"Dart, Iris Rainer - Beaches 01 - Beaches" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dart Iris Rainer)

DEAR BERTIE.
I NEVER ASKED YOU IF YOC7 HAVE ANY BROTHERS AND SISTERS. I DON'T. DO YOU?
SOMETIMES I PRETEND I DO AND I LEAVE ROOM FOR HER IN MY BED AND SLEEP ALL THE WAY OVER ON ONE SIDE.
HERE'S A PHOTO OF ME AT SCHOOL. IT IS YUCKY BUT LEONA TRIED TO IRON MY HAIR LIKE A TABLECLOTH AND I LOOK REALLY DRIPPY. ANYWAY, / AM FINE. ARE YOC7? MY MOM TAKES ME TO DANCING SCHOOL EVERY DAY. OTHERWISE I WOULD HAVE MORE TIME TO WRITE YOU.
CEE CEE.
P.S.I AM SAVING YOUR LETTERS IN A SHOEBOX. THEY ARE THE FIRST REAL MAIL THAT EVER CAME TO ME.
DEAR CEE.
GOT YOUR LAST LETTER ON FRIDAY AND IT WAS ALSO A SPECIAL DAY FOR ANOTHER REASON RECAUSE I HAD MY FIRST REAL DATE!!
IT WAS SORT OF DUMB BECAUSE HIS FATHER DROVE US TO THE MOVIES AND THEN WE WALKED TO WEINSTEIN'S (A DELICATESSEN) FOR A SANDWICH AND THEN HE CALLED HIS FATHER AND WE WAITED OUTSIDE OF WEINSTEIN'S FOR HIM TO PICK US UP, RUT, ROY, DID I HAVE FUN!!! HE PUT HIS ARM AROUND ME AND EVERYTHING . (MY MOTHER WILL KILL ME IF SHE FINDS THIS!!!!)
MY MOTHER SAYS THIRTEEN IS TOO YOUNG TO HAVE DATES RUT IF WE DIDN'T GO ON HAYRIDES OR ANYTHING, ONLY MOVIES, THEN IT'S OKAY.
OH! THIS BOY'S NAME IS SANFORD GLASS. HE HAS RED HAIR. BUT I DON'T LOVE HIM. (YET!!!)
LOVE, BERTIE.
Dear Bert.
I am so relieved. Today my dad agreed with Leona that I don't have to go to college. It would be a waste of time and money for me since I'm going to be a star and that's something you can't learn about in school. Right?
Anyhow, I hate school. I am a moron in math. I got a D in algebra, and that was just lucky. In English I'm better, because I like reading the stuff we have to read there, but I can't write good papers. The only time I like to write is these letters to you because I know you better than some kids in New York. I mean, I know more about you. Maybe it's because when someone writes things down, they don't have to look you in the eye, or have you look them in the eye or something.
I am so glad I'm almost graduating. Not just because I won't have any more homework ever again in my life (YAY), but because I don't like the kids in my school very much. The girls are all snobs and think they're real big if they're pretty or if their dads have money or nice cars. I don't care about them. In fact, I hate them, so it will be nice to never have to see their snobby faces again.
Leona bought me this dumb stationery with ballerinas on it for my birthday. I think it's kind of jerky. Do you? Oh yeah. Thanks for that key ring you sent me for my birthday. How did you know I like Elvis? I guess I told you one time. Some of the girls in my school think he's filthy, but I think he's soooo gorgeous, and even though
I don't drive a car I put my key to the apartment on it and get to look at Elvis every day when I get home and take my key out of my purse.
Anyway, it's really late at night, and if Leona comes out to go to the bathroom and sees my light on, she'll brain me 'cause I have an audition tomorrow for some children's show in Greenwich Village, so I'm going to put this in an envelope and go to sleep.
WRITE MORE, I LOVE YOUR LETTERS. C.C. BLOOMCECILIA BLOOM CEE CEE BLOOM SEE SEE BLOOM SI SI BLUE M.
Los Angeles, California, 1983.
Within an hour, Cee Gee was getting out of the car at LAX. She'd asked Jake, the limo driver who usually drove her to an exercise teacher's studio at lunchtime, to drive her home instead. While he waited, she packed and called the airlines. Shit. There were no seats available to Monterey. Not that afternoon, or that evening.
"How 'bout outta Burbank?" she asked.
Why had she let her lousy secretary take the day off to go see her goddamned parents in San Diego? And there was no way she could call her pain-in-the-ass business manager to try and get the airlines to bump somebody and give the seat to her. Because then her business manager would know she was leaving town, and he'd try to stop her. She had to get on a plane. Had to. Now. She'd never tried this before, but maybe it would work.
"Hey, this is Cee Cee Bloom, for chrissake," she yelled into the telephone, "and I gotta get to Monterey. Today. Now."
"Sorry, Miss Blue," the dumb bimbo on the other
end of the line said. Blue. The vacuum head didn't even get who Cee Cee was.
"But sometimes people change their plans and don't show up, so you could come to the airport and stand by, or-"
"The name's Bloom, you stupid dipshit. Bloom," Cee Cee said, and slammed down the receiver. A cigarette. She lit a cigarette and paced. What could she do? Connections. She needed connections. Who were her connections? Cee Cee dialed the number at Burbank Studios.
"Burbank Studios."
"Ray Stark," Cee Cee said.
"Ray Stark's office."
"This is Cee Cee Bloom."
"He's in Europe, Miss Bloom."
"I need to borrow his airplane."
"Why don't I have him call you when I hear from him?"
"When will that be?"
"Tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest."
"Thanks anyway." Cee Cee slammed the phone down. Jesus Christ. She started to shuffle through her address book for more ideas, but finally slapped it shut in frustration. "Ahh, why not," she thought and grabbed the small overnight suitcase she'd packed and ran down the steps.
"Hey, Jakee," she hollered out to the limo driver. "Let's hit the road, pal. I'm gonna pretend I'm a real person and fly standby."
Jake, he was okay. She'd make him swear he'd never seen her leave CBS. Say that she'd gone out a back door and that he didn't know where she was.
"There's five hundred bucks in it for you, Jake-o," she said just as they were driving onto the San Diego Freeway going south. "Buy somethin' for your kid."
"Fuck you, Cee Cee," Jake said. "You think you have to buy my loyalty? I never saw you since I drove you in this morning at eight, even if they cut my balls off."
Cee Cee's eyes filled with tears of embarrassment. Why were people so nice to her even if she was such an asshole? How could she be so stupid to offer Jake money? God, she was a klutz.
"I'm sorry," Cee Cee said, and she was silent for the rest of the ride. Thinking about how dumb she was. So friggin' dumb and crass, and all the money and clothes and chauffeurs in the world couldn't take that away.
It took her till she was twenty-one, for chrissake, before she figured out why, when you ate in a restaurant, they put all those forks next to your plate. Who needed more than one fork? She always figured the forks were there to give you a choice of what size you liked the best. God knows Leona never taught her stuff about forks, and J.P., well he didn't know much more than Cee Cee did. Even though he always pretended he did, the phony.
And tipping. Christ, she never knew anything about tipping. She always gave too much or not enough, or gave it to the wrong people. Once she got off an elevator. She was with Bertie that time-where the hell were they? maybe in Hawaii-and when they stepped off the elevator, Cee Cee handed the elevator girl a quarter. When the elevator door closed, Bertie said, "I must be going crazy. I could have sworn I saw you tip the elevator girl." And Cee Cee said, "You mean you're not supposed to?" And Bertie laughed so hard at that she had to lean against the wall in the hallway just to laugh. Of course, Cee Cee laughed with her, pretending it was a joke, pretending she'd never done that before, but the truth was she really didn't know one thing about manners or politeness, especially when it came to money.
Well, who was gonna teach her? Nathan didn't know and Leona sure as hell didn't know, and once when her business manager was telling Cee Cee about payment for a certain club date he told her she was gonna be paid in increments, and before she looked it up and found out
Peaches 35
that increments were a series of payments, she thought they were little gold coins or something like that.