“H
ere they come!”

Huvy and the rest of the cast gathered outside in the early-morning frost as the chartered bus from Sofia came rumbling up, bearing the Bulgarian actresses. Huvy was just as curious as the rest to see what these girls would look like. At last, the bus finally pulled up, the doors opened, and out came — Huvy blinked once, twice — one hundred girls who were dressed not just like clones, but who all bore a strong resemblance to Huvy herself!

What in the world? She turned sharply to her mother. Why were these girls dressed in clothing so remarkably similar to her own wardrobe? And why were they all wearing their hair the same way she did?

Even Dini picked up on it. She chortled. “Who knew? They all dress like Huvy in this country!”

Now the others were giggling. Huvy blushed. This was bizarre. She’d never even thought of herself as having a personal style — if anything, her wardrobe was more a reflection of her mother’s fashion choices.

“Wow, Huvy, you’re a celebrity!”

“Every girl in Bulgaria wants to be you!”

She wasn’t sure what to make of the teasing — was it just friendly, or was there an underlying sarcasm here, a who-in-the-world-would-want-to-be-Huvy attitude? She wished she had the guts to tell the other cast members to cut it out. Instead, she turned away, not wanting to look at these 100 Huvy wannabes advancing slowly toward her.

And suddenly, she realized what was bothering her about the teasing. These Bulgarian girls didn’t want to be her; they didn’t even know her! Did Dini and the others actually think her clothing choices reflected who she really was?

She tugged awkwardly on her Moncler coat. Her mother had bought it, just like she’d bought most of Huvy’s clothing. Huvy had never given this much thought; to her, it was just a perk of having a fashionista mother, when she herself was so fashion-illiterate. But now, for the first time, she wondered if by ceding wardrobe control to her mother, she was actually letting her mother control her identity.

She frowned as she glanced at Rina, who looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh, my goodness. I gave Andrei a picture of you, Huvy, to give him an idea of how they should dress. I never imagined they would take it so literally!”

As Rina hurried over to greet the girls, she hissed to Huvy, “Run and call in Malky, Batsheva, and Gitty, quick. Tell them we have a huge makeover job on our hands!” Huvy hurried to get the hair, makeup, and costume ladies. Miraculously, over the next few hours the small hair and costume crew, with the help of all available cast members, managed to change hairstyles and add enough accessories that their cast no longer looked like an Invasion of the Huvys. But with all that extra work, they were several hours behind schedule, and Rina’s hassled expression only deepened as she finally gathered the entire group together and started to give instructions for the upcoming scene.

Though she spoke in slow, careful English, she still got plenty of confused responses to her directions. Had the casting agency guy messed up the “must know English” criterion, too? Watching her, Huvy had the strangest sensation that her mother felt out of control here. Strange, because she was used to thinking of her mother as capable of handling absolutely anything.

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 633)