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When full-time Hollywood party girl Lorelei auditions for television's hottest reality show, she finds her life self-destructing after her drug-addled mother wages a racially-slanted war against the stunning, young, African-American woman who won the role. 10,000 first printing.
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About the Author:
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Caeli Wolfson Widger received her MFA in poetry from the University of Montana. Her work has appeared inAnother Chicago MagazineandThe Madison Review.
Prologue
No one else in Reno was running on the sidewalk connecting downtown to the Truckee River, but Lorelei had no choice. Something hideous was behind her.
She was still wearing her Lucky Bastard uniform, the tight black skirt and fitted white shirt unbuttoned too low. The plasticky high heels unsuited to waiting tables, much less running at top speed. Blisters blossomed on both feet and her ankles throbbed, but she pushed on.
The pain was nothing compared to the fear.
She was afraid to check over her shoulder, to see if the bartender was following. Up ahead, Reno glittered under a moonlit dome, the Sierra Nevada turned to black M’s on the horizon. Something was different this time; something was wrong. The euphoria and the go-go-go were there, but they weren’t pure. They were cut with panic. The stuff she’d smoked was letting in the feelings it normally stamped out. Not just letting them in, but amplifying them. And the perfect heat that usually suffused her whole body seconds after the drug hit her bloodstream was missing. In its place was a prickly fever in her face and icy sweat in her clenched fists. Her heart was slamming.
She veered onto Virginia Street, a wide, casino-flanked boulevard that cut down to the river, her heels pocking against the concrete. Her path was blocked by a throng of ponytailed girls in green-and-white jerseys and tall knee socks, some sort of sports team, their pace slow as cattle. Giggles fizzed from their mouths, and for a beat, she wanted nothing more than to be in the center of their pack, linking elbows and bandying gossip, being normal, the way she used to be, back in Fresno. Before L.A., before the show, before she’d cracked her mother’s heart into pieces. Before this.
But then, when she was a dozen feet from the girls’ numbered backs, the sound of their voices changed from happy chatter to piggish squeals, like the noise her mom’s old cassette tapes made when Lorelei held down play and fast-forward at the same time on the boom box in the basement.
“Move!” Lorelei yelled to their backs, and when the girls offered no gap in their wall of meshed green polyester, she picked a spot between two of them and plowed through it, her palms shoving their shoulders in opposite directions as hard as she could.
She heard a smattering of screams, an “Oh my God!” and a “Cara, are you okay?,” but she didn’t look back. She barely even stumbled in her heels. She just kept running.
Whatever impurities were coursing through her system were causing her senses to work at peak performance, but she couldn’t enjoy the heightened perception, because she’d gotten stuck somewhere terrible, on the border of a regular dream and a nightmare you woke from screaming.
If you woke at all.
Lorelei ran harder, fighting for breath. The huge white dome atop the Silver Legacy Casino lit up like a moon dropped from the sky, and she felt snow on her face. A digital billboard flashed smooth-chested Chippendales, drizzled with oil, and then sharp fingernails when it flipped to an ad for Freak Illusion, a live show featuring the goth magician Dave Devlin. The air was cluttered with synthetic light—lots of blue and purple, orange stars—and distant sounds like carnival music, voices sailing and clashing in the high desert air.
The river was getting closer. She could smell the water. She could smell the fish inside it.
Go, go, go, she commanded her body. Time was slipping, slipping, and something awful was coming—no—it was already here.
Pock-pock-pock. She needed to take off her three-inch heels, a half size too small, stolen off some discount rack during a binge with Don. She slowed down just enough to kick the shoes off and lost her balance, tumbling down to the sidewalk asphalt.
“Mommy,” she cried out as she fell, the asphalt tearing into her knees. Lorelei had felt her mother’s presence from the moment the bartender pulled her into the empty warehouse. Commanding her to survive. She tried to push up to her feet, but everything hurt too much. As she breathed against the ground, deep as she could to slow her heart, an old fact flashed to mind, something she’d heard at a party: it was the single most common word recorded on the black boxes of airplanes before they crashed. Mommy.
This was not the life she wanted. Lorelei swore that if she made it through this night, she was going to change.
No one else in Reno was running on the sidewalk connecting downtown to the Truckee River, but Lorelei had no choice. Something hideous was behind her.
She was still wearing her Lucky Bastard uniform, the tight black skirt and fitted white shirt unbuttoned too low. The plasticky high heels unsuited to waiting tables, much less running at top speed. Blisters blossomed on both feet and her ankles throbbed, but she pushed on.
The pain was nothing compared to the fear.
She was afraid to check over her shoulder, to see if the bartender was following. Up ahead, Reno glittered under a moonlit dome, the Sierra Nevada turned to black M’s on the horizon. Something was different this time; something was wrong. The euphoria and the go-go-go were there, but they weren’t pure. They were cut with panic. The stuff she’d smoked was letting in the feelings it normally stamped out. Not just letting them in, but amplifying them. And the perfect heat that usually suffused her whole body seconds after the drug hit her bloodstream was missing. In its place was a prickly fever in her face and icy sweat in her clenched fists. Her heart was slamming.
She veered onto Virginia Street, a wide, casino-flanked boulevard that cut down to the river, her heels pocking against the concrete. Her path was blocked by a throng of ponytailed girls in green-and-white jerseys and tall knee socks, some sort of sports team, their pace slow as cattle. Giggles fizzed from their mouths, and for a beat, she wanted nothing more than to be in the center of their pack, linking elbows and bandying gossip, being normal, the way she used to be, back in Fresno. Before L.A., before the show, before she’d cracked her mother’s heart into pieces. Before this.
But then, when she was a dozen feet from the girls’ numbered backs, the sound of their voices changed from happy chatter to piggish squeals, like the noise her mom’s old cassette tapes made when Lorelei held down play and fast-forward at the same time on the boom box in the basement.
“Move!” Lorelei yelled to their backs, and when the girls offered no gap in their wall of meshed green polyester, she picked a spot between two of them and plowed through it, her palms shoving their shoulders in opposite directions as hard as she could.
She heard a smattering of screams, an “Oh my God!” and a “Cara, are you okay?,” but she didn’t look back. She barely even stumbled in her heels. She just kept running.
Whatever impurities were coursing through her system were causing her senses to work at peak performance, but she couldn’t enjoy the heightened perception, because she’d gotten stuck somewhere terrible, on the border of a regular dream and a nightmare you woke from screaming.
If you woke at all.
Lorelei ran harder, fighting for breath. The huge white dome atop the Silver Legacy Casino lit up like a moon dropped from the sky, and she felt snow on her face. A digital billboard flashed smooth-chested Chippendales, drizzled with oil, and then sharp fingernails when it flipped to an ad for Freak Illusion, a live show featuring the goth magician Dave Devlin. The air was cluttered with synthetic light—lots of blue and purple, orange stars—and distant sounds like carnival music, voices sailing and clashing in the high desert air.
The river was getting closer. She could smell the water. She could smell the fish inside it.
Go, go, go, she commanded her body. Time was slipping, slipping, and something awful was coming—no—it was already here.
Pock-pock-pock. She needed to take off her three-inch heels, a half size too small, stolen off some discount rack during a binge with Don. She slowed down just enough to kick the shoes off and lost her balance, tumbling down to the sidewalk asphalt.
“Mommy,” she cried out as she fell, the asphalt tearing into her knees. Lorelei had felt her mother’s presence from the moment the bartender pulled her into the empty warehouse. Commanding her to survive. She tried to push up to her feet, but everything hurt too much. As she breathed against the ground, deep as she could to slow her heart, an old fact flashed to mind, something she’d heard at a party: it was the single most common word recorded on the black boxes of airplanes before they crashed. Mommy.
This was not the life she wanted. Lorelei swore that if she made it through this night, she was going to change.
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- PublisherNew Harvest/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
- Publication date2014
- ISBN 10 0544263618
- ISBN 13 9780544263611
- BindingHardcover
- Number of pages361
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Real Happy Family
Published by
New Harvest/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
(2014)
ISBN 10: 0544263618
ISBN 13: 9780544263611
New
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Condition: New. . Seller Inventory # 5AUZZZ000JRZ_ns
Buy New
US$ 22.49
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