Imperative Fate

Rhea Ozera: Living Lolita

6/5/97

My first love is a fink, born and bred. Lovers and politicians have that in common, but this one's special. Slicker than black gold—or so they say in the part of Texas I'm from. More handsome than a movie star, his ego bigger than Texas. That's all expected, but the difference is this one's interested in me. A "little girl," a wannabe socialite with big lips and no motivation, no cash, no real substance. (If the schoolyard gossipers are to be believed, anyway.)

Just a big-mouth daisy girl with too much time on her well-lotioned hands, too much green shading her mind, and a mom with too many bad connections. Depending on your color of mind, Anthony "Anny" Connors is among that list. He's a dead flame and loose-knit friend of Mama's, running for Congress, and my not-so-official boyfriend. (Reputations, Mama, and cameras fare better in the dark, no doubt.)

If you ask me, though, the worst attachment Mama has is the one to Uncle Jimmy (aka U.J.). In his eyes, his sister can do no wrong, have no addictions, faults, or enablers.

Well, that's bull. I mean, look at me; look at where we live! I'm one step away from becoming the trailer park darling.

I used to wonder if U.J.'s too successful to know about these things. Now, I know it's just the opposite. He's flanked by all sorts of addictions, yet manages to shut himself off from them and those people (. . . mostly). He tries his hardest to keep Mama on the straight and narrow, so I guess that's what makes him overstep his boundaries, carry on with the appeal of a diamondback. Still, he could be less of a dick about it.

Anyway . . .

Summer vacation having just begun (Sayonara, tenth grade), I walk from the movie theater alone—always alone—sucking on a strawberry lollipop. I've always had a sweet tooth and a soft spot (a hole, really) for hard-bought sugar—whether it's candy or men—that suffers from neglect. I take that from my spoiled yet strangely impoverished bloodline: I eventually get everything I bargain for, one way or another.

It is bolstering artistry, but it's driven me down some very scary roads too. The Ozera Curse, I call it: You run out of luck at the end of the line, right when you need it most.

Right now, Mama's most in need of luck though—or a nerve-settling slap to the face. I meet up with her on the sidewalk a few blocks away, watching U.J. pep-talk her before an interview to work as a secretary. Unfortunately, U.J. never leaves room for Arthur (my brother) or me to squeeze between them and actually get the job done. Mama doesn't need exaggerations about her abilities; she needs tough love and "What's the worst that could happen?"s.

Yet U.J. continues droning clichés and euphemisms for Mama's ineptitude, claiming she's a shoo-in cuz the job offer comes from a friend who owes him a favor.

I daze into the background. Arthur and I exchange stolid glances. We know everybody is a "friend" to U.J. and Mama has no place in the big city of Austin, Texas. After all, she's "in a precarious state." Again, U.J.'s fancy-shmancy words with the refrain "Any idleness or unemployment is precarious."

Meanwhile, Ma just scratches her anemic, bug-bitten arms and follows him around with big, dark blue eyes.

As we walk towards the title company, I pull on her silk shirt sleeve. "Mama, I went to see Lolita today," I distract. "You shoulda come. You love those types of movies."

She looks down but never moves her frail lips. Such a nervous zombie, I think. Always chasing paper in hurricane weather.

I can feel U.J.'s glare bore into my Bettie Boop bangs as I continue, "It was romantic and funny. Jeremy Irons is a real trip, the way he acts so professionally even when he's—"

"Arthur, I think it's time you took your sister home now. Your mother and I have much prepping to do," U.J. cuts in.

Internally, I scoff at his belittlement and used car salesman suit. Doesn't he know I have a new idol I want to share despite her ugly name?

Dolores "Lolita" Haze. At opening credits, I begrudged, "Ugh! Dolores? Makes my name sound like Bundt cake." But by the end, I received this new craving and a fresh mind to obtain it. I want what Lolita had: an older, more experienced and exciting lover. I want a Humbert: a protector, a sweet poison I can live and die happy with. And I know a guy who can fit the bill.

I'll be sure to meet him after this snore-fest; I assure myself and glare at U.J., refusing to take Arthur's hand.

"You're sixteen now, Rhea; don't you think it's time to tape down the tantrums?" Mama's bonehead-of-a-brother taunts.

I hate it when he has my name in his mouth. Knowing he's not worth his salary or my time, I groan and walk the other way with Arthur. "I don't care if he were President of Texas, Ar! He's ignorant; he's arrogant. I can't stand him! Why do we let him boss us around and puppet Ma? She can't be as useless as he thinks! That's impossible, right? Ma can't go through twenty jobs for nothin'. I mean, she landed plenty on her own, huh?"

"Cool down there, Ree," Arthur insists. "He's just trying to get Ma back on her feet. That's a stress-inducer, alright. You know Ma's had a rough coupla months and U.J. only wants—"

"To control her!" I spit, heat and refraction smudging my plum-purple sunglasses. He tries to grab my arm. "No! I don't wanna go home just yet! Not yet. Jeez, I'm sick of watching our pathetic family and you try to justify them." I jerk around, looking for the direction to nourish my never-ending appetite for entertainment. "Just plain sick."

Arthur's face dissolves and he exhales. "Then what do you wanna do? Huh? You got no money left."

My brown brows drop. "Anthony's. I'm going there," I say, curling my fingers in preparation of rejection.

"Anthony Connors, again? You may as well say 'I'm going to get into trouble,' cuz that'll be what you're doing."

"Do I look like I care?" I retort, giving Arthur the chipped shoulder treatment. Slapping the upper hand, I threaten, "You cover for me, or I'll tell Ma and U.J. you made out with Stacey in Dad's old Cadillac last week while you were supposed to be watching me."

He unfurls his fists, flushing, and we go our separate ways like cowboys in a Wild West showdown.