“In about half an hour, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, sure, Eth. What’s up?”
“I’ll explain it when I get there.” Suddenly, Ethan had second thoughts about Christa’s staying with her friend, and added, “I’m bringing someone with me, too. I owe you one.” Ethan hung up before Robbie had a chance to say more.
Robbie had a two-bedroom apartment. It wasn’t the Waldorf-Astoria, but it would be safe and comfortable.
“I’m going there too?” Christa asked, surprised. “You just said to call my friend.”
“It’s pretty early, Christa,” he said with a smile. “You likely won’t impress anyone with a call at this hour. We’ll figure something out when we get there. You can meet Robbie. He’s the one who got me here.”
Christa smiled her agreement with the plan.
“All right, then,” Ethan announced. “Let’s go.”
After some quick packing, Christa raised her bag. “I’m ready when you are,” she said.
They were just about out the door when Christa remembered the messages she’d taken during the day. Scooting back, she grabbed a scrap of paper and handed it to Ethan. There were two—Sven Irons and Beth.
Barnes helped them take their bags down to Christa’s white Toyota Corolla. “I’ll call you with anything we get,” he said, giving them both one of his business cards. “If you think of anything that might help—anything at all—please contact me directly.”
They both thanked him and shook hands.
Ethan had difficulty keeping his eyes open on the drive through early-morning LA. Twice he dozed off, and Christa had to wake him to ask directions to Robbie’s place. Christa was shaking him again as she drove up to the front of the apartment complex. Disoriented, it took Ethan a moment to ground himself. Everything seemed mired in a foggy mist. Getting from the car to the front of the apartment building was akin to moving in a highly viscous fluid. Robbie was up by the time they buzzed his apartment, and he let them in.
He greeted them at his door, his eyes seeming to pop at the sight of their bandaged faces. He helped them inside as Ethan introduced Christa. The smell of hot coffee brewing in the kitchen permeated the air. There was no sign of the other person who had answered Ethan’s call earlier.
“It’s not every day you get chauffeured across town by a beautiful woman, you know!” Ethan laughed.
Robbie followed with, “And pretty special in head bandages, no doubt. What kind of action have you two been up to, anyway?”
“I might ask you the same thing,” Ethan added, thinking of who had answered Robbie’s telephone. The exchange between Robbie and another man when Ethan called had occurred quickly, as if they were beside each another. In the same bed? The question of Robbie’s sexuality perplexed Ethan. He couldn’t remember any of the girls Robbie had dated.
Robbie stared intently at Ethan, all but ignoring Christa. Ethan did his best to describe the events that led to their arrival at Robbie’s apartment. Robbie brought them both coffees.
“He fucking fired a gun at you!” Robbie demanded, his eyes bulging.
Ethan pointed to the bandage on his cheek and nodded his head.
“You have no idea where he might be?” Robbie asked in amazement. Now he was wide awake and riveted by Ethan’s story. He sat in his frayed armchair, looking from Ethan to Christa.
“No,” Christa replied, curling her straight brunette hair back over her ears.
“That’s the reason the cop told us to find another place to stay for a couple of days,” Ethan added, sipping his coffee. The coffee was good, but his eyelids were heavy. He’d hoped for a second wind from the caffeine, but it wasn’t coming. “There’s a warrant out for his arrest. They’ll catch him.”
“He’s not that smart,” Christa insisted, nodding her head, “but that doesn’t say much about me, does it?”
They all chuckled as Robbie stood up and retrieved the coffeepot from his Mr. Coffee machine on the counter. “Listen,” Robbie suggested, refilling Ethan’s mug, “you both look like you could use a shower and some shut-eye. You can have the room you stayed in, Ethan, when you first arrived. There are sheets in the closet.”
“Ah, thanks, Robbie,” Ethan said, looking at the time on Robbie’s VCR. “One more thing—I need to be up in an hour. I have to call work.”
Robbie looked at him with a strange expression. “I think they can make it through one day without you,” he stated. “Take the fucking day off. Besides, you look like shit.”
“Yeah, but it’s important, Robbie.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Robbie snorted, shaking his head. “Some things never change. I’ll call them and vouch for you.”
Mixed up in his thoughts, Ethan couldn’t help but wonder whether another person was in Robbie’s bed. He was surprised by his curiosity.
“Robbie,” Ethan said as he and Christa headed to the second bedroom, “thanks.”
“No problem, mate,” Robbie replied as Ethan closed the bedroom door.
Ethan then found himself in bed beside the beautiful Christa for only the second time. It was strange how familiar it felt.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said, turning his head on the pillow to look at Christa pulling off her socks.
“I think so too,” she replied, her smile showing her weariness.
Even though there was a lot wrong with their situation, something somehow felt right.
Chapter 22
Ethan’s Timeline
April 1991
The alarm buzzer went off like a rocket beside Ethan’s head. It seemed as though he had just closed his eyes. He looked across at Christa; her tanned brown legs were curled up almost to her chest. The alarm hadn’t disturbed her in the least. The room was warm but not uncomfortable. Christa had shed all but her bikini brief Calvin Klein’s and a yellow T-shirt. Wanting to stay, he turned over but could only remain still for a few minutes as the day took shape in his mind. The two of them had slept for most of the previous day, although he couldn’t remember much of it. Robbie had called in to work for him, as he’d said he would, and explained the predicament. Christa simply called in sick. Now, he would have to face Goldsmith in a couple of hours and review his project work from two days ago.
Seeing Christa sleeping so peacefully beside him, he refused to disturb her and carefully slid out from under the covers. Only the bandage on her cheek revealed anything of their earlier turbulence. He pressed his hand hard against his arousal, wanting relief from the desire he felt for this woman, silently begging her to awaken. He forced himself to move away and into the small bathroom, where he showered. The water felt good and helped calm him. He replaced the gauze packing on his cheek with a smaller bandage. The bullet had only broken the surface. As quietly as he could, he filled a mug with the hot coffee Robbie had made earlier and sipped it as he dressed. Christa hadn’t moved. He looked at her again before closing the bedroom door and leaving.
Once on the street, he flagged down a taxi. Fifteen minutes later it pulled up in front of Build Industries. He paid and hustled into the office.
Everyone was in by the time he reached his desk. A few said good morning as he passed, but he could sense he was the talk of the office. No doubt the bandage on his cheek only added to the rumors already started. The drawings were on his desk where he’d left them. It seemed such a long time since he’d last been there. Shuffling through the drawings, he arranged them in the order he would present them to Goldsmith.
A few minutes later, while he was logging on to the network, one of the designers came by his desk. “Hey, man, what happened to your face? Cut yourself shaving?”
There will be a few of these today, he thought. “No, somebody tried to shoot me,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Wow, no way!” the designer exclaimed. “Were you mugged?”
“No, deranged ex-boyf
riend,” Ethan replied. “Crazy son of a bitch.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You know. What else? Goldsmith’s project.”
“You look like crap. Can I help?” He pointed to the drawings on top of Ethan’s desk. “Looks like you could use a little. Goldsmith’s supposed to be here in half an hour.”
“No shit!” Ethan exclaimed. “Yeah, for sure. You can start by plotting the files I send you.” Ethan picked up the work he’d completed and carried it into the engineering conference room. Preparation was key in handling Goldsmith. Ethan wanted to be as organized as possible, despite his turmoil, but he couldn’t believe how tired he was. His eyes seemed to close involuntarily, getting smaller by the minute. Every time he sat down, it was an effort to get back up. He needed another coffee.
Goldsmith’s whole project seemed strange to him now. It was like the nightmare of taking a school exam and not understanding any of the questions. Back at NewTec, he’d have wanted to do a good job to get promoted to the next rung. Here, he was holding on to keep money coming in. His perspective had changed. He only hoped he’d done enough to keep Goldsmith happy. It wasn’t five minutes before the boss walked into the room—he was early.
“Good morning, Ethan,” Goldsmith said with a slight smile. “I understand you’ve been through quite an ordeal since we last met.”
Yeah, I’m sure you do, Ethan thought. Like you care. “Yes, it’s not every day that someone shoots at you,” Ethan replied, pulling out the first drawing he wanted to show Goldsmith. He hoped his tired eyes wouldn’t betray him.
“You sure you’re ready, son?” Goldsmith asked, sitting down beside him. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, maybe looking at it from a different perspective.” Ethan laid out his drawings. Formulas and calculations were of little interest to Goldsmith. He picked up one of the drawings before Ethan could explain what he’d done. “What’s this?” Goldsmith announced, sounding annoyed.
“The accumulator reservoir,” Ethan answered, taken aback by the question. He’d followed Goldsmith’s instructions meticulously.
“We never talked about a reservoir. Don’t need another reservoir.”
Ethan was caught off guard by Goldsmith’s reaction. He thought Goldsmith would like what he’d done. “Can I explain what I went through to get here?”
“Go ahead and start,” Goldsmith retorted, “’cause I can’t figure out what the hell you’ve done.”
Ethan was struggling to focus. It was as if he was grasping at something just out of reach, both on the table and in his mind. Goldsmith’s curt reaction to his work was completely unexpected.
“Ethan, it appears as though you didn’t understand what we talked about the other night,” Goldsmith stated. “I know you’re tired and you’ve worked hard, but you’ve missed the point.”
Ethan was aghast. His mind flashed back to his being late for the audition and not getting the part. Why? Because of Goldsmith. Ethan had been through a life-or-death situation, and what had he been thinking about through all of it? Goldsmith. Now, after all that, he was getting a shit-kicking from whom? Goldsmith. It was time to put an end to it. Stand up, and let the chips fall where they may. It was quite clear that he and Goldsmith were on different planets. “You know, you’re right,” Ethan agreed. “I did what I thought you asked and in doing so, I killed an entire night.”
“Looks like you did more than kill a night,” Goldsmith sniped. “What’s the other guy look like?”
“Don’t know,” Ethan answered, uncertain of how much he should say. “I was shot at when I got back to my apartment.”
“I heard something like that.” Goldsmith seemed to reconsider something for a moment. Then he pushed his chair away from the conference table, saying, “Ethan, when I hired you, you mentioned your interest in acting and the movies. It’s obvious to me you don’t understand what we do here. I think your heart lies elsewhere.”
Ethan’s chin dropped—listening to Goldsmith’s words was like taking another bullet, this time in the stomach. There was no way he’d misunderstood what they talked about. Goldsmith had changed his mind; Ethan was certain of it. Goldsmith either was losing it, or his intentions had changed. Regardless, Ethan was through.
“You won’t forget me,” Ethan said, speaking from his heart.
Goldsmith stood and walked to the door of the conference room. He stopped short and turned to look at Ethan. For an instant, Ethan relaxed, half expecting Goldsmith to tell him he was joking.
“Maybe not, Mr. Jones,” Goldsmith stated, “but I’m afraid, under the circumstances, that we no longer need your services. Good luck with your other ventures. Audrey will assist you with your things.” At that, he turned and walked out. The door closed behind him.
Ethan, who had risen to his feet, was dumbfounded and dropped back to the conference room chair. What the fuck did I do to deserve this? Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been shot, and now he didn’t have a job. Too confused to be angry, he sat in the chair and stared blankly at the wall.
Thirty seconds later, Audrey, the engineering receptionist, was at the door, expressionless and very direct. “Ethan, please come with me.”
He didn’t have time to do as much as stop and collect his thoughts. It was over. He stood up, zombielike, and followed Audrey to the front entrance. No one looked up from their suddenly important tasks or even acknowledged his presence. He’d already become a nonentity.
Audrey held open the front door. She wasn’t looking at him either, as much as she was looking through him. “You can pick up your personal effects after five,” she said, speaking the words without emotion. “If you don’t, we will collect them and forward them to the address we have on file, along with your severance check. If you have any questions, please contact me. You know the number.” She then thrust her hand out in a good-bye gesture and added, “Good luck, Ethan.”
“You won’t forget me,” he said, staring at Audrey. “Count on it.”
He had come to LA to be an actor, not an engineer. It was time to get on with it.
Chapter 23
Ethan’s Timeline
April 1991
Ethan walked for nearly an hour before he stopped for anything. He had not headed in any particular direction, nor had he any destination in mind. His feelings left him in a state of suspended disbelief, where he could only observe and not participate in the world around him.
Fired. At first, it seemed a little like being dead. But he’d come close enough to that in his own apartment to last a lifetime. It wasn’t like that.
He’d never been fired before. As a kid, he’d been cut from his hockey team and cried for hours, but this—this was something he thought was both undeserved and incredible. As he walked along Somerset Lane, he retraced, again and again, his last meeting with Goldsmith and the moments in the conference room, searching for a clue on what had set Goldsmith so against him. Ethan could have sworn he hadn’t misunderstood the intention of the project. Goldsmith had changed it. Tired—yes, even exhausted—but tired or not, the instructions had been clear. He could accept the blame for a misunderstanding but not one that led to his dismissal. He had been routed and was not about to agree with the decision—or, for that matter, accept fault in it. After an hour of aimless walking and self-reflection, he remained bewildered by the situation.
Still trying to make sense of it all, he approached a small café with tables outside. Two waitresses were talking at the front. He assumed they were taking a break before the lunch crowd started. As he pulled out a metal frame chair to sit down, the taller of the two women asked whether he’d like to see a menu.
“No, thanks,” he said. “Just a large coffee and Danish. And … do you have a telephone?”
Her reply was quick and easy. “Yes, sir, there’s one in the back, beside the restrooms.”
Ethan followed her instructions and found the
pay phone opposite the men’s room door. All he really wanted to do was go back to Robbie’s apartment and sleep the whole mess away. Christa would be there and in fifteen minutes, he could be back and tucked away from this unruly world. But it wouldn’t solve anything. On picking up the receiver, his hand pulled out the slip of paper in his pocket. Sven Irons’s name and phone number were written on it. He dialed the number, fully anticipating Sven’s answering machine again.
“Good morning. Sven Irons’s office. Jacqueline speaking. How can I help you?” answered a sexy voice.
“Good morning,” replied Ethan. “Could I speak with Sven Irons?”
“Sure can. May I tell him who’s calling?” she asked with a smile Ethan could hear over the telephone.
“Yes, it’s Ethan Jones. I’m returning his call from yesterday.”
“One moment, sir,” she said. He was switched to the music of Mozart. A few seconds later, Jacqueline’s shining voice interrupted a climbing crescendo. “One moment while I connect you, Mr. Jones.”
“Ezan Jonez,” announced Sven Irons “Iz about time I get to zpeak viz zee real perzon. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” replied Ethan. “I could say the same thing.”
“Zo howz zee man zat vent home viz zee most beautiful voman in zee room?”
“I’m doing okay. Yourself?”
“I’m doing great and getting better,” Sven chuckled. “I’m zo glad you called. Iz a crazy vorld, izn’t it? All zeze mezzagez?”
“In more ways than I care to recount,” Ethan replied, shaking his head. “I’m returning your call from the party.”
“Yez, vell, of courz you are,” Sven replied. Ethan could picture him reclined behind a big oak desk with cowboy boots resting on the corner. “I called you zee ozer day regarding a project I’m verking on—zort of a cazting azignment. At zee pa’ty, you fit zee profile ve’re looking for. I called you to meet for lunch.” Ethan’s heart rate sped up. “But late laz night, I believe ve found zee perzon ve vere looking for, so zat pretty much zayz it all. Zome zingz vork, and zome zingz don’t. Timing is zee name of zee game.”
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