𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦

chapter 3 - marjorie

"Never be so kind that you forget to be clever."

Dorothea could almost recall her mother's words as she lectured her before her first event. Her mother had had such a hand in her life, in making little Thea the world-renown actress Marjorie was never able to be. Making Dorothea able to use her beauty that had been carefully grown and bred since she was young, making her able to wield power while remaining polite as ever.

"But never be so polite you forget your power, Thea." Dorothea could almost hear her mother saying those words, talking to her at that very moment.

They echoed through her mind as she read the letter before her, that a terminal illness had taken a hold of her mother, and that Dorothea had better come quick now, before Marjorie was lost.

Dorothea stood in the middle of the empty room, her studio room, near the edge of collapse. Not her mother. Not Marjorie. This couldn't be true.

Tom burst through the door, a gleeful expression on his face.

"Dottie! You'll never guess what -" He stumbled at the look on her face, of horror, shock, and gried. "Dottie, darling, what's wrong?"

"Please, Tom, do not call me darling at a time like this," Dorothea said between sobs. He quickly encircled her with his arms and read the letter.

"Ohhhh...Dottie..."

"My mother is fucking...d-dying!" Dorothea let herself sink to the floor, and Tom with her. "She's all I have, and she's going to be..." Her voice lowered to a whisper and she cried. "She's going to be...dead." The sobs wracked through her body and she shook with grief. Tom looked down at her, determined.

"Well then, let's have you take the train. I'll book a ticket, and we'll get you home as soon as possible. I will accompany you there, and then I will come back. Call me on the telephone as soon as you can, if the town has got any." He helped her up. "Come on. Let's go see your mum."

~ ~ ~

On the train Dorothea was silent. Tom explained what he was about to tell her, that they had offers for more movies together, since The Gardens of Babylon did so well. 

"But I think you need a few more months before you start acting again, Dottie," he said empathetically. She nodded, still in a haze.

Her mother was dying.

She could remember the best parts of her mother, how she would always wake Dorothea when the leaves started to fall down. Not that Dorothea needed waking. The heating didn't always work, and the autumn chill always woke her up.

Her mother loved those autumn amber skies so much, she would let Dorothea relax. She wouldn't care about being beautiful or winning pagents. She'd care about her Thea, and about being her mama.

Or times at the lake, when Dorothea was getting taller, all long limbs, how cold it would be, those frozen swims, jumping off the dock.

And pagents, Dorothea would complain the whole way there, even on the car ride back home, even as she trailed her mother up the stairs to put fabric in her hair to curl it for the next day. But her mother was insistent, and pushed, and look at where Dorothea was now! The best part was always the curling each night. Her mother would talk a lot, about everything and everyone, and it was so much fun.

Dorothea always asked her questions, always asked her how to be, was always writing it down frantically. 

And every night, she would mimick her mother's writing, watching as she signed her name Marjorie, as if she truly was a famous movie star, handing out yet another autograph. Dorothea's stubby little fingers couldn't mimick it back then, but she could now.

She had all of her mother's closets of backlogged dreams.

"My mother left them all to me."

"What?" Tom looked up, confused. This was the first time she had spoken all train ride long.

"All of her dreams. All her wanting to be an actress, famous." Dorothea looked away from the foggy window, where the amber skies were beginning to emerge. "She left it to me, and I succeeded."

"And...?"

"Do you think she'll be proud of me?" Dorothea's eyes looked younger right then when Tom looked at her. She looked vunerable.

"I...I don't know your mother, I only know what you've told me." He hesitated. "I think she will be - should be - proud of you. I know I am." He reached over and squeezed her hand. They both looked up as the train came to a stop. "Are you ready?"

"I...yes." Dorothea stepped off the train with Tom and they made their way to her childhood home.

It was old, and the paint was peeling. It was dark. Dorothea knew why her mother had hated it here, knew why it felt like a trap. But it used to be so sunny and full of light, years ago. Dorothea wondered what had changed.

She entered her mother's bedroom alone. Tom stayed outside, respectfully.

"Mother?"

Dorothea was hesitant in the doorway.

"You made it." The dying woman croaked from the bed. Dorothea ran to her bedside.

"Mother! I mean - Marjorie."

"No, no no no." Marjorie shook her finger. "For one goddamn moment you can call me mother. I don't give two shits anymore. I'm on my deathbed, Thea."

"What?" Dorothea stuttered.

"You heard me. I'm going to die, and I'm already dying. Dear Thea, promise me you will not smoke. No cigarettes. Your young lungs will give out on you -" she began coughing.

"Mother!"

"- I'm fine, I'm fine." Marjorie drank some water. "Now. Listen to me, Thea, very carefully. I haven't much time left. Look. I pushed you hard as a child, I know, but I want to tell you that I'm..." She paused, seeming to run her next words over in her mouth. "I am...well goddammit I'm proud of you."

"Oh." Dorothea practically melted, and leaned further into her mother, grasping her hand. "Thank you, mother. For everything. For all of it." She recounted how the awards went, and her mother relished the feeling that Dorothea passed over to her through the story.

"Wonderful. Well. I will miss this, Thea."

"I love you, mother." A tear ran down Thea's cheek.

"I lo-" Her mother's voice was hushed and slurred off. Her eyes blinked closed, as if she was merely falling asleep, and then...she didn't awaken.

Thea's eyes widened, and she panickedly checked a heartbeat, and when there was none to be found, sobbed violently, the grief seeming to drown her in an ever growing flood.

"Mo - mother." She stumbled out the words between tears. "Please don't be dead. Please be alive. I...if...if I didn't know better, I'd think you were listening to me now. You're alive!" She sobbed. "You're alive, please be here!"

Tom came back into the room, and sat with her in the grief, as a true friend would, and then fetched some people to take the body away. He stayed with Dottie, as she cried against his shoulder.

~ ~ ~

Dorothea sat on the front steps of her house. She could almost hear her mother singing to her now.

"What died didn't stay dead, what died didn't stay dead, you're alive, you're alive in my head..." She sang a clumsy tune and fidgeted with the one award from a pagent her mother won decades ago, her pride and joy, her beauty. Tom walked over and sat down with her.

"Hey, Dottie." 

"Hey Tom." Dorothea looked up, her eyes glistening with tears. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think she's still around. I feel her all around."

Tom nodded and hugged her.

"I know better," Dorothea wept. "But she's still around."