:!: This is a new piece I'm working on, in -gasp- third person. Just like POD. Any advice is graciously accepted, and I enjoy the harshest critiques you can give. So roll up your sleeves, grab the cutlery and rip it to shreds. ;)
Another little sidenote: I'm no longer going to be posting Killing Butterflies, just because it is in it's second stage of editing, and I would rather be posting a piece that I'm still in the process of writing. So, here it is, with it's tentative title:
Phased
Chapter one:
“If you’re like me then you know how frustrating acne can be-”
“Hold it!” Amy Diego, a tall blonde woman in a tweed pencil skirt held up a perfectly manicured hand. Everybody in the room looked to her, she just had that kind of presence. Leadership. Her small voice held so much authority that you just wanted to listen and soak in the ideas like a sponge to water.
She walked over to Kimber, her heels making sure clicks on the platform of the set. When Amy motioned for Kimber to stand, she did, watching intently as Amy took her place with the product in her hand. She turned to look at the stationed camera’s, a smile on her face, and repeated the lines perfectly.
“If you’re like me then you know how frustrating acne can be, but luckily there’s a solution.” The words flowed out of her mouth smoothly, like melted chocolate. She was made for the camera, and Kimber watched intently, trying to catch what it was about her that made her so personable.
“You have to relate to the camera,” she said, standing up. “The people. Pretend they’re all old friends and you’re having a conversation with them, make it real. You’re too forced.”
She returned the small white and blue bottle and stepped off the set.
“Do it again.”
***
Her mom fussed, shrill, overbearing voice coming out of the phone in annoying bursts. Kimber rolled her eyes and hit the button on the keychain to unlock the car door.
“Yes, it all went well. Don’t worry.”
“Did they say anything about a callback?”
She tossed the bags on the passenger seat and rolled her eyes. It was just like her mom to ask about callbacks. All Kimber wanted to do was act, it was just one of those uncontrollable passions that came like breathing, but her mom wanted to control that passion. She had an entire plan on how it was supposed to happen; commercials, televisions, then on to the big one: movie deals.
“No, they didn’t.”
“Well, did you get a lot of compliments?”
“No.”
Kimber could practically see the frustration on her mom’s face. She was convinced that if Kimber didn’t get any compliments and nobody talked about call backs, then something had been done wrong, and of course her agent would hear about his ‘horrible choice in acting instructors’.
“Come home,” she said, voice stern. “We can talk about it later.”
“Sure.” Kimber hung up and turned the key in the car, letting the soft hum of the engine calm her the way it had since she was kid.
The entire drive home she tried being calm, taking her thoughts away from her mom and the overbearing, obsessive ruling of her daughter’s life. Kimber hated how she barged in and took control of the very thing she loved the most. It was past dinner by the time Kimber pulled into the driveway, looking up at the three story white building. Cold and sterile. Impersonal.
Like everything else in her life.
She closed her eyes, let her head fall back on the seat and took a deep breath before climbing out of the car, bags in hand and braced for whatever was coming.
Inside the house was just as plain as the outside. Minimal furniture that could be considered modern. The couch was a glass bench with white cushions over a blood red carpet with a shiny black coffee table. There was a flat screen television hanging on the wall with the protective plastic coating still over the screen. Kimber dropped her bags by the door and looked into the dark house.
“I’m home,” she called out.
“Kimber, is that you?”
She winced at the shrill voice and prepared herself for what would come when her mother walked in the door.
Her mom was the exact California housewife stereotype. She wore a tight, dusty rose cocktail dress, with platinum blonde hair, a fake tan, and French manicure, all to make her seem more authentic. Like she wasn’t born and raised in Texas.
She frowned, her eyes critiquing their way down her daughter’s body. “Did you wear that when you walked in?” she asked.
“Yes,” Kimber said, walking past her. “I went straight there from enrolling.”
New town, new school. New life.
“You could have changed first. Or dressed up or something. No wonder you aren’t getting a callback, they probably think you’re a slob.”
This coming from the woman who hired a housecleaner to put her laundry in the hamper and dishes in the sink. Kimber smirked and shook her head at the hypocrisy.
“Right, mom. They had clothes set out when I got there, it was totally cool.”
“Did you talk like that to them?” she followed me through the dining room and into the kitchen, heels clicking as she half ran behind me.
“Mom, chill out.”
“You did, didn’t you? Do you want to act, or do you just say that? We didn’t move here for nothing, Kimmy-”
She always got into these rants. Pulled the we moved our lives for you and this is how you repay us card. Like Kimber was supposed to repay them with movie deals and big checks. Truth was, acting hadn’t been the same for her since moving. It went from fun and carefree to forced and boring. In Texas everything had been easy. Big, dramatic. But in California, it was harder. Subtle, sexy.
“Can you really be this selfish? We have paid through the nose to ensure that you get these jobs, and your father doesn’t work overtime so you can throw it all away for some stupid reason.”
“I’m not throwing it away,” Kimber said through gritted teeth. She pulled the refrigerator door opened and searched the inside. Nothing but purified water, unidentifiable cheese and salami. Everything her mom considered to be high-class food.
“Have a diet bar,” her mom said.
Kimber sighed and shut the door, leaning against the cold steel and facing her. “Why do you always do that?” she asked.
“I don’t always do that. Only when you’ve gained weight.”
“Mom,” Kimber hissed. Having a mother who constantly reminded her of every gained pound was enough to lower an already dismal self-esteem. Kimber had never seen herself the way she saw Hollywood actresses. Never blonde enough, chesty enough, or sultry in the same way. She had always seen her self as shy, awkward and lacking a certain grace and finesse, the kind that would take her to the top. She put a hand to her stomach and shook her head, pushing away from the refrigerator.
“I’m only trying to help you, baby,” she said.
“Yeah, well it’s not working.” Kimber walked out of the kitchen, but the ever consistent clicking of her mother’s expensive shoes followed behind.
“Did something happen today?” she asked. “Something bad?”
Kimber sighed and took the stairs two at a time. “Other than you, no.”
She hated fighting with her mother, but as time went on, it seemed to be inevitable. Kimber remembered what life had been like before, when the two were able to joke and laugh about everything from television shows to menu’s, but time had changed them both. Made her mom an attention hungry California housewife, a stereotype in the worst way. And time had eaten at Kimber’s patience until she was constantly on edge.
“You don’t mean that.” Her mom stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at Kimber, an annoying, confident smile on her face. With a sigh Kimber turned around and went up the remaining steps and into her room, fighting not to slam the door on her way in.
It was only a matter of time before she stopped playing the little games. The only question was how long it would take to get there.
