Turn the Page

By blackrandl1958 and GeorgeAnderson

I have long been a Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band fan. The ballad, "Turn the Page," is one of their finest. This story is based on that song, but more closely on the music video of the Metallica cover. This story is for my daughter, who pointed the video out to me and asked me to write a story. For you, with my love. Credit to whom due:

Thanks to my team: Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical review. SBrooks103x also gives me a pre-post read. Thanks to Hale1 and GeorgeAnderson for their editing and to GeorgeAnderson for his writing contribution. Thanks to the good folks at Systeme International, for their input.

I awoke in a strange place again, and confusion gripped me. I reached out for Nathan, wanting the reassurance of his warmth. The bed was empty, cold lonely emptiness. I fell back on my pillow and the gaping wound of my life overwhelmed me. I wept, the bitterness of my tears scalding my cheeks as it had every morning for five years. I heard stirring in the next room and quickly reached for the box of tissues beside the bed. I composed myself. Merrilee was awake, and I couldn't let her see me crying.

I heard her footsteps and she appeared in the open doorway. Her angelic little face peeked around the door. She saw that I was awake and her face lit with joy. She walked toward the lonely bed, Claire in her right hand, being dragged by one foot, her foam-stuffed head bumping along the carpet.

"Hi, Mama," she said. "Can we get dressed and go get breakfast?"

"Yes, baby," I told her. "Let Mama shower, and we'll go." She kissed me and scampered back to the other room. I heard her shower start. I needed a cigarette. There were two left, and I lit the morning's first, got to my feet and staggered off to the bathroom. The hot water washed away the excesses of the night before, and I dressed, my mind a million miles away. I tried to remember where we were. Somewhere east of Omaha, I remembered. So many places had jumbled in my mind that I couldn't remember.

I dressed casually, packed my bag for later and went outside. Merrilee was already outside, sitting on the parking pylon in front of the door in the motel parking lot, talking to Claire. We got in the car and I put in the keys. There was only a click when I turned them. Damn it! This was the last thing I needed! I breathed a quick prayer and turned the key again. On the fourth try, it caught and the car started. I thanked whatever deity had provided and we went down to the diner.

I stopped at the convenience store for a fresh pack of smokes, and we went inside the diner. Merrilee ordered breakfast, and I got coffee. We were running a little short. She chattered away and I divided my attention between her and absent-mindedly looking out the window, lost in my own misery.

I had been happy, once. That all came crashing down on New Year's Eve, five years ago. Nathan and I had a huge fight. I had gone for an audition, and he was very angry with me. He wanted me to go back to college, but I was an actress. The audition turned out to be for a soft-core porn film some sleazy producer was putting together. Nathan hit the roof when I told him.

"Damn it, Alyssa, why don't you just stand down on the corner and sell yourself?" I had never seen him so angry. "Go down to the Kit-Kat club and strip off! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nathan, it isn't like that." I tried to explain. "It's all about getting a break. Someone sees you and you're on your way, a producer or a director. You get your face in front of the camera and that's what it takes."

"Your face!" he exploded. "No, your tits and your ass, that's what you get in front of the camera! Do you imagine that anyone will be looking at your face? Do you think they'll be listening to you do lines? The only reason they will look at your face is to see you fake coming while some diseased porn actor feels you up. I've had enough, Alyssa. I'm through with this 'actress' shit. Get dressed, we have a party to attend."

That had been the beginning of the end. I was mad as hell. Why couldn't he understand? He didn't own me, and I WAS an actress. We went to the party without speaking a word, I got smashed, and the next thing I knew, I was signing the contract to do that film. I would just hide it and Nathan would never know. When that major production came around, I would know I had done the right thing. Of course, someone tipped him off and that was the end.

"Mama, can I get a Coke to go?" Merrilee asked.

"Yes, baby." I signaled the waitress.

I never spoke to Nathan again. He refused to have any contact with me and I got the divorce papers a week later. I had a drunken weekend, ended up sleeping with my "co-star" and six weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. I never saw my co-star again, and never wanted to see him. He might have tried to take Merrilee from me. I later heard he got hepatitis and died from complications.

The waitress brought Merrilee's Coke, and we went back to the car. It started and I took her to the park for a while. I pushed her on the swings and the merry-go-round until it was time to go.

The sign outside Wild Cherries said "Classy Ladies." Right. Well, it was a job, and I needed a job. I even acted. I acted as if I was having a good time, was turned on by all the creeps trying to get their hands on me, and gave a damn about anything that happened.

I took Merrilee to the dressing room, got her a can of Coke to refill her drink and got dressed. Maybe undressed would be a better word. A black leather jacket, black leather shorts, so short my ass hung out, a red lace bra and panties; that's what we actresses wore. At least the ones who worked at Wild Cherries. I kissed Merrilee, put Claire in her arms, told her I'd be back after my set and walked down to the runway for my intro.

I did my thing, shuddering on the inside as the creepy men sitting around the stage, eyes glinting like ravening beasts, greasy lank hair and sweating faces, leered at my routine. Old men, bitter and cynical, young losers, unable to get a date, all lusting over the gyrations of a 30-year-old woman who looked older than she was, five years of self-destruction showing in the lines around her eyes, boobs beginning to sag, ass no longer as tight as it once was. We were a crowd of losers, huddled together in our misery, which always loves company.

I finished my routine and the desultory rain of bills followed. I smiled my plastic smile, gathered the money and strutted off stage, my self-disgust almost more than I could bear. This was the least disgusting thing I was.

When I got to the dressing room, I discovered the most disgusting thing I was. There she sat, in front of the mirror, garish makeup applied to that innocence, a pink boa around her little shoulders, some scraps of lace tied around her child's body.

"Look, Mama, I'm a dancer!" She was beaming with pride, and my soul withered and died. The tears fell from my eyes in a bitter rain and I collapsed to the floor. If I'd had the means, I would have taken my life, right there in that dressing room. My heart, my only reason for existing, had just finished my own personal tale of horror and despair.

*****

"Why are you crying, Mama? Didn't I do it right? What's wrong?" My precious girl flung her tiny arms around my neck and began to cry, too.

Why was I crying? Because no one including me respected me enough to care whether I lived or died? No. That was exactly how much respect I deserved. Because every bit of hope and potential and joy, every bit of life, had been callously wrung out of me for the amusement of others? No. My own choices had led me here. Was I crying over the way Nathan left me, even after six years? Maybe, a little.

Why was I crying? Because of all the women in the world, the one I least wanted my daughter to be like was me.

I clutched at Merrilee as if she was all that was left of the shattered former-person I had become. Which was pretty much the truth. A gentle hand on my shoulder recalled me to the present.

"I'm sorry, Jazz." That was my stage name. "She was so excited and wanted it so badly, and she's so cute we just couldn't tell her no."

I nodded. I felt like scratching her eyes out for what she'd done to my innocent daughter, but it wasn't her fault. Like everything else, this was on me.

"There's a customer asking for Jazz." The bored waitress who poked her head in the dressing room door didn't even notice that I was crumpled on the floor, in no shape to see a customer. Hell, she wouldn't have noticed if I had gone ahead and killed myself, as long as there wasn't too much of a mess.

"I'll take it." The hand on my shoulder was gone. It was a measure of my despair that my only thought was that I could really have used the money she was going to get.

"Mama, your makeup is a mess." My daughter was staring critically at my face. "Come on, we need to wash it all off and start over." Merrilee took my hand and pulled me toward the sink in the corner of the dressing room.

"Well, Young Miss Merrilee, yours isn't any better." I held her up so she could see herself in the mirror. She giggled. "Off it comes now," I said, and began to scrub her. The industrial-strength makeup we "actresses" used clung tenaciously to her soft tender little-girl skin, but after ten minutes' work I had removed every trace, except for the pink flush which my scrubbing had left on the cheeks I could never resist kissing. I sent her off to find her clothes while I cleaned my own face.

My face. It was as if it wasn't really part of me, not really; it was something I used, like my stage clothes. Had it always been like that?

I'd always been told I was pretty, even when I was younger than Merrilee. Nathan had always said he could spend hours just looking at my face. It was one of the things I came to love about him: he loved my face just as much as the sexy bits, though he had certainly appreciated those, too. What had happened?

My musings were interrupted when the dancer who'd taken the call for me put three crisp fifties on the dressing table in front of me.

"Jazz, you need to go home. I've paid your tip-out; take this and take your daughter home." She sighed. "I've been where you are; I know."

"Does it get better?" I didn't have to tell her what 'it' was.

"I don't know. I hope so. It can't get much worse."

"Never say it can't get any worse, because that's when it does." The serious tone in which Merrilee recited the old nostrum broke the tension.

"Let Mama get changed and we'll go. Do you want to go back to the park?"

She did. I wondered if I had ever been as excited about anything as she was about the simple treat. I knew I hadn't in the last six years. Oh, right. Acting. I'd been excited about acting.

"Look, Mama! There are other kids at the park!" She ran a couple of steps toward the playground, where a half dozen kids her age and maybe a little older were enjoying the slides and the swings. Then she stopped and turned back toward me. "May I, Mama?"

"Sure, baby," I nodded. I found a seat and watched. For one of the first times ever, I heard my Merrilee's little voice blending with the shouts and chatter of other children. I watched her face glow as she made her swing go higher than any of the others. My heart swelled with pride as I watched her explain to one of the other girls just how she did it. I envied the ease with which she and the other kids became comfortable with one another.

The kids were gathered around the merry-go-round, talking about something, at the top of their voices, of course. Finally, one little boy left the group and came toward me, with a scared but determined look on his face. I managed not to laugh, but couldn't help smiling.

"Hi, you're Merrilee's mom, right?" he struggled out. I nodded.

"I'm Jason. Could you come and push us on the merry-go-round? Merrilee says you can push it really fast, and we can't get it going very fast 'cause we're little. Could you, please?"

The little knot of kids was silent now, and they were all staring at me.

"Yes, I'm Merrilee's mom. I'm glad to meet you, Jason." I held out my hand to him, just as my own mom had taught me, all those years ago. We shook hands.

"I'll be glad to push you really fast on the merry-go-round, but you have to promise to hang on tight and not to be afraid." I couldn't help smiling as I saw his little chin jut out and his eyes flash.

"I'm not afraid. That's why they made me come talk to you. You are a stranger, you know. But Merrilee's cool, so I figured you would be, too. And you can push as fast as you want. My dad pushes us real fast sometimes, when he's home from work on the weekends."

Jason led me to the merry-go-round, the kids all climbed on, and I pushed. If noise was rocket fuel (instead of mooseberries), that thing would have flown to the moon. I stopped when I saw one little guy start to look a little green, to a chorus of groans. He was okay soon enough, and we started again. Eventually, one of the kids saw his mom coming toward us, and it was time to go home.

To a chorus of "Bye, Merrilee. Thanks, Merrilee's mom!" Merrilee took my hand and we started toward the motel.

"Bye, Merrilee. See you soon?" Jason was standing by himself, waving at us. Merrilee smiled and waved at him, then took my hand and pulled me toward the crosswalk, skipping as she went. My daughter had made a friend. Who knows, maybe even a future boyfriend, if we were to stay in the area. And so it begins, I thought. Would he treat her differently if he knew who, and what, her mother was? No, he was too young for that. But when she was older, would some boy break my beautiful daughter's heart because of what her mother had done? I had thought, as I lay sobbing on the dressing room floor at "Wild Cherries," that my self-disgust couldn't get any worse. I was wrong.

It took Merrilee quite a while to wind down from the playground. I wondered how on earth she could still have so much energy in that little body of hers, after going full tilt on slides, swings, and merry-go-rounds for hours, chattering and laughing the whole time. After supper, she sat Claire in her lap, her signal that she had something serious to say.

"Mama, Jason was talking about school. All the kids that were there go, he said, and they're learning to read and everything. He said I must not be from around there, because if I was, I would be going to the same school with them, since I'm five. He asked where I go to school, and I told him I don't. He said good because if I wasn't going somewhere already, maybe I could come to their school. He says their teacher is really nice, unless you do something you aren't supposed to."

Merrilee started rubbing Claire's foam stuffed head. It was her tell; she always did that when she was coming to the point of what she was saying.

"Mama, can I please go to school with Jason and them tomorrow, instead of going to your work? I'll be really good, and they all said I should come, and I could just hang with them and you could pick me up at the park, just like Jenny's mom does."

School. I had toyed with the idea of home schooling Merrilee, keeping her to myself, her and me against the world. No chance for her to let slip that her mama worked at Wild Cherries. No chance for her little heart to be broken by someone using the five-letter word for what her mama truly is. Much safer for everyone.

But I'd seen her at the park, laughing, giggling, running and swinging and having the time of her life. I'd seen her making friends, easily and comfortably. School. But that would mean I would have to settle down, find a place to live that wasn't a motel. Stay in one place long enough that people would get to know me, and know who I am. No. Could I see myself at a PTA meeting? No. Not even Harper Valley would put up with me.

Merrilee was waiting for an answer. "You know you would have to be there really early in the morning," I tried.

"I can do that, Mama. Claire and me get up before you, anyway. Besides, Jason says some of the kids have breakfast right at the school. Isn't that cool?"

"Do you really want to learn to read, baby?"

"Uh-huh," she answered seriously. "And write, and draw, and all that stuff."

"What if I taught you? I know how to do all that, you know."

"I know, Mama, but I really had fun with those kids today. Please?"

"Let me think about it, okay?" Tears stung my eyes. A couple of the other "actresses" had talked about how they felt when their kids left for school for the first time. I thought they were being over-emotional. I guess they weren't.

"Yes, Mama. And thanks for pushing us on the merry-go-round. The kids all like you. Jason says you're better at pushing than his dad!"

My precious girl was in bed, asleep, looking like an angel. My special angel. Maybe that's what she was; I didn't know much about angels. I did know that she was the one good thing in my life, the one thing worth saving. If I didn't have her, I would literally die: slowly from the inside out, or quickly: there were bridges to jump from, pills to take; I knew I could get a gun if I wanted it. It wouldn't take skill, just despair and self-loathing, and I had more than enough of that.

But what if I was bad for her? Merrilee was meant to be with other people. All of us humans are. Something bloomed in her as she played happily and innocently with those other children today. It was natural, and right, and she just glowed. She was still glowing, as she lay there sleeping.

I'd thought every now and then about what we'd do about Merrilee's schooling. I'd had this sort of romantic vision of her and me as nomads, going from place to place living off the land, her doing her lessons in the van or the dressing room while I "acted," and being happy and contented with just each other. Then when the time came, she'd take a GED or something. I knew that if I insisted on it, Merrilee would stay with me in my world. But what about all the other stuff that went on in my world? What would happen when she started asking her innocent questions about what I really did at work, and what I was doing with those men? Not to mention the drug exposure. At five, she just accepted without questioning, just like she'd accepted being made up and dressed as a dancer. That wouldn't last forever. Would she come to hate me, then? Or worse yet, if she didn't hate me, would she want to be like me? Heaven help me, not that! Anything but that!

But what could I do? I was making a living, the only way I knew how, I thought defensively. I was a single mom, playing the hand I'd been dealt as best I could (And just who had dealt that hand?). I was doing my best for my daughter, within my limits and those of my situation. Or was I? Was I just doing what was best for me, and holding on to Merrilee because without her I'd die? What if my holding on to her was destroying her? Shit. I needed a smoke. Well, what I really needed was a good stiff drink or three, but I didn't keep booze in the room with Merrilee.

The pack I'd bought that morning was still almost full. Good, I thought. Smokes cost money. I smiled briefly as I remembered what I'd been doing that afternoon instead of smoking. Then I frowned as I remembered that there'd be no money coming in tonight. Better make sure there would be tomorrow night. I still had enough on the ball that I was pretty sure I could make that happen. After all, that's what had gotten me this far, right? A wave of disgust passed over me.

I stared at the pack of cigarettes as if it contained the one brilliant answer to all my problems. Yeah, right, I thought, there's nothing wrong with me that a winning lottery ticket wouldn't cure. Nothing except I'm a used-up, washed-out...