The Beauty Queen Page 10

  “I don’t understand,” she said, “but you do sound decided.”

  “I am,” I said. “I’ll send you a letter today. Do you make the official announcement, or do I?”

  “We will,” she said. “Good-by, Kit. I wish you luck with your decision.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m going to need it. Good-by.”

  My next call was to Lynn. I told her what I’d chosen.

  “Fantastic,” she said. “I’ll loan you my knapsack.”

  I thanked her and said it would be a useful thing to have.

  Barry King was very nice about it. “You’re crazy,” he said. “But all actors are. That’s why I went into radio.”

  “It would have been fun,” I said. “Fifteen-minute interviews with the really important people of Great Oaks.”

  “Shut up,” he said. “I’m starting to envy you your youth, and that won’t do me any good.”

  “I’ll send you a postcard,” I said. “In my most mellifluous style.”

  “I’ll read it on the air,” he said. “Take care, Kit, and when you become a star, remember all the little people.”

  “I could never forget them,” I said.

  Mayor McGowan wasn’t as sympathetic. “Resigning?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid so, sir,” I said.

  “Do you realize this is the first time a girl from Great Oaks would have been in the state contest?” he asked. “That’s a very important event for Great Oaks.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said.

  “If you win, we’re planning on giving you a ticker-tape parade. Declare it Kit Carson Day.”

  “I look terrible in ticker tape,” I said. “Next year’s crop of girls is gorgeous. I’m sure one of them will go all the way, and then think what a celebration you could have. Just hold on, Mayor McGowan, and see what glories will come.”

  “You lack civic responsibility.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’m a selfish brat. But I’m going to be a happy selfish brat, or kill myself trying. I hope you understand.”

  “No,” he said. “I am deeply disappointed and don’t understand at all. Good-by, Kit. Our loss is Colorado’s gain, I’m sure.”

  “Good-by,” I said. “Good luck in November.”

  He slammed the phone down. I rested mine for a few moments, then called Greg.

  “Everybody says I’m crazy,” I told him. “In those words.”

  “You are,” he said. “You’re throwing away at least five hundred dollars, and probably more. You’d be a finalist in the state contest, if not the winner. You’re throwing all that away, plus the glamour involved, and the happiness it would give to other people. That’s a lot to give up on the chance of a job.”

  “I can’t stay in Great Oaks,” I said. “If I do, and go to college like Mom wants, I’ll end up being what Mom wants me to be, and that would be awful. I couldn’t make it as a suburban housewife. I’d hate it.”

  “You’ve never tried it.”

  “I’ve never tried anything,” I said. “Except maybe acting, and that was enough. Oh, Greg, I’ve got to learn. I’ve got to see if I can make it. I’ve got to see what there is for me, and this is my chance. I thought you’d be on my side.”

  “You know when you walk in there, even if they hire you, they won’t swoon and give you Anne Frank. You’ll be lucky if you get two lines.”

  “I won’t care,” I said. “Well, that’s not true, I will care. I’ve been spoiled in this town. But that’s one of the things I have to unlearn. I have to go where all the other people can act too and see if I can hold my own. I think I can, but I’d better find out while I’m young. Say you understand.”

  “I understand,” Greg said. “Have you told your mother yet?”

  “No,” I said. “But I will. Don’t worry.”

  “I’ll worry,” he said. “But I know you will. Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “See me before you go,” he said.

  “I will,” I said. “I love you, Greg.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I love you too.”

  I went to my room and borrowed some stationery from Marly. I wrote an official resignation letter to the Miss Harrison County Contest people. As soon as it was in an envelope, I took it to the post office and mailed it. That would make things easier with Mom.

  She got home that evening in the best of spirits. “How’s the beauty queen?” she asked.

  I winced. “Mom, I’ve got to talk to you,” I said.

  “Of course,” she said. “You know we never had a victory celebration. Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight? Just the two of us. Marly won’t care, what with her diet and all.”

  “Mom, I can’t.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “Do you have a date with Greg? Or some obligation for the contest?”

  “Neither,” I said. “Mom, I resigned.”

  “From what?”

  “From the contest. I called them and sent them a letter and everything. They’ll make the announcement in a couple of days.”

  “A couple of days,” she said. “That gives you time to call them and tell them you’ve changed your mind.”

  “No, Mom.”

  “Why have you done this?” she asked. “Just to annoy me? Because if you think it bothers me, you couldn’t be more mistaken. I don’t care what you do with your life. I’ve had eighteen years of your garbage and I’m perfectly happy not to have to worry about you any more.”

  “Good,” I said. “Because you won’t have to. I’m going to Colorado.”

  “So you’re just running off,” she said. “No hellos, no good-bys. Just grab a train out.”

  “Bus,” I said. “I can’t afford a train.”

  “And what will you do if they don’t hire you? Have you figured that one out?”

  “I’ve thought about it,” I said. “First of all, I think they will. If I can con all those judges into making me Miss Harrison County, I think I can convince some people in Colorado that I know my way around a theater. If I can’t, then I’ll leave. Don’t worry. I won’t come back here. I’ll work my way around the country until I find a theater that’ll take me. It won’t be fun. But I’m willing to do it.”

  “You’ve never worked a day in your life,” she said. “You don’t know what work is.”

  “I worked my way through high school,” I said. “Every blasted day I went to that building and pretended geometry was the most exciting thing in the world, I was working. I worked at home too, cooking meals and taking care of Marly. I baby-sat. And my acting’s been work. So have the sets I’ve helped build, and the tickets I’ve sold, and the make-up I’ve put on. I know what work is.”

  “You’re a bum like your father,” she said. “I should have known with his genes you girls didn’t have a chance. You’ll never stick with anything. Just take what suits you and then disappear. Well, good-by my dear, and I wish you luck. Just don’t think I’ll let you back in when you’ve had enough of your wanderings. This house is closed to you, and don’t you forget it.”

  “I don’t want to leave like this,” I said, staring straight at her, “but you’d better know that I’m willing to.”

  It worked. Mom started crying. “Oh God,” she said. “Don’t you think I have your best interest at heart? The contest … college … it’s something real, something solid you can fall back on. It’s your chance, Kit, your one real chance to break out of this kind of life and get something comfortable. A nice house, a nice husband. That’s all I want for you. What I couldn’t have.”

  “I can’t live my life according to your plans,” I said. “I even think a little part of you is glad I’ve chosen acting, just because it was the sort of thing your parents wouldn’t let you do.”

  “You’re crazy,” Mom said. That made her the third person who said that to me that day. “I’m miserable. I wanted something special for you. You were the one I put all my hopes on. If you’d only gone out with the right boys, in
stead of those terrible men at the theater. I blame them for a lot of this. They corrupted you with their flattery. And I was helpless. I just watched and tried to point out the terrible mistakes you were making, but you never listened to me. You never have you know. You listened to your father, when he was still around, but never to me.”

  “I wanted to,” I said. “But you never made any sense.”

  “That’s just like you,” she said. “You can’t resist making those little digs, can you? I could be dying and you’d come home for one last insult.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought we were being honest.”

  “There’s a difference between honesty and cruelty,” she said. “I hope someday you learn it. If going out to Colorado teaches it to you, it’ll be worth it.”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow,” I said. “I closed my savings account and sold my bond and I’m using that money.”

  “You didn’t get full value on it,” she said.

  “No,” I said. “I got $37.50.”

  “You shortchanged yourself,” she said. “You always do.”

  “No, Mom,” I said. “This time I haven’t.”

  “Have you told your father?”

  “No,” I said. “I wanted you to know first.”

  “You ought to,” she said. “He’ll want to know.”

  “I’ll call him now,” I said. “Thank you, Mom.”

  “Don’t thank me,” she said. “Just be a star.”

  Talking to Dad didn’t appeal to me, which was the other reason I hadn’t called him. But I dialed the number and waited for it to be over with.

  “Hello, Kit,” he said. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “How’s Sally?”

  “Great, just great. She’s here if you want to say hello.”

  “No, that’s okay. I called to talk with you.”

  “About the contest. Don’t worry. I have the date written down someplace. I won’t forget.”

  “You already did, Dad,” I said. “The contest was two days ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Two days ago?”

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  “Tell you the truth, Kit, I was a little reluctant to go. I was afraid I’d slug the judges if they didn’t pick you.”

  “They did,” I said. “I won the contest.”

  “That’s great,” he said. “Congratulations. I guess I shouldn’t have worried.”

  “I’ve resigned,” I said. “I decided not to keep the title. I’m going to Colorado Springs instead.”

  “It’s a nice town,” he said. “What are you going for?”

  “There’s an acting company there that I want to try out for,” I said.

  “I have cousins there,” he said. “Marge and Bill O’Brien. Look them up.”

  “I will,” I said. “I’ll miss you, Dad.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll miss you too, Kit. Let me talk to your mother for a minute, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said and handed the phone over to her.

  Mom listened intently for a minute, and then her face turned red. “You cheap-skate bastard,” she shouted. “Just looking for an excuse to cut down on the payments. I’ll need all that money whether Kit’s here or not.”

  I stared at her for a second and then started laughing. Mom turned around and glared at me.

  “It’s not funny,” she said.

  “I know,” I said, in between bursts of laughter. “It’s awful. But I’m damned if I’m going to cry any more.”

  Mom turned back to the phone. “Your daughter is insane,” she said to Dad. “Yes, yours. I wish there was room for doubt, but there isn’t.”

  I ran upstairs, still laughing. Marly was in our room, lying on her bed. It was her thinking posture.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “This whole family,” I said. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  “Stay here, I think,” she said. “I have a feeling things will be better for me when you’re gone. I think Mom’ll love me more if you’re not around.”

  “It’s possible,” I said. “Just watch out for yourself.”

  “I will,” Marly said and gave me a smile. “Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

  About the Author

  Susan Beth Pfeffer wrote her first novel, Just Morgan, during her last semester at New York University. Since then, she has written over seventy novels for children and young adults, including Kid Power, Fantasy Summer, Starring Peter and Leigh, and The Friendship Pact, as well as the series Sebastian Sisters and Make Me a Star. Pfeffer’s books have won ten statewide young reader awards and the Buxtehude Bulle Award.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1974 by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  Cover design by Mimi Bark

  ISBN: 978-1-4976-8280-1

  This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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  New York, NY 10014

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  SUSAN BETH PFEFFER

  FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA

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