by Brian Rowe
“Mom, please.” I looked at my sister, who was blotting at her chin with her Easter-decorated napkin. “Feed the rest to Kimber.”
“Oh, like a dog?” Kimber asked.
Our dog Cinder walked in on cue. She looked at me with sad eyes, like she didn’t want me to leave her with this pair of crazies.
“No, not like a dog, smart alec.”
“Well don’t skip lunch or I’m gonna be mad,” my mom continued. “Don’t you dare starve yourself, Cameron. Your weight is fine.”
“Fine?” I poked my belly. It was a bit softer than usual. It’s not fine. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna work out an extra hour after school today.”
“Do what you what you need to do, honey,” my mom said, “but don’t forget about… you know…”
“What?”
She nodded toward my sister. I noticed her violin case sitting up against the wall.
“Oh, yeah. Her recital. Wouldn’t miss it.” But can I?
“Be home by six,” my mom said. “We’re gonna leave around then.”
“OK.”
On my walk toward the garage, I passed my mom’s mud room, which had a large stack of unopened mail resting above a new, still unopened printer.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“If you would’ve gotten… you know… a letter… something that was… you know… important…” I was talking in fragments.
But my mom could take a hint. “Nothing has come from Yale yet, honey.”
“You’ll let me know when it does?”
“The minute.” She walked into the room and grabbed some bills on top of the printer. “Don’t worry, you’ll get in. I know you will.”
“I feel like they would’ve contacted me by now. All the other colleges have notified me. Are we sure they got all the materials?”
“I called two days ago. I double-checked. They have everything.”
“And you sure Dad didn’t intercept a package or something, you know, just to sabotage my life?”
My mom crossed her arms and took a step closer to me. “You really think your father would do something like that?”
“I don’t know. Would he?”
“Cam, I know your dad can be difficult. But he wants the best for you, he really does. While he may have wanted that scholarship for you, I personally just want you to stay here in Reno so that I can see you every day. We all want different things for you for our own selfish reasons. What’s important is that you make the right choice for you. And we’ll stand behind you no matter what.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Love you,” she said with a smile, walking back toward the kitchen, sorting through a large stack of bills as if she was actually excited to open them.
I love you, too, Mom.
I got in my car and made my way out of the driveway, when my phone started ringing. It was Wesley.
“Cam,” he said.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Not much. I just had a question for you.”
“OK?”
“Do you have any plans after school today?”
I started winding down the main road of my posh, intimate neighborhood. “Yeah, actually I was gonna go for a long run after class. I think my metabolism is starting to slow down.”
“That doesn’t happen ‘til we’re twenty-five,” Wesley said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Screw the run. Can you come help me out?”
“With what?”
“With my film shoot.”
All I wanted this afternoon was some time for myself to work on my abs. Now my friend was asking me to be a production assistant on his stupid movie?
“You know, I can’t, Wes. I have some plans later that can’t be changed.”
“It’s not my idea,” he said. “It’s Charisma’s. We have a long shoot tonight at the Silver Mine Casino, and she wanted you to be there… you know… for support.”
“Oh.” Didn’t expect that. “Well, sure, OK. I’ll be there.”
“Yeah, it should be interesting. It’s Charisma’s big emotional scene in the movie. She has to cry. And she said the best way to cry would be to have you there.”
I almost started to drift into oncoming traffic reacting to that statement.
“What’d you say? Why would the sight of me make her cry, Wes?”
“I have no idea.”
“OK, well that’s weird.”
“But, yeah, plus I need some extras in the scene, so I might have you do some acting, too.”
“Oh, wonderful,” I said, trying my best not to hide the sarcasm.
“Meet me at the Silver Mine around five or so?”
“See you then.”
I dropped my phone on the passenger seat and started pondering the bizarreness that was my girlfriend.
When I arrived at school, I could see Charisma in the distance. She was walking side by side with Wesley. They looked deep in conversation. Director and actress tied at the hip.
I didn’t try to follow them.
---
The lights blinded me.
I hadn’t stepped foot in a casino in months. The last time I did was around Christmas time with my grandmother Mary, a crotchety old gal who showed more excitement in gambling on her Reno visits than in spending time with her own grandchildren. I was supposed to just look over her shoulder, given that I still couldn’t even vote, but she eventually threw some cash my way to get rid of me, and I found myself pulling a few quarter slots. On my third overdramatic pull, a large black security guard screamed into my right ear, and before I knew what hit me, he was staring down at my ID with the voracious contempt of an aggravated Saint Bernard. He escorted the two of us out of the casino in a way that signaled abuse and made it known through words too vulgar to be repeated that we were not welcome back.
Grandma returned the following morning, but I declined her invitation to join her.
I figured I’d just have to suck it up and wait until I was twenty-one to return.
Three more long years…
But now, here I was, roaming the halls of Silver Mine, trying my best to keep dollar signs off the brain.
I had forgotten how loud it was, how crowded and sinfully inviting. I tried to ignore the slot machines, blackjack tables, and cute little cocktail waitresses who could make you hand over a couple of twenties for a round of warm American beer.
I patted my wallet. I had been smart. I didn’t have any cash on me.
After a few missed turns and a wrong detour that led me to a hallway with a cigarette machine, I found myself in the back of the casino near the penny machines.
“Hi Cameron.”
I looked up to see Ryan. A shooting guard on the basketball team just like me, he had wavy blond hair and a body almost as ripped as mine. He looked like a young Paul Walker, before he became fast and furious.
“Ryan. Hey. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, Charisma called me earlier. I guess Wes needed some extras for his movie.”
I was flabbergasted. Why would Charisma call Ryan, her ex-boyfriend, to come down to the set and not me? I know they’re still trying to be friends but…
Ryan pointed to a spot in the back corner where Wesley was filming walking shots of Charisma. Her character appeared to be on meth or something, because she definitely didn’t look like her gorgeous self. Her hair was laughably messy, falling over most of her face, and she had a glazed look in her eye, like she had spent the whole day trying to snort different drugs up her virgin nose. I hoped she was just acting.
“And cut!” Wesley shouted. “That was great! Moving on!” He caught sight of me and waved. “Hey Cam! Come on over!”
I trekked up to the scene, trying not to laugh at Charisma’s absurdly overdone costume design. Wesley stood tall, scratching his chin, while Charisma sat down cross-legged on the ground.
“Thanks for coming,” Wesley said. “Perfect timing.�
��
I looked at my girlfriend, who seemed to be nauseated or just very much in character.
“Hey Char—”
“Shh!” Wesley interrupted. “Don’t talk to her.”
“Excuse me?”
Wesley got on his knees and started talking in Charisma’s ear. “Cameron’s here,” he whispered as softly as possible.
She nodded, but continued to look down at the ground.
Wesley pointed at a lone chair shoved up against one of the slot machines. “Sit in the chair and face forward.” He motioned for Ryan to stay back.
“OK,” I said, confused and a bit disturbed as I sat down in the chair. “Am I acting? Am I an extra? What am I doing?”
“I just want you to look at Charisma,” Wesley said. “That’s all I want you to do.”
I figured it best not to ask questions. I took a seat, crossed my right leg over my left, and tried to get comfy. I stared at Charisma. She finally started lifting her head up.
She was wearing a tight pink halter-top with baggy, ripped-up blue jeans that went down below her boots. Her hair was curly, and her face was covered with make-up, much of which was mixing in with her streaming tears.
“That’s it,” Wesley said. “Just like that.”
He pulled his camera out from under his shoulder and got down on his knees in front of Charisma. He pushed the little red button and said the magic word: “Action.”
Charisma went berserk. She just started bawling. I’m not talking sniffles. I’m talking all-out, mouth-agape, wet, juicy sobbing. I felt like I was spending time in a Lifetime TV movie, but I decided it best not to tell Wesley or Charisma that.
Wesley held the camera steady as he moved it closer and closer to Charisma’s face, clearly having never heard of the word restraint.
After suffering through thirty seconds of this nonsense, I wanted to rush over to my girlfriend and give her a comforting hug. But I stayed in character, or whatever the hell I was supposed to be.
“Cut,” Wesley said.
He stood up and started polishing the camera lens with his t-shirt. Charisma did her best to wipe the tears away from her cheeks.
I started walking toward her, my brain saying one thing but my voice saying another. “Nice work, honey—”
But Wesley stuck his arm out and stopped me. “She needs to stay in character, Cam. Please don’t come any closer.”
I shot my arms up in the air as if that security guard from last Christmas was back ready to frisk my pants for an ID again. “Are you kidding me?”
“OK, so now,” Wesley continued, ignoring my question, “I need both you and Ryan to be extras for the next few shots.”
“But I’m not allowed to speak to my own girlfriend?” I asked.
Charisma made her way over toward a large set of casino windows and stared out at the bright colors of Reno’s dreamscape skyline.
“Just for tonight,” he said. “I need her to stay focused. I need to get the best performance I can.”
I made a face that resembled a five-year-old child being told he had to go to bed early. “Fine. I’ll be an extra. You’re gonna pay me though, right?”
Wesley smiled. “In your dreams, dude. Now if I can get you to stand near Ryan over there.”
I followed Wesley’s barbaric directions for the rest of the night. We were there pretty late, a little past eleven, before Wesley felt comfortable that he had all the shots he needed. I felt weird about the circumstances, particularly with the awkward silence that lasted most of the evening not just with Charisma but between myself and Ryan, but I sure felt great about one thing—I didn’t touch a single slot machine.
Before I left, I managed to give Charisma a kiss on the cheek, the best I could do considering how much she tried to ignore me and instead focus on her stupid method acting. She gave me half a smile before she made her way, still in silence, toward her car in the parking lot.
I tried not to think anything of Charisma’s odd behavior as I drove home from the casino. I figured she was just staying in character for Wesley’s movie. She still loved me, of course.
Right?
---
I made it home just before midnight and entered from the garage side door, as to not wake my parents. I tiptoed up the stairs and made my way down the hallway.
I was almost to my room when I heard a door open behind me.
Kimber stepped out wearing pink pajamas that made her look five years younger. “Oh,” she said. “Hey.”
“Hey there.”
“I’m just going to the bathroom.”
She walked past me and closed her bathroom door. That’s when I remembered.
Oh, crap.
I felt like a jerk for missing her recital, but I figured she probably didn’t even notice I wasn’t there.
I went into my bedroom and removed my wallet and car keys from my jean pockets. I looked to my left to see Kimber heading back down the hallway.
“Hey,” I said again.
“What?”
“Oh, I just wanted to apologize for missing your thing tonight. I got kinda tied up.”
She smiled, but I could tell it was forced. “Oh, that’s OK. I figured you were busy.”
“Yeah…”
She stepped into her bedroom.
“Good night,” I said.
I wasn’t sure if she heard me, because she didn’t respond. She just closed the door behind her.
5. Twenty-Four
I woke up from the weirdest nightmare of my life, one in which I was crawling through mud at the top of a mountain, trying to catch my breath, witnessing a catastrophic thunderstorm unlike any I’d ever seen.
I rolled over and looked at my phone. It was 6:30 A.M. I didn’t need to get up for another half-hour, but I couldn’t fall back asleep, and with the bizarre thoughts my imagination was conducting, I didn’t really want to. I caressed my facial hair, opened my eyes wide, and knew I had to look in a mirror.
I crawled out of bed and made my way into the bathroom, taking a moment to pee and brush my teeth, just to prolong the anticipation. Finally I leaned against the sink and focused my eyes on my hairy chin.
“Oh, holy shit,” I said.
The facial hair had grown considerably over the weekend. Somehow, some way, I had a beard. And I’m not talking a scruffy, commendable goatee.
This was a beard, so full that I could barely see the skin around my lips. The hair trickled up both sides of my face in perfect symmetry, as if I had been grooming myself for the last month with a high-cost trimmer. Even the hair on top of my head blended in well with the new look.
I ran my hands through it again. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know if it was the greens in my salad or the protein in the filet mignon from last night’s dinner, but something miraculous had entered my bloodstream to create this work of facial art.
I smiled and forgot completely about the nightmare.
The realization came hard and clear. Just at the moment when I was losing Charisma to that stupid movie, I had a way to win her back.
I looked at both sides of my face again.
I wanted to cry. I had wanted facial hair for years. I just couldn’t believe it had happened, and so quickly.
It’s a goddamn miracle.
I set my hands on my hips and breathed a sigh of relief.
I stopped and didn’t move for a second. I sighed again, this time with a tone more reserved and fearful.
“What the…”
I grasped my left hip first. I touched the soft skin with my fingers, brushing them over the roll I hoped was a figment of my imagination. Then I wrapped my entire hand around it, squeezing it as if it were a blackhead in need of a gooey release.
I placed both my hands under my mid-section and pushed up.
My stomach jiggled.
“WHAT!”
I pulled my shirt over my head faster than I had woken up from my nightmare and took a close, analytical look at my body in the mirror.
My
six-pack was gone. In its place was a belly Santa Claus would be proud of. The center of my stomach extended out a couple of inches, as if I had eaten thirty-six helpings of mashed potatoes the night before. My pecks had grown into medium-size man boobs, and love handles drooped to both sides of my body like the saggy eyelids of a ninety-year-old.
I blinked. I jumped. I closed my eyes, ran out of the bathroom, and counted to ten. When I returned, the fat was still there.
This wasn’t me. It couldn’t be.
Am I still dreaming?
I managed to make my way to my car without a single member of my family seeing me.
There was only one person I could think of to talk to about this.
I called Wesley from the car.
---
It was a freezing cold Monday, unusually so for late March. The track field was desolate, with only a few die-hards running their little hearts out so early in the morning.
I was on lap fifteen when Wesley appeared from the side gate, dressed in his trademark brown t-shirt. He had his backpack strapped on, with, hard to believe, no video camera or tripod in sight.
When he stepped closer to the track, I started performing intense sprints. I barely took a moment to breathe.
“Cameron?”
“Just a minute!” I shouted.
“Cam? Is that you?”
“Give me a sec, Wes!”
I survived my forty sprints and stopped, leaning over to, at best, take a deep breath, and, at worst, vomit all over my track shoes.
I managed to stand up straight and take a few steps toward Wesley.
“Whoa!” he shouted. He looked stunned, like he had just seen a ghost.
“What?”
“You look like Grizzly Adam’s grandson.”
Wesley enjoyed a brief laughing fit before I asked, “You don’t like it?”
“It’s a little bit… you know… thick, don’t you think?” He took a step forward. “Can I touch it?”
“No.”
“Let me.”
“No.”
He touched it anyway.
“That’s pretty impressive,” he said. “Have you shown Charisma yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not? Wasn’t that the whole purpose of growing a beard? This isn’t to look, like, attractive, is it?”
“Hey, you’re one to talk!” I shouted. “You have a beard, too!”