Hollywood and Maine Read online

  ALSO BY ALLISON WHITTENBERG

  Sweet Thang

  Life Is Fine

  Published by Delacorte Press

  an imprint of Random House Children’s Books

  a division of Random House, Inc.

  New York

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the

  product of the author’s imagination or are

  used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or

  locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2009 by Allison Whittenberg

  All rights reserved.

  Delacorte Press and colophon are registered trademarks of

  Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools,

  visit us at www.randomhouse.com/teachers

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Whittenberg, Allison.

  Hollywood & Maine / Allison Whittenberg. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: In 1976 Pennsylvania, middle-schooler Charmaine Upshaw contemplates a career as a model or actress while coping with boyfriend problems and the return of her uncle, a fugitive who cost her family $1,000 in bail money a year earlier.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-89203-5

  1. Family life—Pennsylvania—Fiction. 2. African Americans—Fiction. 3. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 4. Middle schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. Pennsylvania—History—20th century—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.W6179Hol 2009

  [Fic]—dc22

  2008035679

  Random House Children’s Books supports the

  First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  This book is dedicated and in memoriam to

  Luther Whittenberg (my daddy).

  Thanks for being the music of the house.

  I take your songs with me always.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  About the Author

  one

  A bicentennial is one hundred times two. Two hundred years, that’s how long there had been a nation known as the United States of America, and there I, Charmaine Upshaw, was, fortunate enough to be living in the birth-place of it all, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.… Yawn.

  It was the second week of January 1976, and already I was sick of seeing those colors: red, white, and blue. Three colors I liked separately but that looked a little lame when thrown together. (This was the one time I was thankful that my family only had a black-and-white TV set.) Even so, I was assaulted by that endless fifing and drum beating during commercial breaks.

  Though I wasn’t riveted by the public celebration, luckily I had a private milestone to mark. Finally, and I do mean fi-nal-ly, I had a real boyfriend. This was progress, because last term, I’d only had a fake one. Not just any fake boyfriend—I’d had a gorgeous fake boyfriend. His name was Demetrius McGee, and he did to me what dogs do to fire hydrants. But that was all through now. Although few would have described my new beau as a dreamboat, Raymond Newell was definitely an improvement.

  Tonight, he was coming over for his first dinner with my family. I was abuzz, endlessly patting my ’fro and running a lint brush over my blouse. In the background, I listened to the best singer in the world: Al Green. As he hit those high highs and those low lows, I thought of another thing I could celebrate. I was grateful to have my own stereo in my own room. I had inherited both from my older brother, who had just been stationed in Hawaii. I dabbed perfume behind my ears and glanced over at the clock. It was nearly five. I wondered where the last hour had gone as I quickly but neatly folded the clothes I had taken out and put them back in the closet.

  After making one more adjustment to my top and dusting off my jeans, I tore downstairs.

  To my horror, my other brother, Leo, and my cousin Tracy John had just begun a jigsaw puzzle. Most of the 120 pieces were scattered across the living room floor.

  “Will you get all this mess out of the way?” I asked them.

  Tracy John looked around, playing dumb. “Is she talking to us?”

  I marched into the kitchen. Before I had a chance to launch my complaint, Ma turned from the stove and said, “I thought you were putting on a skirt.”

  “I don’t want to wear a skirt, Ma.”

  “It would look much better.” She had antiquated girls-shouldn’t-wear-dungarees values and an Alabama accent. She turned back to what she was cooking.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Leo and Tracy John have that puzzle spread all across the place. Raymond is going to think we live in a pigpen.”

  “Take your hands off your imagination.”

  “Are you going to say anything to them?” I asked.

  “Boys, please put your game away,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

  Ma looked back at me and said, “All you had to do was ask.”

  I took a whiff of what was cooking and went closer to the oven. I opened it to find an arrangement of pork chops oozing with juiciness.

  “Dammit!” I exclaimed.

  “This kitchen is no place for cussing,” Ma told me.

  I shook my head. “Ma, Raymond can’t eat this!”

  The boys entered the kitchen.

  “Why, doesn’t Spider-Man like chops?” Tracy John asked.

  “He would like to be referred to as Raymond,” I said.

  “He can’t change his nickname this late,” Leo said. “Everybody at school knows him as Spider-Man.”

  “People have a right to be called what they want to be called,” Ma said.

  “Is he going to break out if he eats a pork chop?” Leo asked.

  My hands fluttered up to my temples. “Raymond’s not allergic to pork chops. It’s just that he’s a—”

  “Maybe if you didn’t waste the last hour trying on different outfits, Charmaine, you’d know what I was putting on the table.” Ma cut me off as she hurried past me with the place settings.

  “Yeah, and that getup looks the same as the one you first had on,” Leo said.

  I followed behind Ma, adjusting the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “Maybe you can whip up something else, please?”

  Ma raised one hand in graceful protest. “I’m not a short-order cook.”

  I threw my shoulders back, went into the kitchen, and opened the fridge. “Then I’ll make him something.”

  “Close that icebox, Charmaine.”

  “Ma, he doesn’t eat pork.”

  She came behind me and closed the
refrigerator door. “Then tell him it’s chicken.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang. My heart raced with excitement.

  I opened it to find my beau in a dress shirt, tie, and pressed slacks, with a wide smile on his face. My eyes got wistful for a moment.

  “Hello, Maine,” he said.

  “Hello, Raymond,” I said.

  “Hi, Spider-Man,” Tracy John said.

  I hadn’t noticed that he’d run up behind me. I turned to my cousin. “What did I just say he wanted to be called?”

  “That’s all right. Tracy John can call me whatever he wants.”

  “Don’t open that door,” Leo yelled out from the kitchen.

  “Hi, Leo,” Raymond yelled back.

  Tracy John pointed to the tall bottle Raymond held. “Is that booze?”

  Now I laughed a little. “Of course not,” I said. But to Raymond I whispered, “Is it?”

  Raymond told us it was sparkling cider.

  Ma came into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Upshaw.”

  Ma broke into a smile that was shy and girlish.

  We gathered in the living room to kill some time before supper, and Ma immediately asked about Raymond’s parents. Raymond filled her in with basically what I’d told her before. His folks worked in the Philadelphia school district as principals.

  “There are schools with two principals?” Leo asked.

  I gritted my teeth. “Not at the same school.”

  “Are they nice principals or mean ones?” Tracy John asked.

  Raymond grinned. “Remember, your principal is your pal.”

  I saw Tracy John mulling that over before he said, “No he’s not.”

  The grin still hadn’t left Raymond’s face.

  “Raymond is an only child,” I told them.

  Ma nodded. “That explains your patience.”

  “So what made you want to go out with Maine?” Leo asked.

  I rolled my eyes heavenward, seeking strength. Real subtle, Leo.

  “I have been admiring her from afar for quite a while. Ever since I first laid eyes on her in seventh-grade art class.”

  “Two years ago!” Leo exclaimed. “It took you that long?”

  “I had to muster my courage,” Raymond proclaimed. “Profound, utter beauty can be a frightening thing. It can paralyze you and leave you tongue-tied.”

  Confusion swept over Tracy John’s face, and he asked Leo, “Is he still talking about Maine?”

  Raymond laughed warmly and continued, “This little lady here has such physical charms that I even entered her in a contest.”

  “A beauty contest?” Leo asked.

  “Kind of,” Raymond said. “A modeling contest.”

  “A model in a magazine?” Tracy John asked.

  “No, on a spaceship,” I said.

  “What did it cost to enter this contest?” Leo asked.

  “Just postage for the letter,” Raymond said.

  Leo snickered. “Well, I guess that’s worth fifteen cents.”

  I frowned and looked over to my mother, who said, “It never hurts to try.”

  Another ringing endorsement, I thought.

  “Not only does Charmaine possess looks, but also poise and grace.”

  Feeling as if I was about to drown in this syrup, I said, “Raymond, stop.”

  “Yes, please stop,” Leo said.

  Raymond pushed me playfully. “Not only is she attractive, but she’s so smart. She’s a walking encyclopedia.”

  I gave him a gentle shove back. “No, you are.”

  “No, you are.” He winked and shoved me once again.

  “No, you—”

  “Oh, call it a draw.” Tracy John jumped in.

  Good-natured still, Raymond opened the bottle. Ma had already set out the glasses for the five of us, and one for Daddy, who would be home any minute.

  “A toast to Maine,” Raymond called out.

  Everyone raised a glass except Tracy John.

  “I don’t want that,” he told us.

  “What’s wrong now?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know what that is.” Tracy John spoke with great authority, as if at six years old he could be an expert in anything.

  “It’s like apple juice,” I said.

  “Why does it have bubbles?” Tracy John asked, moving the glass away from him.

  “It’s like apple juice and soda,” I said.

  He looked suspiciously at the glass. Ma fawned over him, asking, “Don’t you want to try just a teensy-weensy little bit, sweetheart?” till finally he tried a sip.

  I could tell he was glad he did, because he gulped some more, then commented, “This ain’t half bad, Spider-Man.”

  We said “Cheers,” and at the moment when our glasses met in the air, I heard the back door unlatch. Daddy came in and swept the room once over with his pine-bark brown eyes. He asked, “Y’all drinking this early?”

  After grace, it was a countdown to when the fireworks would start. Ma offered Raymond first pick from the pork chops.

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Upshaw,” Raymond said. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Maine told us you were Catholic,” Leo said.

  Ma held the server; she was kind of frozen. “Is that what you were trying to tell me, Charmaine?”

  “In so many words,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Upshaw. I don’t eat meat.”

  “Never, Raymond?” Ma asked him.

  “You’ve never had a hamburger?” Tracy John was more forceful in his questioning.

  Raymond shook his head.

  “How about a hamburger bun?” Leo asked.

  But before Raymond had a chance to answer, Daddy asked, “Well, how about some fish?” He tried to rescue Ma by passing the server around in the other direction, then said, “Miss Sweet Thang, we got any of that fried flounder from last night left in the icebox? You ain’t got nothing against leftovers, Raymond, do you?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Upshaw. I don’t eat fish either.”

  Daddy’s eyebrows shot up higher.

  Stealthily, I pushed the breadbasket Raymond’s way.

  “The boy can’t make a meal off of rolls,” Daddy told me.

  Raymond added the sides to his plate to make it look full. He ate a forkful of vegetables and said, “Mmmm, Mr. Upshaw, this is just fine.”

  “Well, why don’t we all dig in,” Daddy said, and set the example by knifing into the chop that lay before him.

  Tracy John, whose eyes were fixed on Raymond, didn’t make a move toward his meal.

  Raymond continued to smile pleasantly, and after a while Tracy John started eating as instructed.

  “Tell me, Raymond, what do you like to do in your free time?” Ma asked.

  “I like to listen to music, Mrs. Upshaw.”

  “Oh, isn’t that nice. Who do you like to listen to?”

  “I like Marian Anderson.”

  “Is she in the Fifth Dimension?” Leo asked.

  I dropped my fork. “That’s Marilyn McCoo. Marian Anderson is a famous opera singer.”

  “Opera,” Daddy repeated. He held up his hands. “That’s too much doggone culture for me.”

  “What’s opera?” Tracy John asked.

  “It’s like the music they play on Bugs Bunny,” Leo said.

  “That Marian Anderson grew up around here. She was a South Philly girl,” Daddy said.

  “And now she belongs to the world,” I said.

  “Oh, the gowns. The wonderful sequined gowns she wears,” Ma said.

  “That woman must be seven feet tall,” Daddy said.

  “Is that taller than you, Maine?” Tracy John asked me.

  Leo laughed loudly.

  Raymond turned to Leo and said, “Maine tells me you are a talented dancer.”

  I watched a smirk grow on my brother’s face. What a way to take a compliment! Puffing up like an ostrich.

&n
bsp; Raymond turned to Tracy John. “And she also tells me that you are a peewee-league football player.”

  A mournful look swept across Tracy John’s face. “Not no more, the season just ended.”

  “What’s up next for you?” Raymond asked.

  I should have warned Raymond beforehand. This was a sore subject with Tracy John. “Tracy John is a little disappointed because baseball starts soon.”

  “Yeah, because baseball’s boring,” Tracy John told Raymond.

  Daddy pointed at Tracy John with his fork. “Now, what did I tell you about thinking like that? We had to fight like heck to get into the majors.”

  “Blacks were in the football league before the baseball league, Daddy?” Leo asked.

  “Years before,” Daddy said. “The NFL was integrated before World War Two.”

  Another round of rolls was passed.

  “Well, if that’s true,” I said, “how come they always say Jackie Robinson broke the color line in sports? Even before baseball, didn’t that runner in the 1936 Olympics break the barrier?”

  “Jesse Owens,” Raymond said.

  I squeezed his hand. “That’s him.”

  “That was in Germany,” Daddy said. “And that was more of an event type of thing. Baseball happens every year and the season is longer than football.”

  “All right then, how about that boxer—”

  “Jack Johnson?” Raymond guessed.

  I shook my head. “No. Not him.”

  “You’re talking about Joe Louis,” Daddy said.

  I nodded.

  “The Brown Bomber held the heavyweight title ten years before number forty-two took the field,” Raymond said.

  Leo agreed. “Football, track, and boxing are more exciting than baseball.”

  “Maybe so, but they ain’t called America’s favorite pastime,” Daddy said.

  Tracy John leaned on his elbows. “America’s favorite boring pastime.”

  “Now, now, Tracy John, let’s not be a wet blanket,” Daddy told him.

  But really, it wasn’t until Ma brought out a red velvet cake that brooding Tracy John perked back up.

  After dinner, the gathering dispersed into twos. Leo and Tracy John went their way. Daddy and Ma went another. Raymond and I retired to the living room, and we spent the next hour or so talking and looking longingly into each other’s eyes. When it came time for Raymond to leave, we dipped into the kitchen so he could say good night properly. We came to find that Raymond’s “odd ways” were still the topic at hand.