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>The tabloids took pleasure recounting my mother’s multiple marriages. Mom’s stage name, Mia Castle, had been chosen by her agent because it eluded to her being a princess. I didn’t mind that our surnames were different. Her pseudonym allowed me to preserve my anonymity. I noted the rumor rags failed to mention Mom’s numerous neglected offspring. Multiple babies weren’t as romantic for their readers as multiple spouses, I knew. The first of many children, I’d long been accustomed to the press sweeping me and my siblings under the rug.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Relieved, at last I landed at LaGuardia hours later than planned. Navigating the crowded terminal, I retrieved 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 ahead of a man too timid to leap ahead in his leather oxfords.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>“The Waldorf-Astoria on Park Avenue,” I instructed the driver.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Through the dirt smudged taxi window, I viewed New York’s Iconic skyline. The Chrysler Building’s crown glowed like a promising beacon against the stormy clouds. Under the Empire Building spire, lights twinkled on and off like fireflies. Arriving at the Waldorf-Astoria, the city’s glamourous art deco hotel, I asked myself, “What am I doing here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Passing a 10 dollar bill to the driver, I said, “Keep the change.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Unaware that I was the wayward daughter of that day’s most famous daytime television darling, I was greeted coolly by the valet. I strode unescorted into the hotel’s luxurious lobby. Stepping up to the highly polished registration desk, I presented Millwood’s American Express card to cover the extravagant thirty dollar per day room rate.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>“Are there any messages for me?” I asked the clerk. It was too soon to hope that Robbie would have any news for me, but a message to “call your mother” was unexpected. Someone at Millwood must have shared my itinerary with my dear mom. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>I tucked Mom’s phone number into my clasp purse and turned to the elevators. Not a notable patron at the posh hotel, I was nonetheless escorted to my room with deference by a white-gloved bellman. Along the marble corridor embellished with bronze fixtures, my escort called my attention to the hotel’s stunning crystal chandelier and the trademark Waldorf clock. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>“You must return later to peruse the hotel’s exclusive shopping arcade,” he insisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Tipped and dismissed, the bellman tiptoed from my room, the door satisfactorily clicked after his exit. I retrieved my leather suitcase from its rack and released its contents onto the opulent bed. Shaking out my dresses, a tailored suit, blouses and skirts, I attempted to sort out my situation. After arranging the garments in an antique wardrobe, I arranged my cosmetics on the marble vanity. I placed a new bottle of Gloria Vanderbilt perfume in front of the gilt-framed mirror. Disappointed when I glanced at the dark circles under my eyes, I switched off the overhead light.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Reluctant, I dialed the front desk and asked for the international telephone operator. After a two-minute delay, I was connected to an operator in France who placed me on another hold while she attempted to ring my mother’s hotel in Monaco. Did Mom intend to introduce me to my newest step-daddy long distance? I’d already learned all I needed to know about mother’s new man from the gossip pages. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>“Darling, how are you?” my mom exclaimed when our call was connected. Without waiting for an answer, she charged on like a race horse. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>“It’s a good thing that you reached me today. Tomorrow, John and I, my new husband you know, are boarding a cruise ship to tour the French Riviera. What a wonderful location for a honeymoon,” she cooed like a dove.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Mom’s monologue only distanced me from her further. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>“And the best part is that “Hollywood Hills” has written a script around my lavish honeymoon with my television husband, Mike.” Mom rattled on like an incessant lawn mower. “That means we’ll be filming the next six episodes on location for the first time outside the U.S. Isn’t that wonderful?” Without a pause, my mother added, “I might be up for the Daytime Emmy this year.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>As a daytime soap opera star, Mother’s melodramatic life mirrored her scripted one. Proving my point, she said, “I can’t wait for you to meet my new husband Mike, I mean John.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Hopefully, static on the line covered my guffaw. I recalled that Mom had been married to Mike on the television soap opera, but her TV star husband had been killed off the prior season when the actor couldn’t reach a contract agreement with the network. This season, he’d miraculously been revived from a coma, presumably after new contract terms had been reached. Mother’s real life husbands disappeared and resurfaced year-to-year in a similar manner. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Noise on the line interfered with Mom’s monologue. I said, “Sorry, Mother. I’m having difficulty with the connection. Why don’t you tell me more when you’re back in the states?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Eerily, my words echoed back like I was shouting into a void. Contrary to the advertisement, the transatlantic call was not “the next best thing to being there.” The call was costing me six dollars a minutes, and I’d heard enough. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>Thankfully, Mom said, “Darling, you’re fading out. I’m signing off now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'>The international operator came on the line to inform me the call had been disconnected. Like a television drama, the story was to be continued.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman",serif'># # #<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>