by Sarah Ready
We shake and our bargain is sealed.
5
Ginny
“It doesn’t fit,” says Liam. His looks down at himself in disgust.
The spandex of his black pants stretches tight, and his shirt rides up over his gut.
“Huh.” I look him over. He’s right, it’s about two sizes too small.
He stretches his legs and arms. The fabric pulls and he winces. We’re in his living room, it’s been cleaned up since I saw it from the door yesterday. Liam’s showered and dressed in his alter ego’s costume.
It doesn’t look great. In fact, he looks like a low-budget imitation of himself. Put him next to a movie poster and he’s the paler, older, softer version of Liam Stone. Although, also, maybe a little more approachable, as the Greek god look meant mere mortals couldn’t approach him. And we can get it straight right now, I’m just a mere mortal.
Oh well.
Liam swings his arms and then shakes his head as the shirt rides higher.
“It fits good enough,” I say.
He sighs and pulls down the shirt. “There’s no reason to wear it.”
Okay, I get it. He’s embarrassed. The last time he wore this outfit he looked like an Olympic athlete. Now, not so much. But who’s judging? It’s not like he needs to impress me with his looks. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his looks. I care about him being nice. To my daughter.
“There’s every reason,” I say. “You aren’t Liam Stone unless you’re wearing the costume. You can’t train Bean unless you’re him.”
“I could train your daughter in normal clothes. I wore normal clothes in my films.”
But when he was being heroic, he wore his costume.
“No deal,” I say.
He grits his teeth and gestures to himself. “It’s embarrassing.”
I look around the trailer. The lighting’s dim, but I’ve had enough time to take it in. There isn’t anything personal here. Nothing to remind him of his past. It’s just a ratty couch, an old wooden kitchen table, a folding chair, and a tv on the floor. That’s it. No pictures, no knick-knacks, no magazines or books, nothing. I’m surprised he had this costume, although he did have to pull it out of a cardboard box from the back of his bedroom closet. But there’s nothing here to connect him to his past, and nothing here to hold him to the present either. He stopped living.
I’ve been there. It looked different when it happened to me but I recognize it.
I step forward. “Let’s get this straight,” I say.
He narrows his eyes. “What?”
I move closer, touch the fabric of the cape draped over his shoulders.
“I don’t give a crap what you look like.”
“What?”
“I don’t give a crap if you are dripping sex appeal, or if you look like an orangutan’s butt.”
“Jeez.” He gives me an incredulous look, but I keep going.
“None of that matters. What you look like doesn’t matter. It’s what you do that matters.”
He shakes his head. Either he thinks I’m crazy or he’s doesn’t believe me.
“Repeat after me. Even if I look like an orangutan…”
“Are you kidding?”
I poke him in his spandex-clad chest. “No. Repeat.”
He sighs, “Even if I look like an orangutan.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says.
“Because I’m effin’ Liam Stone.”
He chokes on a laugh.
“Say it,” I say.
A wry smile curves his lip.
“Because I’m effin’ Liam Stone.”
“And the world is my bitch.”
He starts laughing. It starts as a small chuckle, then it gets louder.
“Say it.”
“The world is my bitch.”
He grins and I catch my breath. He looks more handsome, more gorgeous than I’ve ever seen him. On screen, he was sexy, but here and now, he’s…wow, if the world could see him now. That’s why he was famous, not for his talent, but for this raw magnetism.
I curl my fingers and fight the urge to touch him.
I clear my throat. “You’re effin’ Liam Stone,” I say. “Now act like it.”
He fights the smile on his face, tries to put it away but can’t. “You’re crazy, you know?”
“Yeah. I know.” I smile back.
He looks at me, and his eyes turn warm and happy. There’s a ripple low in my belly that responds to his look. I’ve not felt anything like that in nearly seven years. I stand in the thick silence and take in the feel of his eyes stroking over me. For a moment, I’m just a woman and he’s just a man. My lips part and my breath catches. There’s nothing there, not his ruined career, not my being a widow, or trying to get Bean…
Bean.
I clear my throat and break eye contact.
“Hey,” he says. He reaches for me and I step back.
“You ready?” I ask. I blush at the low, throaty sound of my voice. Years ago I was told my voice makes a man think of sex and cigarettes. This is the first time I’ve been able to hear it myself.
“Sure,” he says. He drops his hand and I relax. “Thanks for that.”
“Of course.” I clear my throat again. Then, “Come on. You can ride with me.”
“We’re doing this?”
I nod. “Training starts today.”
6
Liam
We roll up to a tiny yellow Cape Cod with brown shutters. Ginny steers her beater into a grassy parking area next to the garage. Her stereo blasts bass heavy pop and as I step out of the car, my cape blows in the wind. A boy rides by on his bike, and as he passes he turns his head to stare.
“I’m effin’ Liam Stone,” I say under my breath, because right now I feel like this is the stupidest decision I’ve ever made and I need some bolstering.
I shut my door and plant my feet on the dry grass. Then I take a look around. The street’s packed tight with small houses. They vary on a theme. Small, yellow, beige, or white, chain-link fences and brown grass. Some have flowers, most don’t. Some have boarded windows, most don’t. There’s a house on the end with a rusted car on concrete blocks.
Ginny cuts the engine, the music stops, and she steps out of the car.
“Welcome to Centreville,” she says.
I swipe at my cape. The flipping thing is blowing around like we’re on a movie set and I’m posing for the movie poster shot.
I follow her as she walks through the grass to the front door. I’m a good ten feet behind Ginny, she’s moving fast. Before we reach it, the door opens and a little girl rushes out. She’s bald and wearing pair of shorts and a striped shirt with a cape. I’d bet my last dollar this is Bean.
She only has eyes for her mom. She runs up and hurls herself into Ginny’s arms.
“Mama. You’re back. Finick and Redge are here. Miss Heather dropped them off for Gran to watch. Miss Heather’s going to the salon. They don’t allow kids, ’cause it’s fancy, but she said boys don’t go to salons and a girl like me don’t need one ’cause I don’t have hair anymore, and then Finick said ‘stuff it’ and a bad word, then Heather said ‘watch your mouth,’ and Finick said ‘you ain’t my mom,’ and then—”
I stare at the kid in amazement. She hasn’t taken a breath. In fact, the whole story has been one long word with no pauses. She hasn’t noticed me yet, either. It’s incredible. Ginny squats down and nods her head as she listens to her daughter.
Bean gulps a big breath.
“Where’s Grandma?” Ginny asks.
Bean pauses. “At the store, ’cause we were out of pickles and she said pickles are the only thing that stop hot flashes and misery. Then Finick said that there’s other things, and Gran said—”
“Where’s Finick?”
“He’s in the basement playing video games. But Grandpa said he shouldn’t because playing video games makes kids crazy and then—”
“Wher
e’s Grandpa?”
“He’s looking for the ladder.” Bean doesn’t say anything else. Instead she makes her eyes real big and purses her lips like she’s trying not to say anymore.
“Why’s he looking for the ladder?”
Bean’s folds her lips until they’re a thin line.
“Bean?”
Her face turns red and then she lets out a long exasperated breath. “’Cause.”
“Yeah?”
“’Cause I whooped Redge at Chinese checkers so he threw my Liam Stone action figure in the highest branch of the walnut tree, then I cried and he called me a big baby, then Grandpa came out and said he’d have to find the ladder.”
She sighs and wraps her arms around herself.
Ginny pulls her closer and kisses her head. “Don’t worry. I’ve got something better than an action figure.”
Bean sniffs.
Then I step into her line of sight. Her eyes go wide, they travel up me from my feet all the way to my face. Then she does something I don’t expect. She lets out a scream and starts jumping up and down.
Ginny turns to me and grins.
Finally, Bean throws another hug around her mom. “He’s here, he’s here.”
Ginny laughs and I’m stunned at the joy I hear in it.
Bean looks up at me, awe on her face. “I knew you were real. Redge said you aren’t real, but I knew you were.”
My cape flutters and now I’m grateful for the wind. I feel like I can’t let this kid down.
“That’s right. I’m real,” I say. “I’m Liam Stone.”
“You know what that means?” asks Bean.
“What’s that?”
“Grandpa doesn’t need a ladder. You can fly up and get my action figure.”
The tree is a big old walnut tree, about thirty feet high. The action figure, a terrible replica of me, with a black cape and an S on the shirt, hangs from a branch about three quarters of the way to the top. Twenty feet up. Sure. I can do this.
“You don’t have to do this,” whispers Ginny.
She’s pulled me aside. She actually looks concerned for me, which makes me worry what my face looks like. Bean, the little bully Redge, Bean’s grandpa, and an angsty-looking teen named Finick are all here. The grandma is back from the store and in the kitchen making pickles and lemonade for “the show.”
“It’s fine,” I say. I wipe at a line of sweet running down my face.
Granted, when I saw the height of the tree I wanted to turn around and run. I never climbed trees as a kid. And whenever I climbed in the movies, I was strapped in a safety harness. But even the harness didn’t keep me from falling.
I blow out a long breath.
“Gotta do it sometime,” I say.
“Yeah. But this isn’t part of the training. I was going to have you run. Lift weights. Not…are you gonna be sick?”
“I’m fine.”
I walk to the trunk of the tree. The lowest branch is about five feet off the ground. If I grab it I can swing myself up.
“Five bucks he doesn’t get it,” says Redge.
“Of course he’ll get it,” says Bean. “He’s a superhero.”
“Then why hasn’t he flown?”
“Because he wants to climb,” says Bean.
“No, it’s because he’s a loser.”
“Watch it,” says Finick, in a warning tone.
“Children,” says the grandpa.
“I don’t have to watch it, my dad’s the mayor. And that guy in the cape. He’s just a loser,” says Redge.
Bean gasps.
I don’t turn to look. I can feel them watching. Bean’s hopeful gaze. Redge’s sneer. Finick’s teenage disdain. I can even feel Ginny’s gaze. A woman who has clearly seen it all is looking at me with something like…belief.
I grab the rough bark and grunt as I hoist myself up onto the first limb.
“Yeah,” shouts Bean.
Redge makes a rude noise.
I test the strength of the limb and then slowly stand. I grab the branch a few feet above me and yank myself up again.
I keep climbing. After the fifth limb my arms start to burn from dragging my weight up. I’m only one more limb away from reaching the action figure when I make the mistake of looking down.
My head spins and the panic rushes at me. It’s so fast that I can’t stop it. My heart pounds, my throat closes and I can’t breathe. My vision starts to go dark and I’m going to fall, I’m going to fall, I’m…I sway, start to lose my grip. I cry out. I drop my body to the limb and wrap my arms and legs around it.
My breath comes out in hard pants. Hell. Hell.
I close my eyes. My heart pounds and I’m wrapped around a tree limb nearly thirty feet in the air.
The wind gusts a little stronger than before and the limb I’m plastered to creaks and sways.
I don’t have control anymore. I can’t seem to open my eyes. I can’t let go of the branch. I can’t get up.
“Liam?” It’s Ginny. She’s calling up to me. “Liam? Are you okay?”
I can’t answer. My throat is so narrow, my body so much in the grip of fear that I can’t open my mouth to respond.
“You all right up there?” she calls.
“What a loser,” says Redge.
“He is not,” says Bean.
“Is so. Look at him. He’s like a baby. Rock a bye baby in a tree top.”
“Liam?” shouts Ginny. “Are you all right?”
I pry my eyes open. Keep them open even when the world tilts and my heart picks up speed again.
I can do this. I’m effin’ Liam Stone. The words don’t help. I try it again. I’m effin’ Liam Stone.
“I’m coming up,” shouts Ginny.
There’s some argument down below. Something about calling the fire department. I tune them out. I can do this. I can get past this.
Slowly, I crawl up and wrap my arms around the limb above me. It shakes in my hands. I stretch up and reach as far as I can and there…just, there. I extend my fingers until finally I grab the cape of the action figure.
“Got it!”
Yes.
A loud cheer comes from below. Now I just have to get down. And finally, I have sympathy for all those cats that can climb up a tree but need the friendly fireman to pull them down.
I let out a long breath.
“Come on, loser.”
“Quiet, Redge,” says Ginny.
She trots over to the tree and pulls herself up into the lowest branch. “You need help up there?” she calls through the leaves.
I could say yes. They could call the fire department and bring me down with the ladder. If I do that, I can kiss all this goodbye. I can go back to my trailer, to never playing a movie role again. Or I can climb down on my own and pursue this, try to win my life back. It’s not an abstract idea anymore. The choice is right in front of me.
The wind blows and the tree shudders again. I shudder with it. But… “I got this.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Thirty excruciating minutes later I make it to the ground.
The only people left in the back yard are Ginny and Bean. Redge, Finick, Grandpa and the pickle grandma all got tired of watching after ten minutes of me hugging one limb.
I hand the action figure to Bean.
“You did it,” she says. Her eyes glow and she hugs the figure to her chest.
“Sure did.”
“I knew you would.”
I wink at her. That makes one of us.
7
Liam
“Ten more. Grit your teeth and pull,” says Ginny.
I pull up on the makeshift pullup bar attached to the oak tree in my front yard. My muscles burn and sweat runs down my face. Not even the best trainers in Los Angeles can compare to the superhero boot camp hell that Ginny’s prepared.
“Nine,” she says when my chin finally clears the bar.
I slowly lower my body, careful not to let my feet touch the ground.<
br />
“Keep your knees up.”
I grunt. I don’t have energy for a response.
“Eight.”
Sweat drips into my eyes. I concentrate on finishing the reps. And soon I’m done with the final ten. I drop to the ground and shake out my arms and roll my shoulders.
“That was good,” she says.
I stretch my arms. It’s not even six a.m. and I think I’ve done more exercise today than I have in the past two years.
“Did you ever think about being a drill sergeant?” I ask.
“Har har,” says Ginny.
It’s warm in August in southern Ohio, even before the sun comes up. Ginny’s wearing tight little shorts and an open-backed tank top. And I think that I might be hot for gym teacher. Even as tough as it is, I’m enjoying every bit of her ordering me around.
She has a clipboard with every exercise and rep written out. She means business.
“All done?” I ask.
She snorts. “Are you kidding? It’s only been an hour. I’ve given myself a month to get you in top shape. You need to be working out at least six hours per day. Two hours this morning and I’m leaving you a schedule for this afternoon and evening. Rest time’s up, give me twenty-five military push-ups.”
And on it goes. When I don’t know an exercise, Ginny gets down and does it right next to me. Diamond pushups, incline pushups, pullups…we’re working on shoulders and arms this morning.
Tomorrow is legs, the schedule is full of squats, lunges, and other versions of hell meant to make me feel like my legs are made of Jell-O. The day after is back and abs and some sort of warped yoga that Ginny claims will burn more than all the weight lifting exercises combined.
“Keep it up,” says Ginny.
I finish out the push-ups and grin. As hot and tired as I am, I feel invigorated.
“How’s your back? And your hip?” asks Ginny. She’s modified the exercises so that they strengthen and protect rather than harm.
“I’m good,” I say.
“Here.” Ginny tosses a water bottle to me. I take a drink of the ice water and hand it back when I’m done. I walk next to her as we head to the large tire that she brought so I can lug it around the yard.