Idiot Read online

  “Um, Laura, your portrayal of Mary is a bit more . . . anxious than necessary, perhaps?”

  “Well, Mary didn’t ask for this baby, Mrs. Heiteen!”

  I wondered if God had lied to Mary about putting a condom on.

  I asked the guy who got me pregnant for three hundred dollars, half the cost of an abortion. I thought it was only fair that he paid for half of it. Even though there was nothing really fair about this at all.

  The kicker is that he made me meet him at a White Castle restaurant bathroom and pee on a pregnancy test in front of him to make sure I wasn’t lying. He thought I was trying to get “abortion money” from him. He said that like it was a thing.

  Since when is “abortion money” a thing? It’s NOT a thing. If a guy thinks there is a pattern of girls scamming him out of “abortion money,” then he really needs to reevaluate his actions. Like, damn!

  He took a look at the two lines on my pee stick, handed me the money, and left. No words. I never talked to him again.

  I added it to my own three hundred dollars and headed to Planned Parenthood with my friend Nicole. Nicole was another outcast with Jack and me. She was really smart, openly bisexual, very punk. I knew she wouldn’t judge me . . . and that she would be able to handle the protesters.

  There were rows of them outside the clinic. Pro-life women yelling at me.

  “You know your baby has fingers, right? It has a heartbeat!”

  “How could you kill your own child? How could you be so selfish?”

  I looked down as I passed them. Nicole stopped.

  “Nicole. Come on.”

  “Well, her baby’s actually, like, super gay, so you guys would probably want to abort that one, huh?”

  That was the only thing that got me to smile that day.

  I didn’t tell my parents, even though I was really close to my mom. I was too scared.

  A week or so later, she found prescription painkillers in my room.

  She asked me gently, “Did you get breast implants?”

  I stared at her, confused. Then looked down. Oh. My boobs had gotten way bigger from all the pregnancy hormones. I thought up a lie.

  I stuttered, “No . . . no I didn’t but . . . my friend Dani got an abortion and didn’t want her parents to find out, so I told her she could do it in my name.” The best lies have a grain of truth in them, right?

  And yet, I know, not my finest work. Why would I have my friend’s pills? It’s idiotic. My mom just kind of looked at me sadly and nodded. Years later she asked if it was actually me who got the abortion. I finally told her the truth. She began to cry, and said, “I just wish I could have been there for you through that. I would have supported you. You didn’t have to lie.”

  I wished I hadn’t.

  * * *

  A year later, when I was sixteen, some good news came. There was a new TV show holding auditions around the country. It was going to be like American Idol, but for acting! Contestants had to prepare a monologue and audition in front of the judges.

  This was going to be my big break, the thing that launched my career! I mean, it worked for Kelly Clarkson and a bunch of other people whose names I don’t remember on American Idol!

  I learned a monologue. I was so serious about it that I didn’t even smoke weed the day before the audition. THAT’S how much I cared.

  I studied my ass off. It was like speech all over again. My monologue was hilarious, and I knew I was going to nail it. I took the train to Chicago where the auditions were being held, and stood in line for hours and hours. When I finally got in front of the judges, I had them in stitches. I was on cloud nine.

  One of the producers, who looked to be in his forties, pulled me off to the side.

  “Laura, right? You were brilliant.”

  I said, “Oh, you think so? That’s so nice of you.” But I was thinking, You’re damn right I was.

  He smiled charmingly. “We should meet tonight and talk about opportunities for you in Los Angeles. We want you to be on the show.”

  YES. Yes yes yes. My sixteen-year-old brain could not even fathom my dreams coming true right now, in this moment.

  I trekked home, swung open the door, and yelled, “HELLO, FAMILY! I’VE MADE IT.”

  My dad looked up from the couch. “That’s right, honey! You’re amazing!”

  I found my mother and Colleen in the dining room and filled them in. They needed to enjoy my company now, because my time in Downers Grove would be fleeting, as I would soon be a star and have forgotten about them completely.

  “It’s called a second meeting, and only the best actors get them. We’re going to talk about my career.”

  Colleen gasped. “That’s great!”

  I feigned confidence, but I was nervous. I didn’t know how to conduct myself in professional late-night meetings!

  “Can you come with me, Colleen?”

  Colleen drove me to the W Hotel that night. Oh, did I mention his meeting spot of choice was the W Hotel?

  I found him at the bar. Colleen sat off to the side of the bar and watched.

  “Here. Have a drink, Laura.”

  “Have another drink.”

  “Have another.”

  I just kept drinking what he gave me. I didn’t want to be rude. I had to get to LA and I kept thinking that this was my ticket, this was how the industry worked. It was getting later and later.

  Colleen tapped me on the shoulder. “I want to go home, Laura. Can we go?”

  We moved out of earshot of the producer.

  “I think I have to stay,” I said.

  Colleen was annoyed. “Well, if you have to stay, then stay. I’m going home. I have work in the morning.”

  I sighed. “Okay, fine.” I would take the train home. I went back to the producer . . . and I don’t remember anything after that. I blacked out completely.

  I woke up in the morning to the sun glaring on my face. Squinting in the bright morning light, I looked around. I was in an empty hotel room. There was forty dollars next to me, and a note that read: Thanks for last night. Here’s money for a cab.

  I didn’t even get on the show.

  Colleen got a DUI on the way home. So, lose-lose.

  At this point I was just ready to leave my town, to go anywhere but here. I hated school and I hated getting in trouble and it felt like that was all I was doing.

  After acting out in one of my classes, I was brought in to see the school counselor. I remember wondering why I wasn’t just being punished like usual.

  “Is everything okay at home?” The counselor looked at me with understanding.

  I looked at him and narrowed my eyes. “Can I just have detention?”

  I didn’t really know what to say. He recommended therapy for me.

  I brought it up to my mom that night. I told her that I maybe thought it was kind of a good idea. Maybe there is something going on with me and I could talk to someone and get better.

  “If you need to talk to someone, you can talk to me.”

  It was one of two things. First of all, we never, ever went to the doctor. We didn’t have health insurance growing up. So she might have thought that there was no fucking way we could afford therapy for me, which was completely valid. She also might have not wanted to expose what was going on at home.

  I liked my home life. I loved my parents. But I suppose the unsettling thing at home for me was my dad’s drinking. It could be scary at times. He didn’t beat us or anything like that, but he was six four, and he could get so angry. Like throwing-glass-at-the-wall, breaking-things sort of angry. The scary part was that we’d never really know which dad we were gonna get. He could be a nice, funny, supportive drunk that I loved so much, or a mean and angry drunk. But very consistently, drunk.

  One time I called him to pick me up from a restaurant in town. When he arrived, he was noticeably drunk. The mean, angry kind. He was so mad that I asked him to come get me that he was driving 80 mph on the suburban streets while slurring insults
at me. He swerved onto our neighbors’ lawn, barely missing the lampposts, and almost hit the house. I remember sprinting out of the car, into the house, and locking myself in my room. I thought he was mad enough to kill me.

  My mom, however, was so loving, she really made up for it.

  I was scared, but my dad was not a monster by any means. He was sick. He was stuck in his disease. When he was sober, he was this funny, creative musician and scientist. Always pushing us to think outside the box and be ourselves, no matter who that was. He taught me to question the status quo in a way that I am so grateful about today.

  I’m not complaining about my childhood or where I’ve been, but I can see how that would have caused me to act out. I can see now how much pain I was holding. I would sleep with a knife next to my bed, because for some reason it soothed me to know that if I wanted to, I could just grab it and end it all for myself. (Admittedly, it was a butter knife. . . .) I once took six of my mother’s sleeping pills. I passed out and got really sick from them, but I was going to live.

  You know, if I was really trying to kill myself, I would have taken the whole bottle of pills or chosen a sharper knife. Six pills and a butter knife were not gonna take me out.

  I decided to channel my emotions into finding ways to escape my reality, through drinking or smoking or, even better, both. The kids in my town needed a new place to party after getting in trouble for all our motel parties, but no fear, my friends were problem solvers when it came to getting fucked up. So they chose the next best option—breaking into our friend’s house while his family was on vacation!

  Okay, not so legal, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t my party and I wasn’t getting in trouble for it. A boy named Richard invited me, and while I barely even knew him, I wasn’t about to say no to free booze and weed. I took him up on the invite, and obviously brought along Jack and our friend Holly.

  Once I got there, this five-foot-tall girl in a strapless top and miniskirt (’00s fashion, amirite?) came up to me. “So you’re Laura Clery?”

  I had never seen this girl in my life. I was already six feet tall by now, so I looked down at her—literally—and said, “Yeah?”

  And then BOOM! She punched me in the nose. Honestly, like, how did she even reach my nose? She tackled me to the ground and started beating the shit out of me. But she was so much smaller than me that I put up my fists and took her down like she was nothing.

  No, I’m totally kidding.

  I’m not a fighter at all! I was just screaming and crying and taking it and begging her to stop.

  Some of the other kids at the party grabbed her and pulled her off me. Jack and Holly and I ran into the bathroom and locked the door.

  “Who the fuck was that?”

  “Richard’s ex-girlfriend.”

  Seriously?? Seriously????? She was that mad because her ex-boyfriend invited me to a party????

  I was furious. I started pacing around the bathroom. How could she do that to me? I felt like I was a tetherball being slapped around a pole. There was nothing in my life that I had control over.

  I looked up and saw this painting of a boat on the bathroom wall. Just a boat floating on the water. I saw my own face reflected faintly on the glass. My fucking black eye and bloody nose.

  I punched it as hard as I could. Glass shattered everywhere, including into my hand and wrist. It hit some major veins, and blood was gushing everywhere. I slumped down, crying.

  Holly immediately jumped into action, picking out the pieces of glass. She rinsed it with water. Jack wrapped the wound in his shirt. How convenient that we were already in a bathroom.

  We didn’t go to the hospital, even though I knew we should have. The avoidance of hospitals was something I had inherited from my parents. Plus, I didn’t want to get in trouble—we had all been drinking. We just bought some bandages and wrapped me up, and I went home at two a.m.

  There was my dad sitting on his La-Z-Boy, red wine in hand.

  “Who did that to you? I’ll fucking kill him!”

  “It’s fine, Dad.”

  Richard, who invited me, did eventually apologize for the whole thing.

  “My ex is a crazy bitch, right? Ha-ha.”

  I’d just stared at him until it got uncomfortable for him. “We are not bonding over this right now.”

  “Sorry about that,” he’d said awkwardly.

  That family who owned the house we broke into returned home eventually . . . and saw a bunch of fun things all around their house! Empty bottles of alcohol. Cigarette butts. Oh yeah, and BLOOD AND GLASS ALL OVER THEIR BATHROOM.

  It was on the news one night. “A house in Hinsdale was broken into while that family was away on vacation. There is evidence of physical violence and property damage, although nothing was stolen.”

  “Mom! Dad! That’s my blood on the TV! That’s my blood!” I was so desperate to be on TV that even my blood making an appearance on the seven o’clock news was an accomplishment.

  That night, Holly had left her phone in the bathroom. The tiny girl who beat me up found it. I started getting texts from her. I know what you’re thinking, and no, she didn’t want to go for coffee. I was surprised too!

  You have 2 hours to get us 500 dollars. Or else we’re smashing this phone.

  Clearly, they wanted us to pay for the damage we caused in the bathroom.

  It would honestly be cheaper for Holly to buy a new phone. Sorry, Holly.

  1 hour left.

  30 minutes.

  15 minutes.

  Geez. She didn’t need to text that frequently. I knew how to read time!

  When it had finally been two hours . . . she sent one last text.

  It’s Hammer Time.

  IT’S HAMMER TIME??? Never have I heard that joyous exclamation used in such a menacing way.

  Next time I really want to instill fear in someone, I’m going to try a deep stare into their eyes and whisper, “It’s Hammer Time. (Oh-oh oh oh oh-oh-oh).”

  The time it really was, though? Time for me to get out of Downers Grove.

  CHAPTER 3

  My Summer of (possibly too much) Freedom

  My senior year of high school, I was voted Most Likely to Be Late to Graduation. Which is rude! I was totally on time.

  I already mentioned that I had to take geometry three times, right? Well, the third time was my senior year of high school. And if I didn’t pass . . . I was staying another year. I barely, barely passed—and the only reason I did was because my oldest sister, Tracy, is a high school math teacher and she coached me through it. So in defense of the title I won, I very well could have been late to graduation: a year late!

  BUT I WASN’T. Let’s focus on that.

  I walked across that freaking stage at graduation and said my final “fuck you” to that godforsaken place. I was finally ready to get to LA and do what I was MEANT to do. Acting!

  There was only one problem. I had no plan at all. And no money. And no job lined up.

  Cool.

  Oddly, I had this unshakable faith that I was going to make it. Some might call me delusional, but I’d rather think of it as trust. Faith. Blind faith! Becoming an actress was my destiny, and when someone has a destiny, it always comes true. Right? Okay, now that I’m saying it out loud I can hear how delusional I sound. Maybe I was delusional! But! . . . Look at where I am now—living the dream.

  When my opportunity to move to LA came, I was slightly surprised. I got a call from Neha, a girl who I did speech with. Neha graduated a year before me and was going to Northwestern now. She had it together in high school, so she got in. Good for her.

  “Neesie and I are going to LA this summer. I’m interning at a production company and she’s going to stay with me for fun. Come out with us! I know you want to.”

  I gasped. “Oh God, this is it.”

  Neha continued, “I mean, you’d have to pay rent and stuff, and I know flying out there can be pricey so you can take some time to think about it—”

  “I’M
THERE. WHEN? TOMORROW? OH WAIT, I HAVE TO GRADUATE THIS WEEK. CRAP. FUCK IT, THEY WON’T MISS ME. I CAN COME TOMORROW.”

  “Dude, not tomorrow.”

  “Right.”

  “You don’t have to ask your parents?”

  “Who?”

  I didn’t even ask my parents if I could go. I knew they’d be fine with it. Instead I simply told them I was leaving.

  “Bye, Mom and Dad! I’m off to follow my acting dreams in Los Angeles without any practical steps or a plan!”

  “Have fun, honey!”

  “You can do it, you’re amazing!”

  They did not have the same perspective that most traditional parents did. They never tried to steer me toward a more practical, steady career. I have so many friends who got discouraged from their art by their parents before they even had a chance to try. They had to hear things like “Do you know the odds of you making it?” and “How are you going to support a family with that?” So they never even attempted it. My parents were the opposite. They’d say, “If you want to act, then do it. Life is short.”

  Honestly I’m so grateful that they had this mindset. Yes, I lived a bit dangerously for a while, but I firmly believe that if I ever gave myself a plan B, an exit door from my dreams, I wouldn’t have been able to become a full-time working actress by twenty-three. I would have taken the exit. Reaching your potential is fucking scary.

  I still had the money issue to solve, though. Luckily, my family believed in me just as much as I did. Colleen was earning some money working at a restaurant at this time, so she and my mother both put in money to help me pay for rent and the plane ticket. This was happening!

  I knew that Neha and Neesie were only going to LA for the summer, but I wasn’t planning on coming back to Downers Grove! If I had found a way to get myself out there, I knew I would find a way to stay.

  Just days after graduation, I flew straight to LA.

  I stayed with Neha and Neesie on their living room couch. I was perpetually out of money and never knew how I was going to pay for my next meal! It was the most fun summer of my life thus far. My first taste of real ADULTHOOD. Which to me was . . . partying.