by TJ Klune
“You’re… serious.”
“Yeah, man. Like, I know frozen food isn’t healthy or anything, but you put some of those taquitos in the oven and holy crap, I could eat an entire box if it didn’t give me the shits—”
“No. That’s not what I was asking. I meant about this being your big break. That’s what you think this is.”
“Yeah, man,” Josy said easily. “I’m in a movie. A real movie, you know? It’s all I ever wanted, and now it’s happened. How cool is that? My life is pretty great.”
“It’s that simple for you.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Quincy slowly shook his head. “I—I wish I could see things like you do.”
“But then you wouldn’t see things like you do,” Josy said. “And then there would be two of me and none of you, and that wouldn’t be so good.”
“It wouldn’t?”
“Nope. Because I like you just the way you are.”
Quincy coughed roughly. “I have to lie down.”
“Okay. I’ll head back downstairs to give you some peace and quiet. I’m going to go practice my lines and be ready for Monday. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Quincy looked like he wanted to say something else, but he went into the room instead, closing the door behind him.
Josy wondered what he was going to say.
He’d ask later.
Downstairs, Casey gave him another hug and slipped him a THC mint.
It was good to be back in Abby.
Chapter 10
The Stories of My Father (Working Title)
Day 1
Location: John Eagleton’s home
Scene 3
IT WAS Josiah Erickson’s first day on set.
He was nervous, but it was a good kind of nervous. He’d accidentally posted six selfies to Instagram this morning, but he needed some way to soothe his nerves. Yes, he quite possibly used more hashtags than he ever had in his life, but they made him feel better. Hashtags often did. Both Xander and Serge had commented on a couple of the photos, wishing him good luck.
“Wow,” a voice said behind him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man get that much makeup on his face before. I mean, maybe drag queens, but not a hipster.”
He was about to turn his head, but Dee growled at him and he kept still. She stood above him, eyeing him closely. He hadn’t known that she was also in charge of the actors’ makeup. She was a lesbian of many talents. Josy was impressed. She’d forced him into a chair in the living room while they prepared Roger for his role as Liam Eagleton’s father upstairs. Josy had told her he had a distant cousin who was a drag queen in Tucson, and so he knew how to put makeup on, but she’d told him to shut up and let her work.
He needn’t have worried about turning his head, however. Soon enough, bright red hair attached to a familiar face peered over Dee’s shoulder.
“Lottie,” Josy said, trying not to smile because Dee would snarl at him again. “What are you doing here?”
“Craft services,” Lottie murmured. “Are you going to give him mascara? Because I’ve always had a thing for men with smoky eyes. I once made out with Robert Smith. Well, not actually Robert Smith. He was too busy being the only constant member of the Cure. It was a poster of him I had on my wall.”
“Would you please step back?” Dee asked.
Lottie did.
“And no, he’s not going to get mascara.”
“Really?” Josy asked. “That sucks. I wore it once and someone said that it made me look like a demon angel.”
“That was me,” Lottie said. “The last time you were here. And you were high and let me put mascara on you.”
“Oh right! Dude, my bad. I forgot. Did you bring sandwiches? I love sandwiches.”
“Egg salad. With pickles. Gus won’t eat it, so everyone else needs to. I always order too many pickles.”
“Or you can just not make it,” Dee told her, turning Josy’s head side to side, checking her work.
Lottie scoffed. “Then what would I do with the pickles? I had a pickle barrel once, but no one would eat them. I even had special tongs and everything. It was quaint.”
“This is such a weird town,” Dee muttered.
Lottie leaned over her shoulder again. “What happened to your mustache? Why isn’t it curled at the ends?”
“They made me trim it. Apparently Liam doesn’t curl his mustache. He’s very deep.”
“Wow,” Lottie said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anybody say those words before and sound so sad at the same time.”
Dee glanced back over her shoulder. “You’ve heard someone say those words before and sound happy?”
Lottie shrugged. “I knew interesting people in the eighties.”
Dee shook her head as she turned back around. “Josy, you’re done. If you mess this up in the next five minutes before you’re in front of the camera, I will make you sorry.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you. I know how hard you work.” He looked into the mirror she held up. “Whoa. Dude! This looks great! I look like a Liam. You should feel proud of yourself. You were born for this.”
Dee snorted. “Gee. Thanks.”
Josy grinned at her.
“Literal sunshine,” Lottie breathed. She coughed, shaking her head. “Where should I set up the food?”
“In here!” Casey called from down the hall. “I’m making room in the kitchen. Give me a second and I’ll help you unload the truck.”
“Are you also security?” Lottie asked Dee.
She frowned. “Security? For what?”
“All the people standing outside the B and B trying to take pictures.”
“Oh my god,” Josy whispered. “It’s starting. Paparazzi.”
“What? No. It’s just nosy townsfolk.”
That… wasn’t as epic as some intrusive bastard who wanted to try to take photos of Josy when all he wanted to do was go out like regular people. Paps just didn’t understand the perils of celebrity.
(But to be fair, neither did Josy.)
Dee went to the window. “What the hell?”
Josy stood from the chair and followed her, looking over her shoulder. Sure enough, standing around a truck for Lottie’s Lattes was a group of townsfolk. There was the alliterative librarian, Margo Montana. Next to her was LaRonda Havisham, pushing up her cleavage for reasons Josy didn’t understand. He thought it looked fine where it was. And next to her was Leslie Von Patterson, she of the Fun Committee and decorator of everything Gustavo despised. She had a small yellow-and-black rectangle in her hands, which she pointed in all directions before using her thumb to spin a dial.
“What is that?” Josy asked.
“A disposable camera.”
“Really? That’s so retro! I didn’t know they made those anymore.”
“She bought seventy boxes of them in 1999,” Lottie told them. “Back when we all thought Y2K was actually going to be a thing, though for the life of me, I can’t even remember what Y2K was. But she figured if the world ended, disposable cameras could be used as a bargaining chip in order to make her in charge of her own commune of survivors.”
Dee turned to stare at her. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Not at all! Strangely enough, the thought apparently never crossed her mind that no one would be able to develop the film after the world ended, but then the turn of the century was a very strange time for everyone. We were so innocent then.”
Others had amassed behind cougar town, curious onlookers craning their necks, trying to see into the house. It wasn’t a large crowd, but Josy figured this was how it started. A few people here and then sold-out theaters across the country.
“Where are you going?” Dee called after him.
“Out to greet my people! They need to know how appreciative I am for supporting the arts.”
“What? Josy, no! You get back—”
But it was too late. Dee was strong and wide. Josy was skinny. Ergo, he met less resi
stance when moving, making him faster. Also, he was determined, because potential fans could become outright fans, and they needed to know he cared about them as much as they cared about him.
He opened the door.
Mrs. Von Patterson immediately took his picture before furiously winding the camera. Ten seconds later, she was able to take another.
“Hello!” Josy said, smiling widely. “It’s nice to see you. Hi! Hello! I’m sorry I don’t have time for autographs right now. I’m getting ready to shoot my scene. But I will later, if you all want to stick aro—urk!”
Dee had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and jerked him back inside. She took his place on the porch, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is a closed set!”
“We’ve been hired as extras,” Margo Montana said, arching an eyebrow. “If you could let the director know that I’m here and ready for my close-up.”
“We don’t have extras on set today,” Dee said. “You aren’t scheduled until Wednesday.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Von Patterson said, taking another picture and winding it again. “We thought it was today.” Another picture. More winding. “How upsetting.”
Mrs. Havisham pushed out her bosom even farther. “Actually, I’m supposed to be here today. I have been assigned the pivotal role of Home Health Nurse.”
Dee pulled out her phone and scrolled through something on the screen. “LaRonda Havisham?”
“’Tis I!”
“You’re twenty minutes late. Get in here now before you’re fired.”
She hurried up the stairs.
Margo Montana and Mrs. Von Patterson scowled after her. The rest of the people whispered among themselves.
“I know how to fix this,” Josy whispered as Mrs. Havisham pushed her way inside. “Let me take a selfie with them and they’ll leave.”
“If you ruin your makeup, I’ll—”
“I know, I know. You’ll make me sorry. Leave it to me.”
He squared his shoulders, put a beatific smile on his face, and said, “I am costarring in this film! Who would like to take a selfie with me for Instagram in exchange for getting off the property?”
Everyone in the crowd raised their hands.
It was hard being in such demand, but he might as well start getting used to it.
ONE OF the bedrooms at the B and B had been slightly converted to act as John Eagleton’s room. Machines that looked as if they belonged in a hospital had been set up next to the bed. Roger Fuller lay propped up by pillows, his wheelchair pushed out of sight. Dee stood above him, putting the finishing touches on his makeup, but it was still less than Josy had ever seen him wear. He’d been made to look older, frailer. It would be disconcerting if it wasn’t movie magic.
Mrs. Havisham stood off to the side, palms pressed together as if she were praying before she started doing squats. She had changed into nurse scrubs from Wardrobe. Josy was thankful her cleavage had been hidden.
Quincy was talking with the boom mic operator, whispering back and forth. He looked harried, and there were circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well. Josy could understand. He too had been nervous, but he’d smoked a blunt with Casey before he’d gone home to Gustavo and Harry S. Truman for the night. Josy had been out like a light by nine. He felt bad knowing that hadn’t been the case for Quincy. When he’d gone up to the room, Quincy had been lying on his bed, facing the wall. Josy had assumed he was asleep, but maybe that hadn’t been the case. He should have done more. They were friends now, and friends helped each other.
He didn’t know if he should announce himself. Everyone looked busy, and he wasn’t sure of his place. His stomach was twisting unpleasantly. He was nervous, more so than he’d ever been, and it worried him. He’d been in front of a camera before. Granted, this was bigger than anything else, but he was ready. He knew his lines. The shooting schedule had been given to him well in advance. He was ready.
But what if he wasn’t? What if he messed up? What if the entire project collapsed because of him? What if he forgot how to act? He was already wearing clothes foreign to him: loose-fitting jeans, a plaid shirt, and scuffed boots. Nothing about it was ironic. It was bland and boring and perfectly within character for Liam Eagleton, a man who was estranged from his dying father and who worked in a cubicle selling vitamin supplements. He also had a second job working in a bookstore, just to make ends meet. He was on the road to nowhere, and what if Josy couldn’t relate? He was on the road to everywhere. Well, he would be if he didn’t fuck this up. Sure, do or do not, there is no try, but what if there was a try?
“Mason,” he whispered loudly.
Mason, who was standing against the wall looking bored, ignored him. They were supposed to be achingly in love but unable to be together due to Liam’s numerous commitment issues, in part because of his strained relationship with his father, and he was acting like he hadn’t heard Josy!
“Mason!”
“What.”
“I need your help.”
Mason didn’t even look at him. “With?”
“We need to be in love.”
Mason snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“It has to be realistic,” Josy insisted. He walked over to stand in front of Mason. “If we don’t have chemistry, no one will believe I’m the love of your life.”
“You’re not.”
Josy thought about pointing out how many times Mason had tried to flirt with him but decided against it. “Yes, well, that’s why it’s called acting. I mean, no offense, dude. You’re not really my type. But we can fake it, you know? We kind of have to.”
Mason rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”
“We need to stare lovingly into each other’s eyes.”
“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.”
Josy stared at him.
Mason didn’t look at him.
Josy continued staring. He barely blinked.
Mason finally looked at him.
“I love you,” Josy whispered.
Mason grimaced. “Seriously. Stop it.”
“No. Dante, I love you.”
“Josy, I swear to god—”
“I love you, and I’m sorry I broke your heart because of my numerous issues about commitment due to my strained relationship with my father.”
“Why are you like this?” Mason demanded.
Josy—no, Liam—looked away. “My father is dying, and I don’t know how to deal with it. My life is at a crossroads. One way leads to the dull path I’ve been on for years. The other… the other is a future with you just within my grasp—”
“Stop it.”
Liam looked back at Dante. “Forgive me, my former lover who I still love.” He blinked, Liam disappearing back into that place inside all actors of his caliber had. “Did you like what I did with my voice? I sound beaten, don’t I?”
“I will make you sound that way for real if you don’t leave me alone.”
Josy put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to be nervous. I am, but we can help each other. After all, I’ve seen your penis.”
Before Mason could agree with that bon mot, Josy’s name was called.
He turned.
Quincy looked a little green.
“You okay?”
Quincy shrugged. “Oh sure. Just, you know. Everything.”
Josy nodded. He understood greatly. “Yeah. But! Think of it this way: you won’t know what you’re capable of unless you try, man. Serge taught me that. Or I saw it on an inspirational poster that had a cat on it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mason muttered behind him.
“Sure,” Quincy said. “Um. Can you… are you ready? Both of you? I think it’s almost time to begin.”
“I won’t let you down,” Josy promised. “And if I do, tell me, because you’re the director. I am open to critique. All I ask is that you make it constructive and not mean, because I don’t like it when people are mean.”
Quincy looked aghast. “I
would never be mean. I don’t even know how.”
“Oh man, that’s so good. One time a director yelled at me. Wait. No, three different directors yelled at me.” Granted, Josy had been going completely off script with backstories he’d built in his head, but still. It hadn’t been very nice.
“I don’t yell,” Quincy said, sounding stricken.
“It’s true,” Roger said. He grunted as Dee fluffed the pillows behind him. “Always such a quiet boy. Even when he skinned his knee, he barely made a sound. Oh, he cried, of course. These great big tears that just broke your heart—”
“Grandad!”
“Oops,” Roger said. “My apologies. Today you are not my grandson. You’re my director. I’ll remember that from this point on. Did you take your medicine this morning?”
The crew snickered quietly.
“I did,” Josy said, showing solidarity. “It was echinacea and honey in my tea to make sure my voice is strong.”
“Wonderful,” Roger said lightly. “Now, Quincy, I know this is your show. I will leave it up to you. We’re in your capable hands.”
Quincy nodded, head jerking. “That’s… good.”
“But I believe it’s customary for the captain of our ship to address his crew before the maiden voyage.”
Quincy squeaked.
Josy involuntarily took a step forward, barely able to stop himself from dragging Quincy to another room to build a blanket fort filled with pillows to block out the rest of the world. It was close.
Everyone waited, watching Quincy.
Quincy wrung his hands.
Roger coughed.
Quincy cleared his throat. “Um. Right. Okay. So. This is… my movie. That I wrote. And am directing. And will be helping to edit, even though I have no idea how to do that. And promoting. And distributing if we don’t get picked up. But it’s not just about me. It’s about… all of us? Yes, it’s about all of us. Because I’m the captain of this ship. But without a crew, the captain is alone and the ship will most likely run aground and be destroyed, killing hundreds of people on accident. But I don’t want anyone to die, so let’s not focus on that. Let’s just make the best movie we can.”