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that if he drove the whole way at this pace, he would just get to work every day and have to turn around.
    “Oh, it takes like an hour or so for me to get there, really depends on the traffic. It’s all the way in West Hollywood.”
    “Where I go for interviews?”
    “Yes, basically the same area.” He took a final drag of his cigarette and then flicked the stub out the window. I wondered if anyone’s grass would catch fire. “Are you excited to start work tomorrow?”
    I’d been cast in my first role as a series regular, which meant I had my first steady job, according to Mom. I’d done a few Movies of the Week for ABC, and even one real feature film that we saw in a movie theater, but this was really the big time, Mom said. I had a job that could go on and on, like Dad’s. She’d lavished me with toys and praise and love and attention since I’d been cast, so it had to be huge. I had a whole new team of stuffed animals in my room as evidence.
    NBC bought eleven episodes of the show and named it “Joe’s World.” The story centered on a midwestern working class family with five kids. The producers cast Christopher Knight, who had played Peter Brady on The Brady Bunch , as the oldest brother. I played the youngest kid.
    “I gather it’s a sitcom. Like that show with Gary Coleman. What’s it called? Mom says you’re the comic relief. You just walk in the room and deliver punch lines,” Dad said.
    He took a left on Rinaldi Street and picked up a little speed as the golf course disappeared behind us.
    “You and I are going to be heading to work together instead of school for a while. Did Mom tell you that? I’m going to take you to the lot at Metromedia, and your grandmother is going to stay with you on the set so Mom can take care of Tiffany.”
    He laughed to himself. “And I’m betting that arrangement will last about a day.”
    “Why?” I asked.
    “Because your mom is addicted to showbiz.”
     
     
    He was right. Grandma sat on the set for the first few days of table reads, and then, sure enough, she and Mom swapped positions. I was happier with this new arrangement. Grandma loved to talk and talk to everyone on the set, mostly just bragging about Tiffany and me. But she wasn’t as good at helping me as Mom. With her tight gray curls and ample build, she was a big soft pillow to run to during breaks in the action, but she knew very little about the mechanics of working, like when I was supposed to deliver a line.
    Herbert, the director, helped quite a bit and smiled and cued me, but I felt better when Mom was there, making sure I was doing my job properly. I hated to mess up a line or hold up the other actors, especially because they were all older and had been working even longer than I had. I didn’t want to be the worst or the least professional in the group, even if I was the baby. I had a standard to uphold.
    And when it came to work, so did Mom. When we weren’t working, she made running out of gas or crashing into the occasional fire hydrant seem like typical, unavoidable occurrences. But when we were working, she was careful and precise. We always arrived on set at least thirty minutes before my call time. And I checked in well rested and scrubbed clean, with my hair smelling like soap, my skin soft and sweet with baby powder.
    At home, the laundry might pile up for days. The cupboard stood bare for weeks before she broke down and hit the grocery store. But when it came to working, she was a machine. She made sure I knew every line, hit every mark. She’d nag, cajole, mentor, bribe, threaten. Whatever it took. I realized when Grandma stood in that I very much preferred the more intense support Mom provided.
    When we arrived home from work, Grandma generally sat yapping at my annoyed father, while Tiffany did her homework at the kitchen table. Tiffany seemed undercut by all the attention Mom lavished on me, but she was still the boss when we were alone.
    “Don’t touch,” Tiffany said