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Three: Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

"An Aunt makes life a little sweeter."

~~**~~

            I remember when I was eleven, my mother and father had a particularly bad fight. I ran out of the house, away from my screaming parents, away from my obnoxious older brothers, and to the sanctuary of the Butterfly Aquarium in the museum. Aunt Jean had taken me there once when I was eight or so, and it had been my favorite place to be ever since. I loved watching the butterflies float around behind the glass, their wings a flurry of colors and shapes as they went about their business. I loved reading all the facts about the butterflies on the plaques on the walls, and seeing how their environment was changed according to the seasons outside their little perfect world.

            "Nothin' can ever hurt these sweet little creatures," Auntie Jean had told me the first time we visited, "They just flutter around, drinking the sweet nectar of the flowers, doing whatever they please, not a care in the world." I remember thinking then that I would do anything to be a butterfly. I wanted that freedom to do what I wanted, not to be harmed by my parents' harsh words that cut into me almost daily. I wanted to escape my brothers' teasing and abuse. I wanted to be a little butterfly and I wanted Auntie Jean and Uncle Kevin to be butterflies with me.

            I stayed in the museum all day, watching people wander through the exhibits and admire the butterflies and other attractions. I never wanted to go home. I remember walking to the restroom and glancing out the glass front doors. The world outside had gone dark, I had no idea what time it was. I just wanted to hide in the restroom until the next day, I didn't think my parents even noticed my absence. I would have stayed, in the museum that is, except for my Aunt had dropped by the house when I was gone, planning to take me out for a surprise picnic. She had called around the house, searched my room, climbed through the hay in the barn, looking for me. When my parents admitted they hadn't seen me since that morning, Jean flipped out on them, cursing and yelling at them and telling them what rotten parents they were for me.

            She knew where I would be, and right when I walked out of the restroom, she was there at the front door, begging the security guard to let her in so she could search for me because the museum was already closing. I stood frozen in place as she continued to beg, watching her pleading eyes dart around the lobby. And then she spotted me.

            "Emmie Lorraine Vouge," She cried from the door, looking over the guards shoulder at me. Once the guard saw me standing there, he let Jean pass and she ran to me. I started to cry when she scooped me up in her arms and hugged me.

            "I'm sorry, Auntie. They were fighting and Herald and Gerald and Bo were picking on me and… and…" I was sobbing, staining her blue T-shirt with my tears. She soothed me and thanked the guard as she carried me out to her truck. She placed me in the middle seat in the front and slid in next to me, buckling my seat belt and putting the key in the ignition. I spent the night at her house that night, after she had a quiet but angry conversation on the phone with my father.  Uncle Kevin rolled out three sleeping bags for us under the magnolia tree in their yard and he told me stories of his trips to Egypt as I drifted to sleep. I dreamt of butterflies that night.

             After a particularly stressful day at work, I traveled down to the Butterfly Esplanade. It was amazing because I could actually catch the butterflies, but I still missed the old museum with the butterfly exhibit. Being there reminded me of the museum with Auntie Jean and I smiled. I remembered that day, and many days after that, where I would escape to the museum, and then when night fell, I would stay with Jean and Kevin.

            Hanging out at my favorite bars always lightened my mood. The drinks were fabulous and the music was light-hearted. I danced with a few guys, but was never interested enough to get their numbers, let alone their names. I had been asked, as usual, if I wanted to go back to their places, or meet up again sometime, all such requests I politely declined. Work had been keeping me busy, my cellular rang basically non-stop and I hardly had any time for myself. A relationship was definitely out of the question at the moment. I was making quite a bit of money, however. Selling free things I got (and still get) for being a celebrity and starring in plays totally helped. My weekly routine was getting easier, work and then stardom were my two main priorities as they were keeping me afloat in life. It was getting harder to earn promotions though, so I figured that I would definitely need to focus on that if I ever wanted to move up and out of middle class.

            I came home one night for a change of clothes (I was planning to go to a dance club) and found my old phone practically clanging off on the wall. I thought it was funny that someone was calling me in the first place, the only people who ever called me were Harry when a new opportunity showed itself and a few coworkers when they wanted to hang out. I found it even stranger that someone would be calling my house phone instead of my cell phone. I didn't even know the number to the old thing.

            "Hello?" I spoke into the receiver softly, preparing for a crank call. 

"Is Emmie Vouge home?" A woman's high pitched voice echoed back.

"This is Emmie, may I ask who's calling?" I was confused, I was sure I've never heard that particular voice before.

"Oh, hello Emmie. My name is Sandra, I was a friend of Jeannette's…." I asked her to continue when her voice died out after mentioning my aunt. I didn't understand how someone got this number and I couldn't fathom a reason why Jean had anything to do with this Sandra person calling.

"I was talking to your boss this morning and we were discussing the next step you should be taking soon to make sure that your aunt's efforts are not wasted. I was Jeannette and Kevin's financial advisor. They set away quite a big sum of money for you, plus you were in their will and have full ownership of everything you want of theirs. I was asked to contact Harry two months after your eighteenth birthday to let you know the news, so here we are." Sandra stated in a professional tone.

            I contemplated for a moment, "So… What does that mean? I get everything they ever owned and then some? How am I going to be able to fit everything from that giant house into my little suburban track home?" I was flustered. There was no way that all of the amazing things that Jean and Kevin had would be able to fit into my house, and I couldn't afford a bill for a storage unit.

            "Well that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Most of their things have been sold for your account, but under their demands. Your aunt specifically told me the things that could not be given away, which are the things that you inherited. This includes the instruments from the band room, the hot tub, some specific pieces of furniture, an old-"

            "Sandra, please hold on. I can barely fit a keyboard in my house and you're expecting me to find a place for my aunts huge piano? I would love to keep everything but I really don't have any room at all and-"

            "Emmie, I wasn't done," Sandra interrupted me quietly.

            "I'm sorry," I sighed, "Please continue."

            "Your aunt and uncle knew that you wouldn't have room or the sufficient funds to travel back to Riverview to pick everything up," She continued.

            I looked up to the ceiling impatiently, wishing Sandra would just get to the point already. I hate waiting.

            "As you probably know, their house in Riverview has been sold to your oldest brother and his family. All of their furniture has been moved to Bridgeport for you. Now I know that this may be a surprise for you since you just moved in a few months ago, but the reason I was talking to Harry was because I was making sure you made enough money to pay your bills."

            I was slightly insulted. I had been working hard and I make quite a bit of income, my bills for this house were next to nothing. "I'm sorry," I said in a clipped tone, "But I'm not sure I understand. I make a nice amount of money from not only my job but from other opportunities that Harry helps me with. I am capable of taking care of myself, even if I am young," I heard Sandra shuffling papers on the other end of the line before she replied.

            "Emmie," She finally spoke. I figured that got her to stop beating around the bush and tell me what this was really about.

            "Jeannette and Kevin bought a house for you there in Bridgeport. I was making sure you made enough money to pay the bills for that house. The money they left you is so you can furnish and landscape whatever your aunt left untouched and then the rest is for the accessories you might need as time goes on. I never had a doubt that you couldn't support yourself, you are Jean's niece after all," Sandra laughed.

            I was stunned. A house? No way. I could ditch my little yellow piece-of-crap house so soon? I couldn't wrap my head around it.

            I must have been quiet for a long time because Sandra had to speak up.

            "Emmie? Are you still there?" She questioned worriedly.

            "Yes, I'm here," I whispered back. Sandra chuckled and went into an in-depth description of the moving process, people I needed to speak to, and how I should proceed with my job to keep my bills in check with enough money to be able to enjoy the life I came to Bridgeport for in the first place. I swear I felt like I was in one of those commercials that say you can change your life with one phone call. It was the longest conversation I've had in all of my life.

~~**~~

            I asked for the address of my *gulp* new home and then took my bike up to just peek around.

            But when I got there I couldn't even muster up the courage to walk up to the front porch. The house was beautiful, of course. Auntie Jean would never settle for second best. I didn't even know what to do with so much space, and I could already tell that there was a lot. Sandra had told me that a few more things needed to be done before I moved in and I could see the shadows of people working inside the house, even though it was late at night. I couldn't stay for long. Being there showed me that I had a long week ahead of me if I followed Sandra's orders, which I did.

~~**~~

            Eating leftovers isn't my favorite thing to do, but I managed anyways. The movers were already at my house, moving my limited amount of furniture to the new house. I would no doubt sell most of it, but I wasn't sure exactly how much I would need since I didn't even look through the windows.

            The only things left in my house were some things in my room which would be moved the next day and the regular necessities in the kitchen and bathroom. I wandered through my tiny empty house while I waited for the call that I needed to tell me to get my butt moving on this house thing. That day would be the most stressful day by far of the whole week.

            I sat on the ground in my now barren living room, still waiting for the call. When my cell finally rang, Sandra was on the other line, giving me detailed instructions on where to go and who to talk to. I jotted everything down and went off to do my days calling. I had gotten the day off from Harry so that I could situate everything. I was grateful that he knew everything that was going on.

            When my chores were finally done, I had the move in date for my new house and another opportunity that Harry had lined up for me if I was up to it. I accepted, figuring I could squeeze one more thing into my hectic day, and headed off one last time that evening.

            Signing autographs, spreading the news about a new restaurant, and attending a book signing were my three endless tasks that Harry had assigned, but my popularity rose immensely that day, which was probably the highlight besides being the new owner of the biggest thing a girl of 18 could probably have to her name, a house.

            I got home, grateful that my bed was still left for me and collapsed onto it, fully dressed.

            I fell asleep like that, and I dreamt of catching butterflies with a small, beautiful, and mysterious child. The child's laugh was contagious and I woke up smiling with the sun shining on my face.

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Two: Working for the Man

 "You never really know what life is going to throw at you. Just keep your glove open so you can catch that curveball." ~Uncle Kevin

            If I was being honest (which I am) then I would have to say that, quite frankly, Bridgeport kicks Riverview's ass. I hardly have any friends besides the people who I work with, my house is still a piece-of-crap (but it's rubbing off on me, I'm sort of starting to like it), drinks and bar food are way over priced, and I've seen an astounding total of zero hot guys since I've been here. And yet, to say the least, I would rather deal with a city like this… exactly the way it is now… Then go back to a town like Riverview.

            My job is pretty lame. I've just been running around and handing out flyers (like I suspected) and the rich and famous people I've been encountering are pretty stuck-up. But I've been here for over a month now and things are looking up a little. I've been promoted three times, and I have graduated from handing out flyers (which no one ever even looked at, they just stuffed them in their back pockets to throw away later) to now making the infamous donut and coffee runs for Harry. As time goes on, Harry meets new people and introduces me to them. I am now actually pretty famous for Bridgeport (3 stars, if you want to get technical) and I've been asked for my autograph and everything. I've done a few Cameo's, nothing serious enough to win me an all-day pass to 'being awesome for the rest of forever' but like I said, it's looking up.

            The most outstanding purchases I have made were my funky bike which I adore with a passion (I had to get away from taxi cabs and subways, they give me the willies), a cheap little keyboard for pure remembrance of Auntie Jean, who played her baby grand piano every single day of her life, and a dartboard, which was Uncle Kevin's favorite game. He taught me how to play when I was 12, I guess I'm average at it.

            I spend a lot of time out in the bars and clubs, not to get wasted or anything, just to meet people and see how they act. Some of the behaviors of the adults, I've noticed, are quite adolescent-like. Husbands and wives going out together, only to ignore each other or flirt with other people shamelessly. Men fighting over which MVP on various soccer teams are better than the other guy, or who's shuffleboard piece was the winning one because they were too drunk to remember who was red and who was blue, and usually causing drinks to be thrown and a big mess to clean up.

             I did enjoy a few drinks here and there when I was out though, I admit I'm not a saint. But I never crossed the line into a drunken stupor. Auntie Jean said that the only good thing that ever came out of alcohol was the conceiving of me, which wasn't even a good thing to my parents, considering I was their only child that they didn't plan to have.

            I have to admit, I do feel a little bit like Forest Gump the way I talk about her sometimes. It's like the "Mama says" thing he always brings up, except for it's my Auntie Jean. So I'm sorry about that. It must just be a habit.

            Anyways, a few weeks in I got invited to this super lame party. I mean on a scale of 1 to 10 (one being the "I could live through this" type of lame and 10 being the "Please shoot me in the face right now" type of lame) it was definitely a 13. The house was dark and cold, people were passing out from exhaustion, this horribly ugly man was pounding away on the piano, someone decided to have a make-out fest upstairs (no joke), and there was absolutely no alcohol to ease the pain of the awful night. The stammering host had obviously been hanging out at the local watering hole before hand and thought it was the greatest party ever, naturally. I would have left sooner if he wasn't keeping tabs on me and telling everyone "This. Her right here. This girl, woman is gonna make it. You know like make it big t-time." It was horrific and embarrassing.

  My cellular rang one Friday night when I got home from work. A very smooth-talking gentleman with a Sunset Valley accent asked if he could set up some props and take a few candid shots of me for their newest magazine. Apparently he had gotten a call from Harry who told him about my soaring aspirations of becoming an actress. The man (I forgot his name) had told me that they (my dreams) fit right in to his idea for a hot new magazine, Reaching for the Top, which will have its first volume out in stores soon. Here are a few of the editor's favorites:

 So things have been going well, for the most part. I do admit that it gets a little lonely in this small house, and not having any close friends makes it weird to go out clubbing, but I'm managing. I know things will change, maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but one day they will… And I look forward to catching that curveball.

                      

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One: Welcome to the World of Entertainment

~~***~~
They all laughed at me when I told them I wanted to become an actress. Even my parents and especially my brothers.

               "Look at those hips, Emmie. Actresses never have hips wider than their waist line. And you can't do a darn thing about it," My mother drawled in her southern accent, after I told her and my father I would be leaving home that next summer.

                "Not just the hips, May, but her body shape in general," My oh-so-supportive father mocked, "All muscle and no hustle, if you ask me. Too many days out at the football field with the boys, she's shaped like a scrawny man. And her eyes droop, just like  Jea-"

                "If you say one more thing about Auntie Jean, I swear I'll ride a thumb the whole way to Bridgeport, Dad," I snapped. Threatening to hitchhike to the big city always seemed to shut them both up. I knew how to push my parents' buttons as well as they knew how to push mine. I didn't care if my dad judged me, but my Aunt was a whole different story. My dad knew that bringing up Jean was my big, red, flashing button that had the word "danger" blasted across it in bold, capital, underlined, and any other fancy type of writing they have now-a-days. He, apparently, liked to live on the edge.

                My father, Randall, ragged on his sister until the day she was on her deathbed. She just laughed about it. My Auntie Jean was as tough as a rhino. I know that's not a saying you hear every day, but she was way past the 'Tough as Nails' stage in her life. No one needs the gritty details right off the bat, so when her life story needs to be brought up, it will be. But until then, one thing you need to know is that I loved my Auntie more than I loved my own mother.

Here's a quick information session on the woman who never laughed at my dreams:

                Jeannette Vouge was the sexiest cowgirl in all of Riverview in her prime. Lust was the first thing that you thought of when you saw all the boys chasing her. (And there always was a different boy who tried to shove their arm behind Auntie's back in pictures. Most of the pictures I've seen of her high school years had a poor kid being slapped silly by Auntie after they tried to cop a feel of her butt.) Despite the constant cloud cover of boys in the neighborhood, her heart was set on one hat, and that hat belonged to my Uncle Kevin. Jean and Kevin were the most unlikely couple, but sometimes it  just seemed to work that way. 'It' being love, in that scenario, of course. Auntie Jean had strong opinions about love, but those stories will come later. Their whole romantic history (obviously not EVERYTHING, I'm just saying the need-to-know stuff) can come later when I finish unpacking my boxes and I find the pictures of them. Needless to say (but I'm going to say it anyways), you'll hear a lot about my past during the time you spend here, my life won't make much sense if I keep it all locked up.

                Anyway, it was Auntie's idea for me to keep a journal, but nothing is as much fun as pictures, and hello! we are in the 21st century here. So I'll sit here and journal behind a computer screen, and share it with everyone. There's no better way to become famous than to hawk your life out to someone who can spill the beans; I might as well get started with this rodeo.

                As you might have already figured out, my name is Emmie Vouge. I grew up in the little one-horse town of Riverview, which is a great place if you want to smell like cow manure for your whole life. I moved to Bridgeport under the influence of becoming an actress and 'making it big,' I guess you could say. I was 18 for three days when I jumped on a plane to the city, and I bought a piece-of-crap house on a piece-of-crap lot the first evening I arrived there. I suppose I could have gotten more with the money I had if I actually wanted to look, but Auntie Jean was an investor, and she said fixer-uppers make as good as a home as any mansion to one girl with a future, so I took her advice (as usual).

So there stood my new, tiny little yellow house. I didn't want an apartment, I lived close enough to the action of the city already. Even though I wanted to be famous, I knew even then that I wouldn't want to be around masses of people constantly. Maybe small towns did that to people, maybe not. I'll never know. After all, I'm only just one girl.

That's me. All fancied out in a fancy dress, sprawled out across a fancy bed, in a fancy room, with fancy walls… in my piece-of-crap house. You'll get another picture of me later, I just need to find one where my hips don't look "too big." (P.S. My hips aren't even that big, I'm just giving my mother the satisfaction of maybe being right for once… It's making up for the blow of not loving her as much as I love Jean)

My third day in Bridgeport, I stumble across this ugly building with a cool looking fountain out front, which is the only reason why I stopped. You would have never guessed that THIS is the kind of place where movies that bring in millions of dollars are filmed, which I would find out later.

                "Emmie…. Vouge?" A male voice sounded behind me as I admired the fountain.

                I spun around to face him. He was mildly handsome, but in an old and rugged way, with a strong jaw and piercing hazel eyes that felt like they knew everything about me as he gazed at me. He had to be at least Aunt Jean and Uncle Kevin's age, maybe even a little older.

                "Yes, sir, that's me," I answered stupidly, wishing I had his accent rather than my own Riverview twang.

                "Your aunt sent me a letter a few months back. You look older than the picture she sent…" He fished around in his pockets and came out with a folded up picture of Auntie Jean and I, sitting in reclined lawn chairs, posing identically. I had that same picture in my wallet, we had taken it about 13 months back, before we knew how sick Auntie really was.

                "That's us," I smiled down at the worn out picture, "Why did she write to you?" My gazed slipped back up to his hazel eyes after he folded the picture once more and stuffed it back in his pocket.

                "Well, I've owed your aunt a big favor for quite some time now, and when she found out that I was a director, she sent me the letter with your picture and information. She told me to be keeping my eyes peeled around town for you around this time of year, since she had a feeling you'd be here. Are you interested in a job? I can't give you much to start out with, but it's easy to get promotions if you have the right connections…" He trailed off, studying my face for a moment.

                "You… owed my aunt a favor. So you're giving me a job? I don't see how that helps her out at all. I mean, she's dead now, so there isn't much that anyone can do, but why do you think giving me a job is going to help her? I say you ran out of chances when she took her last breath…" I rambled on in a confused tone. I wasn't trying to be snobby, and I never looked a job opportunity in the mouth in any case, I was just trying to figure everything out. I had just moved to Bridgeport for God's sake. 

                The man smiled, "You're just like her, you know. We're all going to miss her, and your uncle too. My last and only favor to your aunt was for me to take care of you, starting with getting you a job in the acting career. It's not much, like I promised, but you'll get there. What do you say?"

                I considered for about one millionth of a second, "I say I've got a new house and a new job. Thank you Mister…." I held out my hand for him to shake while I waited for a name to put to his face.

                "Grayson. Harry Grayson. Not as cool as James Bond, I must confess, but at least it's not as bad as Emmie," Harry winked at me and shook my hand lightly, "With a name like that you might as well have had the phrase 'Born to be Famous' tattooed on your butt at birth or something."

                I laughed, realizing that this was the type of man that someone would kill for to be their boss. And I got him as mine, all because my aunt knew him from her hay days (No pun intended…. Ok, maybe a little intention was there...) in Riverview.  This old man with laugh lines and various other wrinkles on his face just gave me a job without so much as a resume with my name on it. Soon, I would be out on the town, handing flyers to random people and making coffee and donut runs for the rich and famous whom I would no doubt encounter. If my Auntie Jean ever did anything overly astounding and wonderful for me besides basically raise me, it was getting me a job working for Grayson. Harry Grayson.                               

 

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