by Andrew Grey
“I know you know where he is,” a deep voice growled.
“Jamie isn’t here,” his dad said again, and Arty padded out toward the living room.
“You must be Mr. Wilson,” Arty said softly. “I’m sorry, but Jamie isn’t here. He left for New York more than two weeks ago, and I honestly haven’t heard from him in a while.” Not that he hadn’t wanted to—he’d been out and then sick. But Jamie’s dad didn’t need to know that. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, but can I offer you some tea or something?” Arty was planning to make some for himself and he figured he’d kill the guy with good manners and kindness.
“I don’t want any tea. But I do want to know where Jamie is.” He stormed across the room, and Arty stood as still as he could, rocking a little on his legs.
“You need to leave now. Jamie is in New York. I drove him to the airport myself. I’m sorry if you came all this way for nothing, but I believe he already told you that. Maybe you should listen for a change.” Arty sat down, and his dad stood near him, leaning on his crutches.
“But I need him to come home.”
Arty sighed. “Do you ever listen to yourself?” he asked, too tired to censor his thoughts. “This is Jamie’s life, not yours. He gets to make his own decisions. He went to New York on his own accord, and I doubt you’re going to get anything out of him by acting this way.” Man, the guy was as stubborn as anyone Arty had ever met.
“Our farm is a family legacy. I can’t just let it end,” Mr. Wilson said. “Jamie knows that. It’s something I’ve taught him since he was a child.” He seemed so frustrated.
“Sometimes things are about what our children want instead of the things we want as parents. It’s our job to support them and in the end let them make their own decisions. Not force them to do what we want.” His dad turned and sat down. “Arty hasn’t been feeling well, and you busting in here isn’t helping him. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
Arty yawned, went over to the front door, and pulled it open. “I can’t help you. But I will tell Jamie that you were here when I talk to him next.” Arty was tired and, to his surprise, hungry.
“So, you do know where he is.” The menace in Mr. Wilson’s voice was unmistakable.
“I never said I didn’t.” Arty had had enough, and he stepped closer to Mr. Wilson, pulling his robe tighter around him. “What kind of friend would I be if I told you when he asked me not to? Like I said, I will tell him you were here the next time I talk to him, and I will say that you really want to see him. But….” Arty held up his hand. “I will also tell him how rude you were.” He took a deep breath. “You know you can’t make him do what he doesn’t want to do.” It sounded like the man was so wrapped up in what he wanted that he never stopped to think about Jamie… or anyone else.
Mr. Wilson’s shoulders slumped, and he paused a few seconds and then turned to Arty’s dad, as though he might understand. “But the farm is all I have to give him. I want Jamie to have things better than I did. When I inherited the farm, it was in debt and barely making it. Now it’s doing well. I want him to have that kind of stability and a better chance than I did. Surely you can understand that.”
His dad sat quietly. “What if Jamie doesn’t want to be a farmer?” That was his dad. No explanations and as few words as possible. And yet, it told Arty more about how his father felt about him than if he’d written a thousand words in verse.
Mr. Wilson stared at both of them as though his world had just been rocked and he wasn’t sure what to do. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, then turned and left the house. Arty almost felt sorry for him as he closed the door. He also felt for Jamie. Arty and his dad didn’t talk, and his dad was still a mystery to him, but at least he and his dad weren’t on completely different planes of existence. His dad was just in a box that Arty had never quite figured out how to unwrap. Still, he went over to his dad and leaned over the chair, hugging him before straightening up again to go make some tea.
While he had the water on, he returned to his room and rummaged through his bag until he found his phone, which was dead. He plugged it in and waited for it to power up. He had sixteen messages from Jamie, one each day asking how he was. And there was one from his boss at the restaurant, asking when he would be back. Arty called right away and explained the situation. His manager was understanding and asked to be kept in the loop. The last six were from Jamie, asking if he was okay, each sounding a little more worried than the last.
Arty called Jamie back and it went to voicemail, so he called Ryan. “My God, you are alive. We were going to call out the Coast Guard.”
“I just called Jamie and it went to voicemail, so I thought I would let you know. I got back and then spent the last two days in bed. I was really sick and out of it.” Thankfully he was feeling better. “The phone was dead, too, and—”
“I’ll be sure to tell Jamie that you called. He’s at a callback right now.” It took a second for that to sink in.
“A callback… already?” God, that was shocking, and Arty blinked. Holy crap.
“Yeah. Jamie is at home in front of the camera, and he wears clothes like nobody I have ever seen. I have to let him tell you all about it, but this is the second callback in two days.” Ryan seemed blown away, and Arty reached for a chair in order to sit down.
Arty’s phone buzzed. “I have a call from Jamie.”
“Take it. I’ll talk to you later. Glad you’re feeling better.” Ryan hung up, and Arty answered.
“You’re there.” Jamie sounded breathless.
“Yes. Sorry. I got back and I was really sick. Katherine had to bring the boat in for me, and I’ve been sleeping. Dad has been taking care of me.” Arty could already feel fatigue catching up with him. “I finally had enough strength to wake up and call. How is it going there?”
Jamie hesitated. “I got a job! Margaret has had me on lots of auditions. The first ones she said were just for practice, but the director of this play, Off Broadway—” Jamie breathed hard, he was so excited. “Anyway, he said I had a great look, and his assistant gave me the script for Fathers and Sons. I read over the scene they wanted while I was waiting and thought about how to play it, because my character is me in so many ways. And when I went back out, I handed the assistant back the script and did the scene.”
Arty was flabbergasted, and a million questions popped in his head. But he went with the one that was really important at the moment. “You did the audition off script?”
“Sure.” Jamie acted as though it were nothing. “I was good, too, and they asked me to come back, and I did, and they gave me the job. Margaret called and told me. It’s in six weeks, and I get paid scale. She says that a lot of people will see it.”
“Was that what you were doing today?” Arty asked.
“Oh, no. That was a callback for a print thing. They wanted me to play basketball for a cologne commercial. That was a lot of fun, and they seemed to like me for that too.” In his mind, Arty could see Jamie jumping up and down. “But I don’t know. Ryan says that you never get too excited until they call, and I suppose he’s right.” Jamie seemed to calm down a little. “Oh, and I got a job… a real job at a restaurant just down the street. I started that last week. So I can pay my own way.”
The kettle whistled, and Arty turned it off, got the tea bags into two mugs, and poured the water. “That’s great. I knew you could do it.”
“I guess I did too. Margaret says I have some kind of magic touch, but I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been lucky so far and it isn’t going to last.”
Arty smiled and sat back down while the tea steeped. “You have talent, and people can see that.”
“Yeah. But I know that most people have worked hard for a lot of years to get the breaks I got in just the last few weeks. I mean, I got an agent right away and even auditions and a job.”
Arty could hardly believe it himself, but he refused to be jealous. It didn’t take anything away from him and his efforts that
Jamie was having some early success. It was unlikely, like lightning striking twice, but it did happen, and he needed to be pleased for Jamie. But, damn, it was hard. Of course, it didn’t help that he wasn’t feeling well. “That’s true. But just be careful and work as hard as you can. Sometimes what comes today is gone tomorrow.” Arty knew that pretty damned well. “Is everything else all right?”
“Yes, I know the subway now, and I can get around and find just about anything. Ryan has been great.” Jamie paused. “When are you coming?”
“Hopefully in a few weeks.” His dad had to be healed by then. “I have to take Dad to the doctor this week, and I’ll know more then. Hopefully he can take over the boat soon.”
“I understand. I just want you here with me,” Jamie said, and Arty smiled, getting his cup of tea and sitting back down.
“I want to be with you too.” He sighed. “I need to go and get Dad his tea, and then I’m going to lie down and rest again. You have a good night, and I’ll call you again tomorrow.” Arty hung up the phone and took his dad his tea before trudging to his room. Arty finished his tea, got some fresh clothes, then went to the bathroom to clean up before climbing back into bed. Maybe the best thing for him would be to just stay in bed. His career had stalled, and Jamie was doing well enough on his own.
Chapter 12
“I ALREADY have several jobs. Do I need to go on more auditions already?” Jamie asked Margaret as he sat on the edge of the bed in Arty’s tiny room. He had been here long enough that Arty’s scent had faded from the space and it smelled like him now. Even the clothes in the room had lost their Arty-ness.
“Yes. These are auditions for jobs that will happen once the others are done. Word about you has gotten around. Do you remember the photographer you worked with for the basketball ad? He was thrilled with you, and he told some friends. That company might want you for a follow-up. You’re a hot commodity, an instant success of sorts, and I’m trying to line up enough work to keep you busy. Do you have the rehearsal schedule for your play? Send me copies so I don’t overbook you.”
Jamie nodded. “I will email it over right away.” This was all happening so fast, it was hard for him to get his head around it.
“Very good. I’ll use that to have Anne put together a calendar for you so you know where you have to be. Okay? Just do your best to relax and take things one step at a time.”
“I will,” he agreed, even though Jamie felt like he was going to fly apart. This hadn’t been the deal at all. Arty was supposed to be here with him, and things were supposed to take much more time. He was supposed to suffer and go through rough patches, go to audition after audition with very little to show for it. He’d been prepared for that because that was what they always showed on television. He and Arty were to spend their time curled up in their little room away from the rest of the world and be happy. Instead, all this activity swirled around him, and Arty wasn’t here. “Thank you,” he said rather quietly, and when she hung up, he tossed the phone on the bed and held his head. Maybe his dad was right—maybe he should have stayed on the fucking farm.
He was a success—that should have made Jamie happy. But all it did was fill him with fear. The shoot for the basketball ad had been a blast, and he’d loved it. The photographer had been fun, and he’d even approached Jamie after they were done to ask about getting some coffee and maybe dinner. Jamie had thought he was being nice. He’d called Ryan to tell him that he wasn’t going to be home.
“He asked you what?” Ryan had said. “No, no, no. That isn’t professional or usual. Photographers don’t ask their subjects for coffee or dinner unless… well, he’s thinking of it as a date, or maybe a hookup.” Then Ryan had paused. “Is that what you want to do?”
Of course, Jamie had thought of Arty and shook his head. He also knew what Ryan was thinking. Jamie had just wanted to make a few friends and thought this might be the chance. “I’ll ask him what his intentions are.”
Ryan had laughed at that. “Just don’t get yourself into situations you aren’t comfortable with. You can always call me, and I’ll come get you if you want.”
“Thanks.” What Jamie wanted was for Arty to be the one he could call and the one to come get him, and maybe put an arm around his shoulder and explain to the photographer that Jamie had a boyfriend. Hell, Jamie just wanted someone to have his back. Jamie had explained that he could go out as a friend, but that he was seeing someone. Rodney had nodded and then sighed and remembered an appointment that he had forgotten. At least it didn’t seem that Rodney was angry about it, because he’d recommended Jamie to others. So that was okay.
Jamie left the room and stepped out into the tiny central area of the apartment, where Ryan was making some dinner. “Margaret has some more auditions for me, and she’s going to have Anne make a calendar.” He hurried back, snatched up his phone, and forwarded the rehearsal schedule to Margaret before he forgot about it.
“You can share my mac and cheese and tell me about what’s going on,” Ryan said, “and then I can tell you my good news.” He finished up and sat on the sofa, handing Jamie a bowl. It was the box kind—comfort food at its finest.
“What’s your news?”
“I got a call from your photographer’s assistant. Remember, I made you the outfit in your photo book, and you must have told him about me.” Ryan seemed about ready to jump out of his skin.
“Yeah, he asked when he was looking through it. Why?”
“He’s putting together a spread for a magazine, and he loved the work I did and wants to use the outfit I made for you. He and I are going to meet to discuss what he wants.” He grinned. “This could be my big break.” Jamie set the bowl on the table and gave Ryan a hug. Then he picked up his food again and took another bite, growing quiet once more. “You should be happy about what’s happening,” Ryan said, studying him.
“I know, and I am….” It was hard to put his finger on why he had the blues. Guys would kill for the luck he was having. Movies had been written about people who came to New York to find fame and fortune and spent years chasing it. And yet here, things seemed to have found him instead. Maybe it was his dad’s voice in the back of his head telling him he didn’t belong here. That his place was on the farm. Jamie had heard that refrain almost since he’d started walking.
“Yeah. I should be too.” Ryan looked out the small window. “It isn’t the same without Arty. He and I used to celebrate our successes with a pizza and beer.”
Jamie pulled his feet up on the sofa and turned to Ryan. “Am I being supremely stupid?” Somehow he needed to get his father’s message out of his head, and he couldn’t replace it with Arty. Hell, that’s what he’d been doing. Jamie had been holding on to Arty as a way of gathering his strength to fight his father.
“Okay….” Ryan paused with a fork on the way to his mouth, and the pasta glopped back into the bowl. “What brought that on?”
“I’ve been here almost a month now, and I’ve got all this good stuff happening. I should be jumping out of my skin with excitement. But it seems wrong, somehow.” Jamie tried to get a handle on it. “I knew Arty for a little over three weeks, and I can’t stop thinking about him. This was supposed to be our next adventure together.”
“Next?”
“Oh, yeah. That first fishing trip was one hell of an adventure—the weather, Reginald falling overboard, the huge grouper, and when the engine stopped dead.” He smiled as he remembered all of it. “The hours we sat on deck, just the two of us, talking. The nights I lay in bed with him so close, but not able to do anything about it, wondering if he felt the same way I did. It was one hell of an adventure.”
“You always remember when you fell in love,” Ryan said, batting his eyes, and Jamie snickered. Sometimes Ryan could make him forget the crap that swirled in his mind. He also knew Ryan was right.
“What I don’t understand…. I only knew Arty for three weeks or so. I’ve been here longer than that now, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s goin
g to be coming at all. Or if what we had was just a figment of my imagination.”
Ryan set his bowl aside and returned the hug Jamie had given him earlier. “He’ll be here. I know he will. Think about this. If this is a new adventure, then it’s possible that you need to take the first steps of it on your own.” There was something in the way that Ryan spoke, a steel rod under his words. “Now finish eating, and you check that calendar when it comes in. And don’t you have lines to learn for your play?”
“I already know the whole thing, and my first rehearsal is in three days. I’m pretty sure how I want to play my character, but I’ll talk it over with the director as well. I don’t want to be a dick or anything.” Even though parts of the play mirrored his life so closely it was almost spooky. Reading through the play and learning his lines had made him think about his own father. In the play, his father was filled with so many expectations for his son that he refused to let go of him. The two men struggled for almost the entire first two acts, fighting each other, and in the end, parted ways forever. The more he read it, the more Jamie realized that while that outcome was a possibility for him and his dad, it wasn’t the one he wanted. But he hadn’t quite figured out how to change the ending for them. And maybe it wasn’t even possible. But Jamie could see through his character in the play that he needed to make the effort. Still, the end result would ultimately hang on whether his own dad would be willing to change in the way his father in the play wouldn’t.
Jamie finished his snack and figured he might as well get ready to go to work. He was due for his shift in the restaurant in an hour. Jamie took care of the dishes and went in to change.
When he came out wearing his black pants and crisp white shirt, Ryan was on the phone. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Mr. Reynolds, but I was calling Arty.” He huffed slightly. “I see… I need to speak with him. Could you tell him I called, or I can just leave him a voicemail…?” Ryan listened, and Jamie got his things ready for work. “Thank you.” Ryan hung up and shrugged as Jamie went to put on his coat and got ready to brave the short walk to work.