Close to Famous Page 4

  I used to take out Daddy’s letters, unfold them, and let my fingers go back and forth over the lines. Daddy wasn’t rich when it came to money, but he was rich in his heart. I think when it came to his heart, Daddy was an official millionaire. Mostly, when I remember him, I remember him happy.

  Mama called Mr. Purvis back twice, but he said no one had seen the pillowcase.

  I guess that part of Daddy is lost to me now.

  Eight

  I DON’T KNOW how Macon found me. I’d just washed my hair and wrapped a towel around my head, and there he was at the door wearing jeans, sneakers, and a blue T-shirt that had this across the chest:

  DOCS ROCK

  I went outside. He stared at me. “You look different without your hair.”

  “It’s not like I lost it, it’s under the towel.” Now I felt weird with a towel wrapped around my head.

  He smiled. “You like my shirt?”

  “What’s it mean?”

  “Docs is short for documentaries. Docs rock.”

  Okay.

  “Do you know why documentaries rock?” he asked. “They’re about issues. You can’t be a documentary filmmaker unless you have issues.”

  “What kind of issues have you got?”

  Macon looked down. “Well, the thing is, I need to find some issues. I need to push the envelope and get angry about things and turn that anger into a film.” He sat on a log and looked around. This boy didn’t seem too angry.

  “I want to know if you want to be in my movie.”

  I’d never had anyone ask me this. “Do I have to have issues? ”

  “It would help.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve got good ones.”

  “What makes you angry, Foster?”

  “Teachers who say you’re not trying when you are. People who pretend to be good and turn out to be bad.”

  “I don’t like those things either.” Macon leaned forward like he wanted to punch something. “You know what makes me mad? When you’ve got a big dream and nobody takes you seriously.”

  “I hate that, too.”

  Macon took a deep breath. “Culpepper’s got issues. We’ve got this new prison that was supposed to come in and help the town with jobs and support local businesses, but it hasn’t done much of that; mostly it’s made people nervous and angry. It’s changed the way people feel about the town. We used to be the place where Colonel Culpepper’s Jams and Jellies were made, and they were great, Foster. But now the factory is gone, so many people got laid off, and the prison didn’t hire many locals. It’s hard to get work here. It’s hard to see things changing! That’s what I want to make my movie about.”

  “That sounds important.”

  He sighed sadly. “It is. But nobody will talk to me about it.”

  “I’m talking to you.”

  “I mean adults.” Macon stood, which didn’t make much difference. “And there’s another thing. I don’t go telling everybody this, Foster. I haven’t saved enough to buy a movie camera yet and my mom won’t let me use her camera phone, so even if someone would talk to me, I couldn’t film it!” He put his head in his hands.

  “How do you make a movie without a camera?” I was just curious, but Macon’s cheeks got red.

  “Of course, Foster, the actual movie can’t be made, but there’s lots to do before principal photography!”

  I started drying my hair. “Like what?”

  “You don’t seem very interested in this! Here I am talking to you about my big dream and you’re drying your hair!”

  “It’s wet!”

  “I’ll come back when it’s dry!” Macon stormed off. Elvis the cat slithered toward me. From inside the Bullet, I heard Mama’s cell phone ring.

  “Foster,” Mama shouted, “get that, will you?”

  I ran inside and found the phone. “Hello?”

  There was a pause on the other end, then I heard the low, familiar voice. “Well, little Foster, this here’s your old friend Elvis. I got something I think you want.”

  Nine

  I FROZE AT the sound of Huck’s voice.

  “Foster, now I’ve been trying to find you and your mama.”

  I didn’t say a word.

  “Girl, are you there?”

  I held my breath so he couldn’t hear my breathing. I was sure he could hear my heart pounding.

  “I know you’re there, sugar. You just listen to old Elvis. You listen to the King.”

  I heard clanging on the line.

  “Know what that is?”

  I pictured him swaggering around in his Elvis getup. I didn’t say a word.

  “Let’s see if you can guess. It’s a pillowcase with the words Las Vegas on the front, and inside—”

  “That’s mine!” I hollered.

  He chuckled. “Let’s see here—there’s some kinda little flag and some letters and—”

  “You leave those alone!”

  Mama walked in. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Shhhhhhhh!” I covered the phone.

  “Who is it? ”

  “Huck,” I whispered. “He’s got the pillowcase.”

  Mama froze.

  “You put your mama on the phone and we can work this out.”

  I wanted Daddy’s pillowcase bad, but not as bad as I wanted never to see Huck again.

  “Give me the phone, Baby.”

  I looked up at Lester’s daddy’s stupid, dead fish and realized it was dead because it got fooled by a worm on a hook. I’m not getting fooled.

  “Give me the phone, Baby.”

  I backed away from her. “No ma’am.”

  “Foster! ”

  “Now,” Huck was saying, “your mama and I can work this all out. You know us—we fight one minute and make up the next. It’s no big deal.”

  I flipped the phone shut and said close to the hardest thing I’ve ever said in my life. “I don’t need the pillowcase, Mama.”

  The phone started ringing again.

  I turned it off. Mama sat down on the couch and touched her hurt eye. “What did he say?”

  “He said you could work it out.”

  She shook her head. “How did he get the pillowcase?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Mama touched the fringe on the hanging sheet. I wanted to yank a sheet around our whole lives.

  “How come you didn’t turn Huck in when he hit you, Mama?”

  “I don’t know.” She sounded so tired. She walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

  I walked to the kitchen.

  I put on my shooting star apron, got out my baking pan, opened the refrigerator, and took out tortillas, tomato sauce, salami, and cheese.

  “Today on Cooking with Foster we’re going to make smiling pizzas for sad days.” I put two tortillas down on the pan, spread red sauce over them, and sprinkled on mozzarella, garlic powder, and oregano.

  “Be careful the cheese doesn’t go over the edge or it’ll spill over on the pan and start smoking. That can make your whole kitchen stink. I’m going to turn the oven dial to four-fifty.” I did that, smiling. “And now I’m getting my best knife”—I held it up—“and I’m slicing a thin round of salami into a smiley shape just like this. Don’t make it too thick. I’m putting that on the pizza and cutting two small circles and putting them down for eyes.” I looked at it. “We need eyebrows, don’t you think?” I looked around, got some sliced olives, and put them over the eyes.

  “All right, I’m popping this in the oven, and in about ten minutes, it’s going to be great.” I smiled at Lester’s daddy’s stupid, dead fish.

  “Let me tell you something about sad days. They’re just part of life, but the best thing you can do on the happy days or on the sad ones is to do what you do best with everything you’ve got. The bravest man I knew told me that.” I leaned against the sink and crossed my arms tight. “He died in a war. I wish war had never been invented. But right now, let’s have a moment of silence for every person lost in every war that has e
ver been, and all the kids who miss them.”

  I stood by the sink, hugging myself, hearing the clock tick tock. I’m not sure how long a moment of silence is supposed to be, but after a while, it seemed long enough.

  I heard the pizzas sputtering, put on my oven mitt, took the pizzas out of the oven, and laughed at the smiley faces. “See, they’re perfect. Golden and bubbly, but not burned. And you’re going to love the thin, crispy crust.” I leaned over to smell it. “Don’t forget to smell what you’ve made, because that’s part of the fun. I learned that from Sonny Kroll, the second bravest man I know, although I don’t really know him. And don’t forget to turn the oven off. That’s a major kitchen safety tip.”

  I turned the oven off, got out my pizza wheel, and started cutting. “You can’t make a smiling pizza and not feel better. We’re going to talk about everything you can think of on this show.”

  Huck started calling a few times each day. Mama stopped answering her phone, but she still had the messages to deal with about how he loved her and he couldn’t live without her.

  It’s funny, I hadn’t minded Huck in the beginning. He was actually pretty nice. He told me, “One of these days, you’re going to turn into a fine reader.”

  “I don’t think so, Huck.”

  “Don’t go saying that now. You think I became one of the best Elvises overnight? No, girl. I set my mind to get there. I’d wear long underwear so I could sweat like a pig onstage. Every day, I’d ask myself, what would Elvis do?”

  But when my report card came, he called me a loser. He could never make up his mind.

  I think he loved Mama in his own way, but he didn’t have the kind of love that wanted her to shine. Huck had room for only one star in the sky—his.

  “You’re not going to see him again, right?” I asked Mama.

  “I’m not going to see him,” she promised.

  Mama started making the rounds in Culpepper to find work. She went to the prison and tried to get a job answering the phone, but they weren’t hiring. Jarvis at FOOD didn’t need help; neither did the gas station. Then Mama and I were in Fish Hardware buying a mop and Mama decided to go for it.

  “I’m handy as all get-out,” she told Mr. Fish. “I can fix a toilet, repair a car, and work a power saw.” Mama learned all that from books. It just shows you how lucky good readers are. “You need some life in here,” Mama added.

  From the back I heard a voice say, “We sure do, Daddy.” A girl a little older than me walked up. She had freckles and straight brown hair that touched her shoulders. Mr. Fish, a gray, boring man, seemed nervous.

  “You can try me out for a week,” Mama said.

  Mr. Fish coughed. “Well, I’m not sure.”

  “We’ve got lots of new things planned for the store,” the girl announced.

  “Maybe,” her father told her.

  “Daddy!” The girl put her hands on her hips and stared at her father as the door opened and Perseverance Wilson marched in. Mr. Fish looked like he wanted to run.

  “Fish,” she shouted, “we need to talk.”

  “I’m just getting our new employee here situated, Ms. Wilson.” He looked at Mama. “When did you say you could start?”

  Mama grinned. “How about now?”

  “My daughter, Amy, will show you around.” He walked quickly out the door.

  Perseverance Wilson called after him, “You can run, Fish, but you can’t hide.” She turned to Amy. “Nothing personal, honey.”

  Amy bit her lip and walked Mama to the back, saying, “I’ve been reorganizing the store so things are easier to find. Over there is where we’ll have our Cool Tools section. That’s my idea.”

  “I like it,” Mama said.

  “My father doesn’t.”

  Percy eyed me. “How you getting on?”

  “Okay.”

  “You making friends?”

  I shrugged.

  She took me by the arm. “Come and meet Garland. He’s about your age and close to the finest boy God ever put on this earth. I’m not just saying that because he’s my son.” We went outside, and a tall boy with short, curly hair was doing stretches. He was the one I’d seen running. Percy cleared her throat. “This here is Foster, and she needs a friend.”

  I wish she hadn’t said it that way! “I’m new,” I explained.

  Garland smiled real friendly. “You run?” he asked me.

  “I bake.”

  He thought about that. “What do you bake?”

  “Just about anything.”

  “Chocolate cake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Blueberry pie?”

  I nodded.

  He tied his sneaker. “Snickerdoodles, oatmeal cookies . . .”

  “Yes,” I said. “And a hundred other things.”

  “How come you’re not baking?”

  “How come you’re not running?”

  Garland grinned good enough for TV. “ ’Cause I’m talking to you.” He checked his watch. “But I’ve got to practice or my coach will kill me.”

  He sped down the street, jumping over fences. Percy watched him go. “See, it’s not so bad around here.”

  I tried my best not to smile too big.

  Ten

  “I’M HERE TO talk to you about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  Macon stood by our open door and took a deep breath. “I talked to Miss Charleena about you, Foster, and even though she doesn’t like having people around, even though she is still grieving the loss of so much of her life and all the awful things her ex-husband did to her in public . . .” He breathed. “But at least the Hostess truck came in. We can all be grateful for that.”

  “What is it, Macon?”

  He looked up at me. “She said that you can come to her house with me. I’ve got to work in her garden, and you can help.”

  “Get ready for an experience,” Lester shouted from the tomato garden.

  “So, Foster, do you want to come with me to meet Miss Charleena tomorrow?”

  I’d never met somebody who was famous before, even though I’d never heard of her.

  “I’ve got to ask my mama.”

  “Ask her what?” Mama walked up.

  Macon went into his once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity speech.

  “How long have you been working for her?” Mama asked him.

  “Six months. Miss Charleena asked who was the most responsible kid in town, and my name kept coming up.”

  “Well now. That’s something.”

  “It’s perfectly safe, Mrs. McFee.”

  Mama walked over to Lester, who was tending his tomato patch. They talked a few minutes. Mama came back. I couldn’t read her face.

  “I’ll say yes under one very specific condition.”

  I held my breath.

  Mama grinned. “Remember everything—how her house looks, what she’s wearing, and everything she says! ”

  Mama and I stayed up late talking about Miss Charleena’s movies and how she was one of those actors who could disappear into any part she was playing.

  “How do you think I should be around her?” I asked.

  “Be yourself. Remember, she puts her pants on one leg at a time, just like you.”

  I was trying to remember that the next morning as Macon and I made the final chug up Marigold Hill to Miss Charleena’s house.

  “Some people think she’s kind of into herself and doesn’t care about other people,” Macon explained. “This is totally wrong, Foster. She’s known a lot of sorrow. Last month, she thought she was dying.”

  “Of what?”

  “Something mysterious.”

  We walked up a gravel path to a huge gray house. It had a white painted porch with white furniture, and hanging plants were everywhere. Each window had white shutters, but you couldn’t see inside. All the curtains were closed.

  “Miss Charleena’s not too happy about her view.” Macon pointed to the prison below. “That’s why she built that big fence.”

  It
was the tallest fence I’d ever seen.

  We walked down a stone path, past a garden with blue flowers. Next to it was another garden with yellow flowers, and across from that was a garden filled with pink roses. I could definitely live here.

  “Miss Charleena doesn’t like different flowers mixed up together. She likes everything a certain way. It’s really important that you don’t do anything wrong, Foster.”

  That got me nervous. “Like what?”

  He took out a ring of keys and headed to the back door. “Miss Charleena doesn’t like anyone tracking a mess through her house, so you’ve got to take off your shoes.”

  If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have come with holes in my socks. I took my shoes off, tried to twist my socks so my toes didn’t show through. Macon shook his head. “Miss Charleena won’t like seeing your toes.”

  “Maybe she can just look up.”

  Macon seemed pained. We headed through a screened-in porch past fancy white furniture with pink and green pillows. It’s hard to walk regular when your socks are twisted. I picked up one of the pillows. It was so soft. I thought about Daddy’s pillowcase.

  “Don’t go touching things. Miss Charleena doesn’t like that.”

  I put the pillow back as two little white dogs ran through a doggy door and out into the yard.

  “That’s Tracy and Hepburn,” Macon said. “Don’t pet them if your hands aren’t clean. Miss Charleena doesn’t like that.” He whispered. “Sometimes she changes her mind about what she likes.”

  “Then how will I know?”

  “You won’t know, Foster! That’s why you have to be really careful! I’m trying to give you the basics of how not to mess up.”

  I nodded.

  He opened the back door. “Don’t yell in the house, don’t slam the door, and do not ever open the curtains. Miss Charleena really doesn’t like that.”

  I groaned. “Is there anything she does like?”

  “Well, that depends,” said a low, Southern voice that gave me the shivers.

  A tall, beautiful woman wearing a long white shirt, blue jeans, and dangling jewel earrings stepped forward. “So far, darlin’, I’m not too impressed with you.”