Free Hollywood Beginnings (A Novella) by Kathy Dunnehoff Page A

never are they a real story about a real person. I wanted to do that today, and I wanted to be as fair as I could by starting with what we all knew about him. He loved no one but himself."
    There was a lot of nodding in the room, but Mom and I just watched him.
    "That's the most damning thing I could say, really. He wasn't a criminal. He wasn't deliberately cruel. But like some men are born color blind, Van Baron didn't seem able to love. I suppose we all have our weaknesses." He shrugged. "I fall for feisty women who are quick to jump to the wrong conclusions."
    There was mild laughter to that one, but I didn't have time to wonder if he referred to me or some other woman I'd have to hate, a woman possessed one of my more irritating qualities.
    Brian cleared his throat and went on. "But Van Baron did love. There's proof. And I required proof. He loved deeply and, in his way, faithfully until he died. And knowing that, I've had to re-think all I knew about him."
    I could see Brian zero in on my mother, and I turned to her. "Why is he staring at you?"
    She sniffed and fumbled for a tissue in her bag. I could see her hand shake, her eyes fill, and her voice was soft. "Van Baron loved me."
    Loved her? My mother? They made one movie together a million years ago. "Mom, you were 18, and you had Grandma Eller as a chaperone. How much could have happened?"
    "Grandma Eller drank."
    "She--"
    "She quit when we moved back to Minnesota. Well, after she took the cure up near Minnetonka. But she was mostly passed out here in L.A."
    "You--"
    "Amy, it was a long time ago. I was different then."
    "I'll say." I thought of my teenage years when the dinner blessing involved pleas to God to keep us safe and chaste and to serve only Him and not the siren call of the flesh. Alright, maybe it wasn't that bad, but that's what I remember. "When I was 18, you said--"
    "I wanted you to aim high."
    "Aim high?"
    "Well, higher than I did when I was young. Amy, when I went back home and later married your father, I needed to make amends. I might have overshot it."
    "Overshot it? When I dated Billy Conroy you made me wear a rosary under my shirt, and we weren't even Catholic."
    Mom sniffed, and I wasn't sure if it was from the tears that had pooled in her eyes or the bitter memory of her daughter dating Billy Conroy.
    "When a parent names a child after a known outlaw, there's trouble."
    Well, that cleared it up. "Not named after Billy the Kid , Mom. We've been over this."
    "I just wanted my children to be better people than I'd been growing up."
    That felt like such a harsh thing for her to say about herself I forgot all about Billy. "Mom, having an affair with some movie star when you're 18 and your mom is…" I tried to get my head around the news about grandma. "Drunk? Really?"
    With tight lips Mom nodded, and I shrugged, "okay, when your mom's drunk. You need to give yourself a break. Not that you gave me one. I had to sneak around and--"
    "Yes, the unfortunate deflowering in the car."
    "Ewww. You knew?"
    "I'm your mother. And Billy the Kid, who did not become a brain surgeon, left a delightful bit of evidence in the driveway."
    "Sorry." I listened for the organist and wasn't surprised she captured both Van Baron and Billy Conroy with a jazzy version of Sade's Smooth Operator .
    "Teenagers are a lesson in learning grace, Amy. You'll find that out for yourself."
    Who was she kidding? All my relationships had gone south. I wasn't even close to having children. "I doubt it."
    Brian gave a sad smile and ended the service still looking like he was surprised he could say anything good about the man who was his father. "Maybe he did the minimum a person needs to do to earn their humanity. We'd like to love well and broadly… family, friends, dogs, babies. But maybe it's enough to hold love in our lives for just one other person."
    My mother quickly wiped beneath each eye. "I hope Brian will be forgiving."
    "What do I need to be forgiven for?"
    "Not you, dear, me.