Lost In Dreamland

"Charlotte, go get the mail from the newsboy." My little sister, Annie, nudges me. I throw my pillow at her and groan.
"Get it yourself." I say, my voice slurred from sleep.
"Momma won't let me." She says, pulling the blanket off me. "C'mon, Charlie, I wanna read the funnies!"
I sit up groggily, rubbing my curly auburn hair. "Fine. Will you make me some toast, then?" I ask, pulling on my sneakers and grabbing my friend Andy's sweatshirt from my desk. Man, it was soft.
"Of course," she runs out, her tiny seven year old feet making soft thumps on the woodwork floor as she walked.
Brushing my hair with my fingers, I walk down the three flights of stairs from my apartment and walk up to the paperboy, Jack Dunning. He's used to seeing me at my worst, and i've seen him at his worst (beaten up and in tears from the other boys). "Morning," I yawn.
"Morning, fish breath." He teases.
"Just give me the goddamn paper, Jackie."
He whistles. "Your cranky in the morning. Five cents." He says.
I hand him a nickel. "See ya later. Want to come up for mac and cheese at lunch?"
He grins. "Alright. Is Annie gonna be there?"
"Definately." Jack had a soft spot for Annie. Although he was seventeen, a year older than me, he loved to play with her.
"I promise i'll hang out with you first."
I smile. "Don't worry about it. Thanks." I hand him a nickel and go back in the apartment building, handing it to Annie. "Jack's coming up for lunch." I say to her. My mom is sleeping on the couch, recovering from another hangover.
"Yay!" She hands me my toast.
"Thanks." I eat my toast and take a shower, getting dressed in a simple, deep blue summer dress. It made my pale arms look ghostly, but I like the color.
I walk to the cafe with Annie, buying her a glass of orange juice and me a vanilla-cinnamon chai. Annie reads her sherlock homes book, and I stare at the table, swirling my chai with a silver spoon. I take out my sketchbook and start to sketch an outline of an old man, sitting in a red stool, blowing on his hot coffee. His face was simple enough, but his eyes were clouded and hidden, revealing nothing. He looked as if he had a century's worth of knowledge and experience in them.
I didn't think much of it when he stood up. I had just finished his face, and was moving onto the rest of him..I could just finish that part by memory. As I was sketching out the chair's details, someone poked my shoulder.
I quickly shut the sketchbook and looked behind me to see the man. "Hello," I say, trying to be polite.
"Nice picture you got there, miss. Can I see it?" His voice is deep and gravelly.
I blush bright red. "uh, sure." I open it to the page I drew of him.
"You're a very good artist. Ever thought of making drawing a career?"
"I want to be an actress." I say truthfully.
"You've got the face to be a good one," He states. "Would you mind if I kept that picture? I want to show my wife."
"Oh, of course!" I tear it out carefully, handing it to him.
"Sign it." He orders.
I do as he say, writing: Charlotte Wright, 1956. "Thank you. I'll frame this."
"Oh, thank you, sir. It was very nice meeting you."
"You too, Miss Wright. I'm Cameron Foster."
"Good seeing you, Mr. Foster." I say.
He nods and tips his fedora. "You too. Have a good day." He walks away. Annie, too lost in her Sherlock Homes' book, doesn't notice the man come or go.
The church clock rings out, echoing through the streets. I count the dings; one,two,three,four,five,six,seven,Maeight,nine,ten.
Ten a.m. Annie and I should probably cut out soon. We've been out since eight. "Annie." I say. She doesn't reply. I take a sip of my chai and say louder, "Annie."
She looks up, dog-earing her book. "Yeah?"
"Let's cut out. We've been here too long."
She nods, and we leave. Taking ahold of my hand, we walk down the street, Annie taking everything in. A group of guys come by, and stop to talk to us. I try to make it quick.
"Hey, dolly," One of them says, a greaser.
"Hi."
"What you doing with the ankle-biter? Let's ditch and we can hang out at my place." A boy who has slicked back Elvis hair says.
"Excuse me," I say, venom coming into my voice. "The ankle-biter is my sister, who I would never ditch for a couple of low life's like you."
"Rejected!" A man walking past says loudly, grinning.
"Shut it, Daddy-O!" Elvis head says. "Cool it, girl. C'mon guys, lets find ourselves another chick." They walk off.
When we get to our apartment, I sit down on the couch and watch a re-run of I Love Lucy, not really paying attention. Someday, I was going to be as cool as Lucille Ball, as famous as her. I would give anything to have my own t.v. show like her- As if that could ever happen. At the moment, Lucy was dressed in full country clothing and a strange braided wig, trying to mock-seduce Desi Arnab.
Annie comes in the room and sits, indian style, on the floor. "Good show." She says, turning the volume knob up.
My mom walks in the room, clutching a cup of coffee. "Morning, darlings." She mutters.
The room suddenly reeks of vomit and alcohol.
"Momma, you need a shower." I say, plugging my nose.
"Oh, hush up, Charlotte. I had a rough night last night."
"Really? Was it filled with vodka and drugs?" I ask, standing. I'm tired of her coming home every night, drunk and high, leaving me to take care of Annie and provide food for us and pay the rent with what little money I had from working at the plaza.
"Charlotte, not now. Not in front of Annie." She was making excuses, now.
"Annie, can you go into our room for a minute so I can speak to momma?" I ask, trying to make my voice sound sweet for her.She nods quickly and scurries out to our bedroom. " Momma. You need to stop drinking-It's getting too far."
"You can't tell me what to do!" She's yelling now. "I'm a grown woman- I can make my own decisions of what I can and cannot do with my life!"
"Your thirty eight years old! Take responsibility for your two children! You spend what little money you make on alcohol and drugs, and make your own daughter pay the rent and get the grocieries! Let me tell you something, Momma, by the end of this month, if I don't get enough money saved up, they're putting us on the streets! You need to put yourself together, get a job, and help me pay this rent so we can have a good home for Annie!" I yell back.
"My drinking has nothing to do with this!" She screams. "I can get a job just fine! We can get a new home if we don't have enough money to pay for this!"
"We can't afford a good house! This is the cheapest one on the market! There's one bedroom! One! How much less could you get? Look at yourself, momma! You've grown so skinny, so pitiful! Stop the drugs, the alcohol, and put your life together!" I walk out of the room, not wanting to fight anymore. Walking out the door, I run face-first into Jack Dunning.
"Not a good time?" He asks.
"No, it's okay. I'll grab Annie..Do you want to have lunch at your house?"
"Sure."
I call out Annie's name, and she runs into Jack's arms. He piggybacks her down the stairs, and I follow behind them slowly. It's surprising how fast I can calm down. A paper on the ground stops me. I pick it up, reading the headline.
"Actresses Wanted."