Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(98)

I stay seated, trying to smooth down my latest surge of stage fright like a stubborn cowlick. I hope I haven’t lost the little bit of momentum I had going. While Arliss talks with whoever’s at the door, I close my eyes to concentrate on what I’m going to say. Instead, my thoughts spiral.

You’re not good enough.

You can’t.

You’ll never be happy.

People will always leave you.

You aren’t enough for the things you love.

Two sets of steps echo in the corridor over my sniffling. Arliss’s heavy plod, and some lighter, quicker ones. I assume someone who works at the station left their keys at their desk, or a half-eaten bologna sandwich in the break-room fridge that they can’t stop thinking about.

“Hey, kid,” Arliss says.

I open my eyes and look up.

My mom is standing in front of me. She’s dressed in a black satin gown she bought on one of our thrifting expeditions, and has long black gloves up to her elbows. Pale foundation covers her face and upper chest, and she has theatrical dark eye makeup. Her hair is teased up wildly and has a gray streak sprayed into it. Her look is somewhere between Helena Bonham Carter as Bellatrix Lestrange and Helena Bonham Carter as everyone else she’s ever played.

I don’t know how to make sense of what I’m seeing. I stand. “Mom?”

She beams. “You mean”—she does jazz hands—“Dolores Darkwood.”

“Mom,” I say again, my voice quavering, pleading with her not to be making some awful joke as I start toward her slowly.

She holds out her arms, and I rush into them, and she hugs me tight, like I’ll slip from her grasp. I sob and sob. And I feel her warm tears on the side of my face.

“I couldn’t do it alone,” I say. “I tried so hard.”

“And you don’t have to, DeeDee. I’ll never leave you on your own. I’m here for you, baby. Always.”

We hug and rock back and forth.

I break the embrace and wipe my eyes. I take a deep breath and fan myself. “How did you get here? I have the car.”

She wipes her eyes too. “Candy brought me after her reading. Helped me with my makeup.”

“What about work?”

“I talked with my manager. I’m picking up extra night shifts in return for no Fridays anymore.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure I had the guts to do this. I didn’t want to get your hopes up and then chicken out.”

I glance in Arliss’s direction. He’s standing by the camera, waiting patiently. But I’m not about to press my luck.

“Okay,” I say to my mom. “Should we fix our makeup?”

“I think our runny mascara actually looks kinda cool and spooky,” she says.

“I’m good if you are.”

“Let’s do this. I gotta warn you, I’m very nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

We walk over to the stage. Arliss hurries and grabs Josie’s chair and sets it up for Mom.

“Why, thank you—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name at the door,” Mom says.

Arliss tips his cap. “Arliss Thacker. Ma’am.” He’s uncharacteristically stammery and jittery.

“Shawna Wilkes. You’re a fine gentleman, Arliss. Thank you for all you’ve done for my daughter.”

He blushes. “Ain’t no big thing.”

“It’s a huge deal to her.”

Arliss smiles, showing teeth. This is an exceedingly rare occurrence. “All right. Follow your daughter’s lead, okay?”

“I’ve watched every single episode of the show.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“But it’s different being on this side of the camera.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’ve survived worse, though,” Mom says with a deep breath. “I’ll survive this.”

Arliss smiles again. He actually has a good smile. “I don’t doubt it. We survivors have a way of surviving.” He and Mom share a knowing look.

We sit. Mom vibrates with anxious energy. I reach over and take her hand, which has gone cold and tense. “Hey,” I say. “You’ll be great.”

She nods quickly and swallows hard but doesn’t respond.

“It just takes practice,” I say.

She nods again and gives me a thin smile. “By the way, I had an idea for a new horoscope segment we could do tonight,” she whispers.

Arliss counts us down and points.

I don’t even need to try very hard to sound upbeat and bright. “Hello, ladies and ghouls, I’m Delilah Darkwood, and you’re seeing a new face on Midnite Matinee. With me is…”

Mom sits frozen for a beat. “Oh! Me? Dolores Darkwood.” She dissolves into the church giggles. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Can we take it again?”

“Okay, Mom,” I say gently. “Deep breath. Arliss lets us have two tries, and then—”

“It’s fine,” Arliss says, cutting me off, all jittery and blushy again. “We can go until you get it right.”

“I don’t want to tie you up all night. I promise I’ll get the hang of this,” Mom says.