dated, or even with her ‘manager,’ mom was ferociously independent, never allowing a man to treat her like a bought thing. I have a clear memory of her beating one of her boyfriends over the head with an umbrella for speaking disrespectful to her. But Larry, well, from the moment he walked into our lives, Larry acted like Mom was his personal trophy.
Miss, I don’t know who told you that my mother lived a charmed life? Before she married Larry, mother and I were poor. She was born poor, I was born poor, and we lived poor until that man took over our lives. My mother was pretty, that was her only blessing. She was not smart and she did not have a strong self-esteem. She had a beautiful singing voice, but had a poor memory. She couldn’t even memorize lines well, hence why she mostly giggled and cooed in her films.
Julian Bazin was sixteen years old, and getting ready for his first date, and, like all young men, nervous. It was a dance at his high school, and he was taking Peggy-Marie Greyson, the pretty cheerleader from the J-V squad.
For the first four years since moving to LA, his mother’s career in movies had taken off, and she’d booked many modeling gigs. Then, when his baby sister Rochelle was born, she left acting, “temporarily” so she could take care of her daughter.
Rochelle was a strawberry blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and soft beautiful skin. At two, she was already quite the stunning little child, and there were talks of using her in a few films for baby and toddler roles. Julian doubted Larry was his sister’s real father.
Tonight, he was excitedly trying on his shirts, trying to decide what to wear when his mother burst in. She was dressed down, in her bathrobe and slippers, but she had her deep auburn hair wrapped in a pink fluffy towel. Even without her makeup on, his mother was beautiful.
“Mom! I’m in my underclothes here!” He scrambled to hide behind something, dropping his pants on the floor as he jumped.
“Nonsense, Julian. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen a million times. Remember, I used to wipe that tushy when you were tiny. I just wanted to talk with you a moment. Since Lawrence decided to go out and have drinks with his whore tonight.” Julian seemed to remember hearing, in great detail, the argument between Maman and Larry. Why does she stay with him?
“What do you want, Mom? I need to get dressed. Sinclair is taking me out in the car in half an hour and I need to look my best.” With that, his mother glided across the room with such grace that it as if her feet never touched the ground.
“Tonight you learn what it truly means to be my son.” She walked over to where Julian stood, pants still on the floor, and put her arm around him.
Julian never realized just how much he’d resembled his mother. They both had flawless complexions, beautiful blue-green eyes, and deep red-brown hair. Tonight, her eyes were slightly red, and she had a puffy pre-bruise on her cheek. But there was something more: the naturally long length of their eyelashes, the turn of their lips, the tip of their noses, Julian looked so much like his mother that he was shocked at the similarities.
“Mother, what’s this about?”
“There’s something of a blessing, and a curse, in our family, son.” She said with a smile. “If one believes those things, we come from a long line of beautiful people. So beautiful that sometimes, our lovers will do anything to please us. We also have the tremendous skill at recognizing when we’ve found people who should be together.” She cracked a wry smile as she spoke. “But, that comes with a price. Our lovers grow very jealous if crossed, and we seldom can find the perfect love for ourselves.”
Then what’s the story with Lawrence, he thought to himself before speaking, “So why tell me now?” his mother removed her arm from him and stepped back, digging in his closet for clothes. She found a sharp-looking suit and jacket, with a fine button-up shirt.
“Two reasons. First, I want you to know that if you ever see the opportunity to help two people come together, take it. You’ll know it.” She handed the suit then returned to the closet.
“Maman, what is this about?” He stepped into the pants quickly.
“I want to make sure that you know how to treat a girl, especially if she throws herself on you.” He threw his shirt on quickly, and started putting on the shirt. “Don’t ever let me catch you mistreating a girl just because she’s too intoxicated with your charms to know any better.”
“Mom... is this about ...” Julian felt himself blushing. His mother turned around and started helping him button his shirt. Her delicate fingers deftly finished the job as she spoke.
“Love is more than the physical, son. There’s a spiritual connection, an emotional one. I’ve loved quite a few people in my life, and with each one, I’ve felt a certain bond to them. That bond lasts forever, be it in the form of a baby,” she produced a tie, and tied it masterfully before running her palm over his cheek, “a disease, or just a memory. You carry a piece of your lover’s souls with you. Just, be careful, my son.” She pulled a condom wrapper out of her right robe pocket, placed it in her son’s jacket pocket, and sauntered out of the room.
That was the closest I ever had to ‘the talk’ with either my mother or Lawrence. The rest I figured out on my own, especially when one of my classmates found one of mom’s French films.
Not a side anyone should EVER see of their mother.
Especially when your friends know it’s your mother.
As I grew up, I realized that Larry had some sort of hold over my mother, some psychological strain that kept her with him. I thought for a long time that it was because of Rochelle, my baby sister. I figured that if Mom divorced him, he’d get custody of my sister, and that would have broken her heart.
You really want to know about my mother’s favorite foods?? She loved raw oysters and champagne.
She ate them at least once a week as long as I can remember. Now that I think about it, Mom loved yellow apples. I can’t remember a day that went by where my mother did not have at least one juicy golden delicious. Even if we were poor, she’d always have an apple, cutting me a small slice of one when I’d been good.
Oh, but you wanted to know what about my mother influenced me to become who I am. You’re not really here for me to tell horror stories of how my mother wanted to know every detail of my sex life. I suppose that path began when she died...
Julian Bazin was a graduate student pursuing a degree in psychology from a fairly prestigious University three hours away from his family’s California home. It was just far enough away that he could be self-sufficient while close enough he could go home when school was on a break (or if he just missed his family). Though mostly, he stayed on campus during the school year and near-campus in the summer, since he’d taken a job managing a movie theater in the college town.
Several of his classmates were also children of the famous and semi-famous, so he’d not had to endure as much mockery over his mother’s career as he had in high school So what if she’d been a French porn star, a burlesque actress, and had a reputation? She was an actress. Those things happened in Hollywood. His room mate’s dad was a rock star, and had spent most of the sixties stoned. Those things happened.
He was a popular kid, though. All his buddies admired his skills at being a “wing man,” helping them with pick-up lines. More than once, he’d helped his friends who were looking for dates. Julian knew what worked and what wouldn’t, even if he’d never tried it himself.
Julian rarely had to use his pick up skills for himself: women and men threw themselves at him and he just didn’t have the need to hunt for a date. Julian would date someone for a week, a few weeks, or a month, but nothing ever stuck, because his lovers would get insanely jealous of him. Julian decided long ago that when he found a lover last more than a year without succumbing to jealousy or paranoia, then he knew that would be the person he’d live with forever.
He’d not yet found the right person.
Today, Julian was coming home because it was the Thursday before Labor Day weekend and he’d promised Mom that he w
ould take care of little Rochelle for the weekend. Julian would have to work a great portion of it, because of the holiday, but his sister would be able to watch the movies while he worked, and they could go to the pier in the afternoons. Rochelle was 10, and already blooming into a beautiful young girl.
Julian dreaded the day Rochelle discovered boys. Or, more accurately, he feared the day boys discovered his baby sister. Because she was every bit as beautiful as their mother.
The Hollywood mansion of Yvette Bazin and Lawrence Barnett was eerily quite as Julian pulled into the driveway and drove up the hill. To the side of the home, he saw the gardener pruning the rosebushes, stopping to wave as Julian got out of his car. Julian could tell, from the state of the yard, that the gardener had just shown up for the day. He waved back, and walked to the front door. It was early afternoon, so Rochelle’s school bus would not yet be home. Larry worked as a talent agent, and spent most of his time arranging jobs for his clients. He wouldn’t be home in the middle of the day.
Julian let himself into the house, it was his home, and he still had a key, so he entered quietly. Upstairs, from his mother’s bedroom, he heard a song playing: A Whiter Shade of Pale. The beginning strains of the song were playing as he shut the door.
“Maman! Je suis a la maison! Je