That Chair

“You’ll sit there, young lady, and think about what you did.”

Emily didn’t want to sit there, and she didn’t want to think about what she did. In fact, she wanted to go back for more. So, she slid off the little wooden chair, just her size and perpetually facing the corner of the living room and ran as fast as she could back to the huge bucket of paint. The top of the container came up to her belly button. She tried to pop off the lid again, but someone had put it on tightly. Her fingers weren’t strong enough to pry it off. She looked around. This bedroom was all torn apart, to make it into something different, and there were some tools nearby. She saw the hammer and grabbed it. Swinging it upward with both hands, she hit the lid and knocked it off. Some of the thick, blue paint splattered in a long drip on the wall. She looked around to see if anyone noticed. No one had. Then she thought she heard her mother calling her name. She sounded mad.

Emily quickly stepped into the deep bucket of cool paint. It smelled sweet and felt slippery in her fingers and against her bare legs. She lifted her palm to her face and rubbed the paint on her cheek and forehead. Nothing had ever felt as good as squatting in this tub of beautiful, blue paint.

“Emily!” Her mother roared up behind her, shock and fury making her usually joyful voice hard and cold. “What did I tell you? Oh my god, look at this mess!”

The paint had slopped out all over the plastic sheet under it, some of it escaping onto the hardwood floor.

She laughed up at her mother and said, “Look, I’m a beautiful blue fairy!”

But the look on her mother’s face suddenly seemed so scary, and as her mother grabbed her under the armpits and swung her out of the paint, Emily screamed in rage and fear.

She was swinging from her mother’s hands, blue paint dripping off of her everywhere. It was on the floor, on the walls, leaving a slick, blue trail all the way to the shower. Her mother dumped her roughly in the tub and turned on the water. Emily screamed again as the cold blast shocked her. It grew warmer as her mother scrubbed her with a cloth. This was not the gentle, bubbly bath she usually enjoyed with her mother, and she wailed.

Her mother pulled her out and toweled her dry, then carried her back to that chair. She pressed Emily firmly into it.

“If you take one step away from this chair, I will spank you like you have never been spanked.”

Emily cried louder, wanting her mother to recognize the injustice.

“I just want to be a blue fairy, like the book.”

“One step.”

Her mother looked so scary. Emily snapped her mouth shut and stared at the wall, the hard chair uncomfortable as she wondered what would happen next.

 *****

“Sit down, sweetheart, we’ll be with you in a sec.”

Emily sat in the hard, wooden chair, its ornately carved back slats pretty but horribly uncomfortable.

Sit in that chair and wait. People always seemed to be telling her that these days, especially men. Still, it was better than being told to wait on the couch, the well-worn couch that always threatened, soiled and squatty, in the director’s office, and the producer’s flat.

She was in a huge, cavernous building in which a musical comedy was scheduled to be filmed. She was hopeful that this time she’d get her break. She had auditioned for at least eleven such movies since coming to Hollywood six months ago. This year, 1965, would see the release of no less than sixteen musical movies, almost all of them oozing pretty girls like her who looked great in bikinis. Next year, three Elvis Presley movies were on the docket. If she could just get a part in one of them she would be on her way. Someone would notice her and there would be bigger roles, maybe even a lead. But that couch always made its way into the audition. So far, she had refused to comply. Saying “no,” always ended with her being hustled out the door while being assured she would never get anywhere on her meager talent alone.

She squinted toward the three men at the front of the building. She never wore her glasses to auditions, so they were blurry. They laughed and sipped their coffees and seemed to be working hard to ignore her. It was part of the display of power she had come to recognize. Make the woman wait. Make sure she got anxious and fidgety. Let her nerves sizzle.

Finally, one of them glanced at her, made a comment about her to the others and headed her way.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said. “I only have a couple minutes, so let’s see what you got.”

She didn’t point out that he had just wasted the other eight minutes of her 10-minute audition by laughing and joking with the other men.

“Come on, don’t just sit there. Stand up, turn around, let me see.”

She stood up. It was the same every time. They only let her sing and read a few lines from the script if they liked her looks.

“Pretty blue eyes,” he said. “Nice tits if a little small. And boyzo, great ass.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say thank you to these compliments, but she managed a small smile.

“Let’s see your teeth.”

She bared them.

“Okay, you don’t have to look as if you’re going to bite me. We can’t have buck teeth on the beach, so I need to see them. They’re okay, but you need to get them whitened.”

She closed her lips and waited. She was expecting to be dismissed, but he surprised her.

“What do ya’ got?”

“Got? You mean, my song?”

“What do you think I mean? Of course, your song. Christ, all I need. Another dumb blond.”

The other two men, who had moseyed in her direction, laughed.

She felt her cheeks grow pink as she handed him her sheet music, and he sat at the dusty upright piano.

“Great. ‘I Ain’t Down Yet.’ It’s only the ninth time I’ve heard it this week. He set the thin sheet music on the piano’s stand and plucked out the opening notes.

She jumped in perfectly, belting out the plucky song about a woman determined to succeed. She sounded pretty good, she thought.

He ended it halfway through.

“Not bad.” He stood up, handed her the music. While he was near her, he leaned in, put his hand on her waist. “You want this job, right?”

Here it was, as inevitable as the coarse laughter, the condescending comments.

“I do. And I’d do a great job for you. You wouldn’t regret casting me. You’ll see. I’ll be on time, no, early, day or night. I’ll work so hard for you, and I won’t complain. You’ll see. And I can dance, too. I’m a good dancer.”

“I never hire any girl without a closer look, if you know what I mean. A call-back, so to speak, ya’ know what I mean?”

She knew what he meant.

“Hey, Charlie, you better come see this.” The voice came from halfway up the wall where a man in dungarees perched on a scaffold.

The man named Charlie looked up, annoyed. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Yeah, but this thing’s gonna give way if we don’t change the design. You need to look at it.”

He looked back at her, giving her a look that could have been a glare but that she knew was just pure animal lust.

“You think about it,” he said. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes and you can let me know.”

He took her arm and set her in the chair as easily as if she were filled with nothing but air.

“Just sit there and think about it. I’d love to have you in this show. You got the pipes; you got the looks. But I need to know what else you got.”

The ornate back of the chair dug into her back, pressing the clasp of her bra strap into her spine. She sat quietly for a few minutes. Then she made her decision.

*****

“Sit there and shut up or I’ll break your pretty nose.”

When her captor stepped from the room, Emily struggled against the rope around her wrists that tied her to the heavy, wooden chair. With her hands behind her, she couldn’t see the knots, so she didn’t know where to start. Moving her hands was painful but she strained and twisted, trying to loosen the tie.

She heard angry voices in the next room, speaking the Russian she had studied for two years as part of her training as an operative for the CIA.

“We need to kill her. She’s seen our faces. She knows where we are.”

“We can’t, you idiot. She’s a famous actress. The investigation will be too big.”

“Actresses die.”

“What, do you want to just stuff her full of pills?”

“It’s been done. It works. Faking a suicide is a good option.”

“No, it’s too risky.”

“We have no choice.”

She was surprised to feel the ropes loosening slightly. She worked them more, burning her wrists, desperate to get free.

She had been spying for the CIA during her trips in Europe, charming Soviet oligarchs who yearned for her company, her fame making them consider her a status symbol when she graced their yachts or mansions, tucked away in various parts of Europe where their wealth could be sheltered. It was amazing what Kremlin secrets she could uncover with a little charm, a song or two and copious amounts of expensive vodka.

“You’re right, I suppose.”

But now she was in trouble. She had to break away, but the ties were so strong. She tugged and tugged, a groan coming from her throat that erupted in a scream of frustration as she yelled insults in Russian at her captors.

*****

“There she goes again,” said Melinda, a nurse’s aide at Codington Nursing home. Her voice was tired and annoyed as she rolled her eyes over at Emily.

“Again? She’s been at it all day, poor thing,” Terry said, more kindly. She was the newest aide at Codington. She walked over to Emily, who was sitting up in her chair, straining at the restraints that held her tiny, skinny wrists.

“Oh, stop, Emily! You’re hurting your arms!” Terry gently took Emily’s ancient hands, the skin thin and easily injured, the veins sticking out like blue string across their backs. “It’s okay, Emily. We’re sorry to restrain you, but you keep getting up. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Emily yelled another insult.

“What language is that, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I think maybe it’s Russian.”

“Isn’t it strange how she speaks in English on those rare times that she’s lucid, but yells in Russian when she’s upset? She never lived in Russia, did she?”

“I don’t know. I just need her to shut up. She’s driving me crazy and she’s getting them all agitated.”

Terry looked around the living room. Wheelchairs containing huddled old people were scattered throughout the room. Many slept. One crumpled woman made blowing noises with her lips. Another mumbled to herself grumpily. They didn’t seem particularly upset. But Emily certainly was.

“Calm down, Emily. We’ll let you have your hands back when we can be sure you won’t try to get up. We can’t have you falling on that hip again, darling. How long has she been in this chair today, anyway?”

“She’s been up and down all day. We can’t keep her there. As soon as we get her settled, she’s popped back up and gotten into someone else’s room or slipped out the front door. We can’t let her loose while she’s in this state.”

Terry pulled an ottoman over to Emily and sat next to her, watching her agitated expression and frustration as she fought the ties.

“Nothing left but a few random memories,” Melinda said, irritated. “Kill me before I get like that, will ya’?”

Terry looked into Emily’s furious blue eyes, their rims pink, the skin around them thin and puckered.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Terry asked her, not expecting an answer. “Alzheimer’s. It’s so sad. Only a few scattered memories and nothing else. Just relax, sweetheart. Just sit in your nice chair and rest.”

Emily’s thoughts might be muddled, but she knew one thing for certain: She was going to get out of that chair.