Not Young, Still Restless Read Free Page A

around or lying or other family drama to complicate things. We spent a lot of time at each other’s houses, and Charles’s mother even drove us to Bakersfield one night to see the premiere of an impossibly romantic movie called Gone with the Wind . (I still remember how shocked I was to hear the word “damn” come out of someone’s mouth on-screen, let alone Clark Gable’s.) And when Charles’s father was transferred to another town and his family moved away, I loved going there to spend weekends with my boyfriend and with the people I was sure were my future in-laws.
    So when he called one day and said he had something to tell me and it had to be in person, I was so excited about seeing him for the first time in almost a month that I conveniently ignored the weight in his voice and simply started deciding what to wear.
    He didn’t kiss me hello when he got there. He barely looked at me as he stepped past me into the house and stood in the living room like a stranger, studying the floor. And when I finally broke the silence between us and asked what was wrong, he took a few long, deep breaths before he answered me.
    He told me her name, but I was too stunned to hear it. He may have told me everything about her, and how long they’d been seeing each other, for all I know. All I heard was a steady, deafening, horrible buzzing noise in my ears until he got around to the two words I heard loud and clear: “She’s pregnant.”
    I was sure the ground was falling away beneath my feet, and I felt sick from the pain and rage that instantly welled up in me. But I guess I instinctively refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, because all I said, in the calmest, steadiest voice you’ve ever heard, was, “I understand.” Not bad for a sixteen-year-old girl whose world had just exploded, don’t you think?
    And then I completely outdid myself by accepting his invitation for me to meet her. No, not someday, not even later that day. What luck, she was sitting outside in his car at that very moment. Shock is an amazing phenomenon, isn’t it? Without a single beat of hesitation, I walked out of the house with him, head held high, and marched up to the car and looked right at her when he introduced us, although I couldn’t tell you a thing about her. She probably had hair, and a face. She probably said something, and I probably said something back. Maybe we shook hands, maybe not. The one thing I’m sure of is that I gave her my best smile for that two- or three-minute encounter, a smile I hoped said, “If you think you’re the winner in this situation, guess again.”
    Then I waved good-bye to both of them, walked back into the house, closed the door behind me, and cried until there were no more tears left in me.
    From what I heard, they got married soon after that, a marriage that lasted until shortly after the baby was born.
    He tried several times to get in touch with me, but I never saw or spoke to him again.
    It became a lifelong pattern, personally and professionally: I don’t care who you are, you don’t get more than one chance to betray me, and as this book should make apparent, I have a very long memory.
    I ’m not sure how I would have made it through the end of Charles and me, or Mother’s death, if it hadn’t been for another great love of my life, one that started when I was thirteen and continues to sustain me to this day: the love affair between me and an audience.
    I was in eighth grade, and I was chosen for a small part in the class play. I think it was called Annabel Steps In , or something equally compelling. I’ve had several colleagues over the years who knew from the day they were born that they were destined, even driven, to be actors. That wasn’t the case with me. Acting had never occurred to me. I thought no more of learning my lines and rehearsing for Annabel Steps In than I thought of doing the rest of my homework and, because I’m an overachiever, doing it well. But then, on