Threeway, ch. 6, Mandy, pt. 4 of 4
In which Mandy grabs for the brass ring. "Threeway" continues in serial form with a link to buy the book at the bottom of the post. To catch up on prior segments, start at the bottom of the blog. Enjoy. Tell your friends.
THREEWAY: A Short Novel for a Long Season
by
STEVEN LUBLINER
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, dialogue, and descriptions are the author’s creations and are not to be taken as true. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All incidents depicting, suggesting, or referring to public figures or other historical persons are also fictionalized and are not to be taken as true.
Copyright © 2016 Steven S. Lubliner
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1530971292
ISBN-13: 978-1530971299
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Prologue: The Personal Is Political i
1 Fillmore Pipp’s Boner 1
2 Big Mel Kriegman 16
3 Hi and Bye, Connie and Herb. 32
4 THE BROWN BAGGERS!! 40
5 Mittelpunkt 43
6 Mandy 51
7 Mandy In. Mandy Out. Mandy In. 66
8 Authenticity 75
9 Momentum 79
10 Brother Paul 88
11 Inevitability 98
12 Win. Lose. Repeat 108
Epilogue 112
Chapter 6: Mandy (pt. 4 of 4)
This sweet one-and-done was as good as it ever got. Over time, the getting of partners, the drunken hookups in the backs of bars, the hand jobs during commercials: it all devolved into dull habit, like the absent minded tickling of a rosary. Like that church goer who had lost the spirit and who adjudged the pastor smug, the sermon tedious, and her fellow congregants hypocrites, but who was first through the door every Sunday, Mandy kept on in her way because she was scared she wouldn’t recognize herself if she didn’t.
Seven years passed quickly. Mandy grew weary. Her mother said that if she was tired of men, she should stop futzing around and get pregnant. Her friends had done that over the years, and it was nice to see the new single moms in the park or at the social worker.
Mandy agreed a baby was nice, but she wanted more. Her gifts were being wasted. She was like a community theater actress stuck in endless Americana who did not know there was such a thing as Broadway. Mandy may not have heard of Broadway, but she had heard of L.A. There was work there for girls like her. It said so on the Internet.
Mandy’s mother told her that L.A. was no place for a young woman. Then, she maxed out her last credit card altering Mandy’s appearance in the prevailing style.
“How are you gonna get noticed if you don’t look like everybody else?” She saw Mandy off at the airport, pressing a teddy bear on her to remind her of home.
“Give Hef a hug for me.”
The plane Mandy left home on was so full of girls like her that it could have been a charter. The hub in the Midwest was full of them, too. Small town girls like her. Bible belt girls like her. Girls from the heartland of America, all done up like auditions had begun the second their feet hit the jetway.
After fixing their makeup in the restroom, most of the girls headed to the gates for their connecting flights to California. Mandy headed to the bar. Flying was not her friend, and she needed a boost for the final leg of her trip.
She decided to order like they did in L.A. She leaned in conspiratorially and said to the bartender,
“You know what? I would just die for a Cosmo.”
“Oh, shit, she would not,” said a woman who could have been her twin. “Get this girl a Budweiser. In the bottle. On me.” She looked at Mandy. “Right?”
“Hell, yeah!” Mandy decided to play along. The beer came, and the two clinked bottles. The woman looked too young to be a producer. Agents start young. Maybe she scouted Midwestern airports for new talent. That had to be frustrating. By the sound of her, that beer there was not her first.
“You’re going to California,” the woman said slyly.
“You, too?”
“Nope. Coming.”
“Home for a visit?”
“Home for good. No jobs out there.” Mandy was shocked for a moment, but then she understood.
“Don’t be bitter and tell lies because you couldn’t make it. At least you can say you tried.” The woman laughed.
“Sugar, I ain’t bitter. I’m telling it like it is.”
“But there’s new movies every week, and TV shows on all sorts of channels. Who puts up notices for fake jobs?”
“There’s roles only the best can play. There’s roles anyone can play. They could cast every part, the nice parts and the nasty ones, for years and send most girls home with nothing. So, why do you think these men put out these notices?”
“Maybe they’re looking for that fresh new face.”
“That they are.” The woman grew quiet for a moment. “Mind you, I did sleep with lots of new people. People I’d never even have met back home. Jews, blacks, Arabs. I did an Indian guy in the back of his pizza place because he said he knew people in Bollywood.” Mandy looked distraught.
“I shouldn’t kill your buzz. You got to see for yourself. Me, I’ve seen for myself, and I’m going home.”
“What’s back home?” Mandy asked.
“Nothin’. But it’s a familiar nothin’. I can go home and do whatever and whoever with clear eyes. Maybe get a baby, if not a husband. Get back on track to being the person God meant me to be to give him glory.” She drained her beer and grabbed her carry-on.
“See you in the funny papers.” She squeezed Mandy’s arm and started off. Mandy called after her.
“God has a different plan for me. You’ll see.” The woman stopped.
“That’s another thing. Pastor’s got producer friends, too.”
The woman’s words proved prophetic. Mandy never got near Hef or any respectable work. She had the sex required for advancement, but it led nowhere. She had no close friends. None of the girls did, but the smart ones put aside the fact that they were in competition. They became part of something larger, moving with grace through each other’s lives, sharing false leads, cheap drugs, cheaper men, leads on fungible day jobs, and the generally damaging wisdom of their experience.
In Nineteenth Century novels, there are points where the downward spiraling woman thinks of heading for the river or turning on the gas. This was one of them. It was no great loss the day that the independent producer or the agent’s friend’s brother or whoever he was had been too drunk or coked up to perform in the hotel room he rented to audition new talent. Such things had happened before. Still, it made Mandy sad.
As she rode the elevator down, she wondered, “How long, Lord? How long?” There was no answer. Had she bothered with professional training, she might have learned that timing is everything. Her Bible could have taught her this, too. Mary wasn’t at some cattle call when she caught God’s eye, and He said “Her!”
Buy Threeway.
Read the review on Kirkus Reviews.
Read an article about the author.
Review Threeway on Goodreads.
Buy A Child's Christmas in Queens.
THREEWAY: A Short Novel for a Long Season
by
STEVEN LUBLINER
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, dialogue, and descriptions are the author’s creations and are not to be taken as true. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All incidents depicting, suggesting, or referring to public figures or other historical persons are also fictionalized and are not to be taken as true.
Copyright © 2016 Steven S. Lubliner
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1530971292
ISBN-13: 978-1530971299
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Prologue: The Personal Is Political i
1 Fillmore Pipp’s Boner 1
2 Big Mel Kriegman 16
3 Hi and Bye, Connie and Herb. 32
4 THE BROWN BAGGERS!! 40
5 Mittelpunkt 43
6 Mandy 51
7 Mandy In. Mandy Out. Mandy In. 66
8 Authenticity 75
9 Momentum 79
10 Brother Paul 88
11 Inevitability 98
12 Win. Lose. Repeat 108
Epilogue 112
Chapter 6: Mandy (pt. 4 of 4)
This sweet one-and-done was as good as it ever got. Over time, the getting of partners, the drunken hookups in the backs of bars, the hand jobs during commercials: it all devolved into dull habit, like the absent minded tickling of a rosary. Like that church goer who had lost the spirit and who adjudged the pastor smug, the sermon tedious, and her fellow congregants hypocrites, but who was first through the door every Sunday, Mandy kept on in her way because she was scared she wouldn’t recognize herself if she didn’t.
Seven years passed quickly. Mandy grew weary. Her mother said that if she was tired of men, she should stop futzing around and get pregnant. Her friends had done that over the years, and it was nice to see the new single moms in the park or at the social worker.
Mandy agreed a baby was nice, but she wanted more. Her gifts were being wasted. She was like a community theater actress stuck in endless Americana who did not know there was such a thing as Broadway. Mandy may not have heard of Broadway, but she had heard of L.A. There was work there for girls like her. It said so on the Internet.
Mandy’s mother told her that L.A. was no place for a young woman. Then, she maxed out her last credit card altering Mandy’s appearance in the prevailing style.
“How are you gonna get noticed if you don’t look like everybody else?” She saw Mandy off at the airport, pressing a teddy bear on her to remind her of home.
“Give Hef a hug for me.”
The plane Mandy left home on was so full of girls like her that it could have been a charter. The hub in the Midwest was full of them, too. Small town girls like her. Bible belt girls like her. Girls from the heartland of America, all done up like auditions had begun the second their feet hit the jetway.
After fixing their makeup in the restroom, most of the girls headed to the gates for their connecting flights to California. Mandy headed to the bar. Flying was not her friend, and she needed a boost for the final leg of her trip.
She decided to order like they did in L.A. She leaned in conspiratorially and said to the bartender,
“You know what? I would just die for a Cosmo.”
“Oh, shit, she would not,” said a woman who could have been her twin. “Get this girl a Budweiser. In the bottle. On me.” She looked at Mandy. “Right?”
“Hell, yeah!” Mandy decided to play along. The beer came, and the two clinked bottles. The woman looked too young to be a producer. Agents start young. Maybe she scouted Midwestern airports for new talent. That had to be frustrating. By the sound of her, that beer there was not her first.
“You’re going to California,” the woman said slyly.
“You, too?”
“Nope. Coming.”
“Home for a visit?”
“Home for good. No jobs out there.” Mandy was shocked for a moment, but then she understood.
“Don’t be bitter and tell lies because you couldn’t make it. At least you can say you tried.” The woman laughed.
“Sugar, I ain’t bitter. I’m telling it like it is.”
“But there’s new movies every week, and TV shows on all sorts of channels. Who puts up notices for fake jobs?”
“There’s roles only the best can play. There’s roles anyone can play. They could cast every part, the nice parts and the nasty ones, for years and send most girls home with nothing. So, why do you think these men put out these notices?”
“Maybe they’re looking for that fresh new face.”
“That they are.” The woman grew quiet for a moment. “Mind you, I did sleep with lots of new people. People I’d never even have met back home. Jews, blacks, Arabs. I did an Indian guy in the back of his pizza place because he said he knew people in Bollywood.” Mandy looked distraught.
“I shouldn’t kill your buzz. You got to see for yourself. Me, I’ve seen for myself, and I’m going home.”
“What’s back home?” Mandy asked.
“Nothin’. But it’s a familiar nothin’. I can go home and do whatever and whoever with clear eyes. Maybe get a baby, if not a husband. Get back on track to being the person God meant me to be to give him glory.” She drained her beer and grabbed her carry-on.
“See you in the funny papers.” She squeezed Mandy’s arm and started off. Mandy called after her.
“God has a different plan for me. You’ll see.” The woman stopped.
“That’s another thing. Pastor’s got producer friends, too.”
The woman’s words proved prophetic. Mandy never got near Hef or any respectable work. She had the sex required for advancement, but it led nowhere. She had no close friends. None of the girls did, but the smart ones put aside the fact that they were in competition. They became part of something larger, moving with grace through each other’s lives, sharing false leads, cheap drugs, cheaper men, leads on fungible day jobs, and the generally damaging wisdom of their experience.
In Nineteenth Century novels, there are points where the downward spiraling woman thinks of heading for the river or turning on the gas. This was one of them. It was no great loss the day that the independent producer or the agent’s friend’s brother or whoever he was had been too drunk or coked up to perform in the hotel room he rented to audition new talent. Such things had happened before. Still, it made Mandy sad.
As she rode the elevator down, she wondered, “How long, Lord? How long?” There was no answer. Had she bothered with professional training, she might have learned that timing is everything. Her Bible could have taught her this, too. Mary wasn’t at some cattle call when she caught God’s eye, and He said “Her!”
Buy Threeway.
Read the review on Kirkus Reviews.
Read an article about the author.
Review Threeway on Goodreads.
Buy A Child's Christmas in Queens.
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