Norma stood before her mother’s full length mirror, assessing her outfit. Mother took great umbrage at her young daughter rifling through her closet, and disheveling her evening gowns. The formal dresses were much to big on Norma, and as she traipsed around the upstairs in mother’s finest and high heels, she was in the process of ruining the hem.
Strands of pearls and matching earrings and gobs of rouge and make-up made Norma look older in a ridiculous sort of way. But in her mind, she was a movie star; a Hollywood starlet, glamorous and slinky in a nine year old kind of way.
“Dahling” she would say, “I’m ready for my close-up”
And she’d smile. She was Bette Davis, and Greta Garbo and Ingrid Bergmann rolled into one. Savvy and demure, sure of herself and her future. Sure of her talent. And very sure Mother will have a conniption when she finds the gown she had set out for the Academy Award ceremony in disarray. So much for the “Red Carpet” look, Norma was in dutch, and she knew it.
“Norma Jean Desmond!” mother vented. “What were you thinking? Now my gown is ruined. I have nothing to wear to the theater!”
“I wanted to act like you. I am a movie star too! Norma said tearfully confident.
“Damn it Norma, how many time must I tell you, you’re too little to be a star! The business is too large for you; you’ll be eaten alive” Mother scolded.
Norma Desmond thought about Mother’s admonition for a moment. “I am big. It’s the pictures that got small!”