White Oleander Page #6

You want car?

You want art college?

All costs money.

You don't know anything about this,

Rena, so just stay out of it.

- I have plan for you, anyway.

- Yeah? What's that?

Niki leave soon.

And Yvonne is stupid girl.

Making third baby.

Every time she look at the window

to see baby's face, baby gone.

Then she cries

like it's a big surprise.

But you, you're a special girl.

You stay, I make you partner.

Stay here?

What, you got better place to go?

Then go see mother.

She need something from you,

you need something from her.

Go get it.

Here she comes.

Astrid, my God!

What's wrong, Mom?

You don't like my outfit?

I'll leave you two alone for a while.

So, what's the story?

We didn't go to Mexico to buy DMSO?

Barry beat you? He raped me?

How bad does he have to be

to get you out of jail?

I can't believe what's happened to you.

When I get out, I'll make it up.

Who said you're getting out?

I said I'd talk to you.

I didn't say I'd do it.

Then what do you want?

I have a deal to make. A trade.

You tell me the truth,

I'll lie for you in court.

- The truth about what?

- Everything you kept from me.

- And if I don't?

- Then you can rot in here.

I hate this look, by the way.

You're a Sunset Boulevard motel,

a $20 hooker in the back of a car.

Why did you murder Barry?

If I submit to this, you'll testify?

Yes.

Self-defense. He was killing me.

Claire did nothing to you.

Why'd you go after her?

Claire went after herself.

I just showed her how to do it.

Who was my father?

Why do you always ask that?

It's ancient history.

It's my ancient history.

Who was he?

His name was Klaus Anders.

- What'd he do?

- He was an artist.

How did you meet?

At Venice Beach, at a party.

He had the drugs.

Did you love him?

It was a long time ago.

I'm not the same person.

Liar. You're exactly the same.

Answer the question.

You're such a child,

taking my propaganda for truth.

So set me straight.

Did you love him?

We had a very sexual relationship.

One overlooks many things.

You worshipped him.

I read it in your journal.

"Worship" isn't exactly the word

we're looking for here.

Who is Annie?

What?

Who is Annie, Mother?

She was a neighbor who took in kids,

did people's laundry.

- What did she look like?

- Dark, curly hair, freckles.

Did she take care of me?

How can you possibly

have remembered this?

It will only hurt you.

Imagine my life for a moment.

How unprepared I was to be

the mother of a small child.

I was used to having time to think

and you just wanted, wanted, wanted.

I felt like a hostage.

Can you understand

how desperate I was?

I dropped you off

at her house one afternoon...

...to go to the beach

with some friends.

And one thing led to another.

They had a place in Ensenada.

It was wonderful.

You can't imagine.

To take a nap in the afternoon...

...to make love all day if I wanted

and not have to think:

What's Astrid doing? Where's Astrid?

Mommy, Mommy...

...clinging to me like a spider.

At the end, I just wanted

to throw you against a wall.

How long were you gone?

About a year.

Give or take a few months.

- My God.

- You're not asking the right question.

Don't ask me why I left.

Ask me why I came back.

You should've been sterilized.

I could've left you there

but I didn't.

Don't you understand?

For once, I did the right thing.

When I came back, you knew me.

You were sitting by the door.

You looked up and you reached for me.

It was as if you'd been waiting

for me all along.

I was always waiting for you.

That's the constant in my life.

Waiting for you.

Will you come back?

Will you forget that you tied me up in

front of a store or left me on a bus?

- Are you still waiting?

- No.

I stopped when Claire showed me

what it felt like to be loved.

What did you think?

That I would amuse you?

That's what babies are like, Mother.

Did you think we'd talk

about Joseph Brodsky?

I thought Klaus and I would

live happily ever after.

Adam and Eve in a

vine-covered shack. I was crazy.

- You were in love with him.

- I was, all right?

I was in love with him,

baby makes three and all that crap.

Then why did you leave him?

- Why did you leave him?

- I didn't leave him. He left me.

You wanna know about your father?

He left us when you were

six months old for another woman.

I never saw him again until he came

looking for you when you were 8.

- He came to see me?

- Yes, he did.

But it was too late. Why should I let

him see you after what he did to me?

It wasn't about you! It was about me

and I wanted to see him!

My whole life I've wanted to see him.

That decision was mine, not yours!

Everything's always been about you,

never about me.

I knew you were gonna kill Barry,

but you didn't even care.

You didn't give a damn

about what that would do to me.

I'll say whatever Susan wants,

but I gotta go.

You don't just walk away from me.

I made you. I'm in your blood.

You don't go anywhere

until I let you go.

Then let me go.

You look at me

and you don't like what you see.

But this is the price, Mother.

The price of belonging to you.

If I could, I'd take it all back.

I would.

Then tell me you don't

want me to testify.

Tell me you don't want me like this.

Tell me you would sacrifice

the rest of your life...

...to have me back the way I was.

Listen, forget it. A deal's a deal.

Let's just leave it at that.

Excuse me.

It's probably a waste of time...

...but I'm looking for someone who used

to come here. His name's Paul Trout.

- You Astrid?

- Yeah.

He said you'd turn up.

Thanks.

- What's going on?

- I don't know.

- Excuse me. Is it a recess?

- No. Jury's out.

Don't you need me to testify?

Your mother told me

to leave you alone.

What happened?

She let me go.

Two years after Paul and I

moved to New York...

... I received a letter

from my mother.

In it was the Los Angeles Times

Magazine, my mother on the cover.

A Santa Monica gallery had mounted

a showing of her work.

The Times included seven pages...

... of her hauntingly

distant prison collages.

She stares out from the cover,

the bars of her cell behind her.

Beautiful.

Dangerous.

Proud.

The Times said she was close to winning

a retrial after a first failed appeal.

They called her show a triumph.

It's too much to imagine her tempering

her joy with a moment of grief...

... a moment for what

that triumph had cost.

These suitcases are

a map of that country...

... a terrible country

I will never revisit.

Even so...

... I find myself thinking of her...

... wanting to feel that wind.

It's a secret wanting...

...like a song I can't stop humming...

... or loving someone

you can never have.

No matter how much

she's damaged me...

... no matter how flawed she is...

... I know my mother loves me.

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