to Los Angeles to be a star and end up in porno movies. Of all us kids, I’m the one who never offered her any reason to worry, and maybe that felt strange, so she made up the hows and whys. I probably stayed in the county clerk job for as long as I did because she harped on me a lot less after I took it. I guess it seemed to her along the road to somewhere called normal.
But I wasn’t going to end up in pornos. Being president of Joshua Reed’s fan club gave me something to look forward to, was all. I liked that it was different. Still, life on Prospect Street got easier once I learned to manage most of my fan club chores from the basement in a couple hours on Saturday afternoons. That’s when Beau Ray went to his “Move Your Body, Move Your Mind” class at the Y and Mom went to her ages-old quilting bee, so I had a little quiet time. To tell the truth, by two years in, the fan club had become almost as routine as everything else.
Of course, it’s old news by now that Joshua Reed’s career really took off after he played Nate, the hero in Villains Can’t Be Choosers. It’s easy to see why. The costume people dressed him all in white and he grew his hair out, and he looked like Jesus come to life. Only sexy.
The fan club membership had been growing since I took the job, but it really jumped—it tripled in size—after that movie came out, and again when Villains hit video. Judy had to send a whole new batch of membership cards and glossies. By then, she wasn’t working for all the General Hospital staff—she only had a few clients, Joshua being one of them. By then, Joshua had made it into People a few times. I cut out the pictures and photocopied them for the newsletter.
I know people wondered about it—what my real deal with Joshua was. Mostly, I let them guess, although it was obvious to me that I wasn’t flying off to Los Angeles for weekends, and no limos were ever parked along Prospect Street. Fact is, I knew a lot about Joshua, and I could answer almost all of the questions that club members would send in. (For example, Judy called him J.P. because his real name was Joshua Polichuk. He started going by Joshua Reed when he moved to L.A.) But I never talked to him on the phone or anything. Once, when I was talking to Judy, she said that Joshua said to say hi, but I didn’t hear him say it, so I don’t know whether he was even in the room with her. He did write—a couple of times. Not really letters, but he would scrawl a note at the end of something Judy was sending off. He had messy, uneven handwriting, but his signature was polished. Probably from signing all those photographs. The first time, he wrote: Leanne, Judy tells me you’re my biggest fan. You’re the best! xoxo, Joshua Reed.
The second time, he wrote: Leanne, you’re the best for keeping all this together!
The third time, it was: Leanne, Be sure to tell all your friends about Villains, and also about Celebrity Jeopardy! That was right before Villains Can’t Be Choosers came out, and Judy was keeping him busy with all sorts of special events and appearances, mostly in California, but also in New York.
Sure, it would have been nice if he’d written more or even called on the phone once or twice. That way I might have known him in a personal way, different from the facts and stories that were out there for everyone. But it’s impossible to know where a thread starts when you’re looking back on things. Maybe if I had known Joshua better, I would have quit the fan club long before I did, and Judy probably figured that. Still, it was fun seeing my name in his handwriting, and he spelled it right, too. A lot of people spell it Leeanne, or Leann, or some other way. But Joshua always spelled it right.
I didn’t stick with the fan club because I thought that we were meant for each other, Joshua and me. I’m not going to say that a seventeen-year-old girl doesn’t imagine things, and I’ll admit that I imagined plenty in my early days with the club. But that was before Beau Ray suffered the first of his bad seizures and before Momma went through the months she’d come to call her “unraveleds.” I referred to those months as her mean seasons, since it seemed like she was pissed at everything and everyone in the world. Of course, folks in such a state never realize how ornery and off-putting they’re being, so when you find yourself in the midst of someone’s mean season, the best you can hope for is to stay out of their line of fire. Back in Momma’s worst times, I’d call Tommy or Susan for help, but neither ever offered to head home for even a week to make dinner and check which bills were least overdue. (That was around the same time that the idea of me going off to a full-time college stopped being talked about like it was a good thing, something that might really happen.)
But whenever I thought maybe I ought to give up the club and focus on getting my own life in order, I’d feel a heaviness, almost like family, like I’d be letting Judy down. Judy, who always said “thank you” to me. Judy, who asked “would you please.” Judy, who sent cards on my birthday and told me when she would be unavailable (like during her honeymoon) and called whenever she was going to send a new set of photos or an updated credits sheet or a rewritten biography—so I’d know it was coming. Part of me wanted to be like her. Even more of me wanted to be her, out there in California, seeing Joshua close up and making dinner for myself, just myself.
At the beginning of my seventh year with the club, membership reached 10,000. That’s paying fans, and dues by then were fifteen dollars a year. A year earlier, when it hit 5,000, Judy bought me a computer. I think she was exaggerating, but she said that she couldn’t have done any of it without me—that my help and organization and the way I always sent her the rumors that people wrote in about had helped Joshua’s career immensely. That’s why he’s only doing movies now. And good ones, big ones.
But like I said, it had long grown routine by the time Judy called one Saturday.
“Leanne?” she said. “Judy Masterson here.” She always told me her last name, although I didn’t know any other Judys so she didn’t have to. “I’ve got some wonderful news.”
“What’s that?” I asked. Joshua had been dating this Belgian supermodel named Elise, and I thought maybe Judy was going to tell me that they were getting married. But she didn’t even mention Elise.
“J.P. just signed to do a Civil War epic called Musket Fire. Think Taming of the Shrew meets Gone with the Wind. He’s not the lead—well, he’s the romantic lead, but not the historic lead, you know. We’re going to be filming back east, in Virginia, for about three months. Starting next month. Isn’t that exciting?”
“I guess I should include that in the Summer newsletter.” I must have been tired when I said that. I wasn’t thinking that it’s only forty minutes from Pinecob to the Virginia border—and that once you hit Virginia where the mountains ease up, the roads run a lot quicker.
“That would be great, but mostly, I called to say that I wanted to arrange dinner with you and me and Joshua. You’ve been working on the fan club for so long, and I swear, J.P.’s club runs so much more smoothly than any of my other clients’—I thought it would be nice…”
“Oh—of course,” I said. “That would be great. I wasn’t thinking. When?”
Judy said that she and Joshua would be arriving three weeks from that Sunday, but that the movie studio had already sent casting and location people to set things up. A lot of the filming would be taking place around Winchester and Front Royal, which were only an hour and a half or so from Pinecob. Judy asked whether I wanted to be an extra in the film. She said that Sandy and I could probably both be extras. It might require getting out of work for a few days, she said, but no one was a bigger movie buff than Mr. Bellevue, my boss in the county clerk’s office, so I knew he’d let me do it.
I couldn’t believe it: Joshua Reed, coming to Pinecob—well, not exactly to Pinecob. He and Judy were going to stay across the Potomac in Virginia for a few days, in part because there are nicer places to stay around there than in Charles Town (and there’s no place to stay in Pinecob if you’re not at someone’s house), and in part because Joshua’s
