Valerie
1991
“Hurry, Val!” my mother cried. “We’re going to be late for the party.”
“Mom. I dont want to go,” I fidgeted, although I was already wearing a frilly dress that made me itchy.
“Says who? Everyone’s going to be there. Photographers. Movie stars. Dad’s going to be there, too.”
I know what she meant by that. Dad wasn’t that thrilled to go to these parties, either. Sometimes, we would exchange looks, shake our heads and roll our eyes whenever we knew we had to endure hours at mommy’s parties. Tonight, though, it didn’t seem like we could fight her off. She was determined.
“I don’t really care, mom. I just want to stay inside.” My voice had risen to what mommy would say was a “disrespectful” tone.
“You’re going to wear your best dress. There’s a director who wants to meet
