Talker 25

by McCune, Joshua

  Nothing remains but a few sprouts poking out around the CENSIR. Gaunt and almost hairless, execution gore splattered on my neck and one cheek, I resemble a cross between a cancer patient and a mad scientist.

  I’m searching for something I recognize in my reflection when a sour-faced production assistant hands me a garment bag at arm’s length and directs me to the showers.

  I spend the first part probing my head, which is bumpier than I’d expected. I lather my hands up with shampoo, realize I’ve got far too much, squeeze back tears. Once I’ve come to terms with my new look, my thoughts turn to the show.

  Three episodes over three days, culminating in the midseason finale. If the ratings track well, Hector assures us our contract will be renewed. If not, Baby’s back on the chopping block.

  Just have to make the world believe Melissa loves James. Crazy I can do, but love? The concept seems as invisible and distant as the stars. How do I fake something so far from sight? Trish was the actress in Mason-Kline, not me.

  I take a deep breath, turn off the water. Three days. That’s it. I can make it through three days . . . one kiss at a time.

  I towel off and change into my outfit, a monstrosity of red, blue, and green dragon scales that makes me sparkle like a disco ball.

  When I return to the salon, Twenty-Six is reading his script, getting powder applied to his cheekbones. He’s dressed in a black jumpsuit, and they’ve styled his hair to make him seem rebellious and intense.

  He looks up from the binder, and his piercing blue eyes ensnare me for a second. Then he winks. “Get a look at this, Lester. I barely recognized you, Glow—”

  “For this show to work, James, you need to be nicer,” I say. His name seems foreign on my tongue.

  He waves his binder at me. “Hello? That’s kind of the point of the script . . . Melissa.” “All the time. Fake it if you have to.”

  “Some things you can’t fake.”

  I chew at my lip. “Pretend I’m somebody else if you have to.”

  He considers. “That might work. What’s my CENSIR say, Sergeant?”

  Lester examines his tablet. “Still annoyed . . . nope, now you’re okay.”

  Twenty-Six nods, looks at me like I’m not a bug in need of crushing, then gives me a kind smile that calms my nerves. “How are you doing, Evely—Melissa?”

  “Terrific.”

  “Do what I have to,” he says. “Want to read lines with me, Melissa?”

  I sit in the adjacent chair. “Everything but the execution scene.”

  “Too bad. That’s the best part.”

  I ignore his grin, open my script binder, and start reading.

  Makeup done, hair in place, and lines half learned, we’re escorted by Lester to a building with biometric scanners protecting both the outer and inner doors. Given the extra layer of security, I expect to find something interesting inside.

  But besides some scanner-protected wall cabinets that ring the square room, everything I see appears to be part of Hector’s traveling studio. Lights, chairs, green screen, a tripod-mounted camera. While a couple of production assistants adjust the lights, a stone-faced A-B guarding the door at the back pretends to ignore us.

  “We’ll do James first,” Hector says, stepping behind the camera. “Take a seat. Lester, please remove his CENSIR . . . careful with the hair!” He places a chair next to the tripod. “Melissa, sit. Look at her, James. . . . Melissa, on my cue, read the narrator lines from James Scene One. Don’t worry about cadence or anything. We’ll blend in Simon’s voice later.”

  He taps his tablet, and the lights in the room dim. “Okay, James, you’re in a bittersweet state with an undercurrent of anticipation. You were locked up in solitary, then you saw Melissa on the show and had a there-is-a-god epiphany that dragons are evil. You’ve volunteered to help the A-Bs hunt them down in hope of redemption. But of course, the best part about this opportunity is that you might get to see Melissa again.”

  “Of course. Without the memory of her to keep me strong, I would never have made it through the darkness,” he says, repeating the final line from this scene.

  “Brilliant,” Hector says. “Let’s roll.”

  I read the first narrator line: “When you think about everything that’s happened, what do you regret most?”

  “There are lots of things. When you’re up there on a dragon, you can’t see the faces of the people you kill or know the grief of their family members,” James says with perfect solemnity. “You get all worked up for the cause and you’re going so fast . . . so damn fast. . . . You don’t really consider the consequences until it’s too late.”

  His expression darkens, his voice softens. “But if I had to choose what I regret most, it would be Melissa.”

  He pauses, smiles as if recalling a fond memory. “She came into my life like a tornado of energy . . . unexpected . . . powerful . . . with this raw fire inside her. It overwhelmed me. I should never have let her join the cause, but once she was in my life, she was the air to my lungs. . . .”

  On we go, moving from our fabricated insurgency story to his confinement to his rebirth, everything centered around our romance. Hector wanted female heroin; James gives it to him pure. Every sappy line he delivers seems to come from the soul. And with his intense eyes locked on mine, I can almost forget Twenty-Six and convince myself the words are for me.

  I come to the last question in the scene: “If Melissa were here right now, what would you tell her?”

  “So many things. The first would be . . . thank you,” he says, followed by a dramatic pause. “Without the memory of her to keep me strong, I never would have made it through the darkness.”

  He’s supposed to end there, but doesn’t. “She once told me this phrase, which I never forgot. Baekjul boolgool. It means indomitable spirit.” He looks at me. I see passion, warmth, truth. I tell myself it’s an act. “It means the world to me, who she’s become.”

  “Brilliant,” Hector says.

  Lester puts James’s CENSIR back on. “Had me believing.”

  Twenty-Six grins. “Once we get rid of these monsters, maybe I’ll go to Hollywood.”

  Hector has us swap places.

  I can’t recall a single line. After I stumble over several attempts, Hector jams a transceiver into my ear and hisses my lines at me. My scene’s half the length of James’s, but with all the retakes and coaching from Hector, it takes three times as long.

  Last, and by far the worst, the final scene for the day. In our script, it’s labeled Grand Canyon Red Execution, but in my mind, it’s The Kiss. Two lovers reunite, make out, then kill a dragon. On the list of terrible ideas, this has to be near the top.

  An audience awaits us in the ER. Soldiers, scientists, talkers. Most everyone’s here for my embarrassment, even Colonel Hanks. I scan the talkers for Evelyn but can’t find her. Too bad. Her presence might make this experience a smidge tolerable.

  We’re almost to the front of the murmuring crowd when somebody yanks my arm. I glance back. Twenty-One’s looking up at me.

  “They’re always talking, always talking,” she says. She flies the dragon brooch in front of her face, then smacks it into her palm. “Kill the dragons, yes, yes, or the dragons kill them.”

  “Yes, yes,” Twenty-Six says, pushing past. “We’re going to kill them all soon enough.”

  She sulks. “He doesn’t mean it, does he? Not everyone should die.”

  “Of course not,” I say, for lack of a better lie.

  Lights, cameras, green screens, and soldiers surround the bright Red pinned to the slaughter slab. Hector positions Lester and three other volunteers around the dragon’s snout as stand-ins for Frank, Kevin, Mac, and L.T.

  After removing Twenty-Six’s CENSIR, Hector hands him a sword and orders him to a marker near the edge of the slab. He turns to me. “You’re beside the dragon, expecting Frank to bring you the sword. On my cue, you notice James. This is where you go all giddy. Woman giddy. Not teen giddy.”


  I don’t know what he means by that, but he’ll be lucky if I can muster any giddy.

  Once we’re all positioned to Hector’s satisfaction, he orders our jackets off and demands quiet from the crowd. He calls my name through the earpiece, and the butterflies in my stomach become wasps. “You see James now. You’re startled, overjoyed. Fly into his arms. Then kiss.”

  Nothing to it. Pretend it’s the real James. Take a step toward him. And another. Away from the dragon, I start to shiver, even though it’s not that cold yet.

  “Don’t think, just do it,” Hector urges.

  I clench my fists, rush forward. James drops the sword, strides toward me, eyes lit with joy. How can he be so good at this? He enfolds me in his arms. My shivers cease, my stomach settles, my heartbeat intensifies.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” he says.

  He draws back, cups my face, and looks at me with the same fierce passion I remember from Shadow Mountain lookout, when I so wanted him to kiss me. How can he look at me like I’m the center of his universe, this same person who treated me so awfully this morning?

  Who are you?

  I shut my eyes. His thumb traces my lips. He lifts my chin, glides his other hand up my face . . . and through the hair of my wig. The touch of his fingers on my naked scalp breaks my trance.

  I remember our audience, my outfit, our purpose on this slaughter slab.

  I turn away, and his lips meet my cheek.

  “Cut!” Hector bellows. “What the hell was that?” he asks through my transceiver.

  “I can’t do it,” I say.

  “It’s okay, Melissa, I won’t hurt you,” James says softly.

  Hector growls something unintelligible, then stands up and orders everyone but his production assistants to clear out. Once the hangar’s empty of spectators, we start again.

  “It doesn’t have to be a magical kiss. It’s just a simple peck. If more happens, great. If not, fine. Don’t think about it. Close your eyes and let him kiss you. Don’t make it so damn difficult.”

  A simple peck. Run forward. A simple peck. Embrace. A simple peck. Close my eyes. A simple peck. Coming closer. A simple—

  I push myself away. “I can’t do it.”

  Hector scowls at me. “Melissa’s got stage fright, so we’ll come back to the kiss later. For this take, do the scene without it. Hug, look at each other lovey-dovey, kill the dragon. Can you handle that?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Try correctly.”

  Without kissing, the hugging and gazing go fine. After retrieving the dropped sword, we stroll hand in hand to the dragon. James gets on one side, I get on the other.

  “Together, we can destroy this monster and begin to cleanse our hearts of the evil we’ve done,” Hector says in my ear.

  I repeat the line, say a silent apology, and press the sword tip to the dragon’s skull. James wraps his hands around mine.

  Hector makes a cutting motion across his throat. “Make it pretty.”

  James looks from me to the dragon. An expression of absolute hatred contorts his face as his hands crush mine. Not an act. He loathes them with every ounce of his soul. Unexpected relief floods me, quickly followed by a storm of fury over the way he’s played my emotions these past hours.

  How could I have been so gullible? He’s a monster.

  I tighten my grip on the sword. The blisters on my palms burn hot against the hilt. I tell myself the wetness in my eyes comes from the pain in my hands, and I squeeze harder to drive back the pain in my heart.

  Twenty-Six wipes a tear from my cheek and I recoil. “Let go, Melissa. I can do this without you,” he whispers with Jamesish precision, as if he actually gives a damn.

  “So can I,” I hiss, clenching hard until the fiery agony pulsing through me becomes too much. I let out a scream and thrust the sword deep.

  When my vision clears enough for me to see, the dragon is impaled to the hilt.

  “That was brilliant,” Hector says. I grab the earpiece, knocking the wig askew in the process, and hurl it at him. My CENSIR jolts me to my knees. I push myself up, my wig falling over my eyes. I rip it off, ready to fling it, too, when inspiration strikes.

  I march over to Hector. “I’m not kissing him.”

  “It’s a simple—”

  “Fine, have someone else do it.”

  He frowns. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a kiss is a close shot. How ’bout you let me direct and you just try to figure out how not to screw up my scene?”

  “It’ll look like I’m kissing my grandmother,” I say. “Don’t you want a good one?”

  “You’re a thorn in my ass, you know that? I could do an over-the-shoulder, maybe pull out to medium,” he mutters, more to himself than me. He shakes his head. “It won’t work.”

  “I know someone perfect,” I say, jiggling the blond wig at him.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  36

  Everyone gawks when I enter the barracks. I left my scrubs in the rec center bathroom—Lester wouldn’t let me retrieve them—so I’m stuck in my dragon-scale outfit until tomorrow. After everyone gets their disapproving looks in, they return to watching a new episode of Kissing Dragons: The Other Side. I don’t see Evelyn, which means either she’s decided to undergo reconditioning, or she’s in the bathroom.

  I hurry through the door at the back. Red-eyed and puffy, she sits against the wall beneath the screen, blubbering something unintelligible to Five and Seven. She notices me, wipes quickly at her eyes.

  “What do you want?” she snaps.

  “I kind of like the waterworks.” I remove some gauze and ointment from the medicine cabinet. “Almost makes you seem human.”

  Five and Seven rise to her defense. I raise a hand in peace. “I have an offer for your queen.”

  “What could you possibly have that I want?”

  I nod at Five and Seven. “Evil stepsisters, clear out.”

  “They stay,” Evelyn says.

  I make to leave. “Okay. I’ll give your regards to James.”

  “Hold up,” Evelyn calls, her voice breaking.

  I spin around, bite back my smile. “Yes?”

  “Wait outside,” Evelyn says to her girls.

  While I wrap my blistered hands, I explain the kissing situation to Evelyn. By the time I’m finished, her mood’s at full perky.

  “Of course,” I say, “I need something from you. Do you or your sorority sisters have any chocolate?”

  Comprehension dawns on her face with a devious smile. “So you’re the one who stole Twenty-One’s Kit Kat.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “No,” she says. “But here’s what I’ll do for you. I won’t tell her or anybody about your mistake. It’ll be our little secret.”

  “I’m not your enemy, Evelyn.”

  “Actions have consequences, Twenty-Five. You’ll learn.”

  “One day, when you’re alone and nobody can hear your screams, I’m going to enjoy hurting you,” I say on my way out the door.

  Twenty-One’s waiting for me on my bed. “You look nice, Melissa.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I sit beside her. Deep breath. “Twenty-One, I need to talk to you about—”

  “The monkeys are depressed.”

  The monkeys are always fucking depressed. “Let’s plant a pumpkin patch or build a dolphin-shaped swimming pool.”

  “Who likes pumpkins? And why would we need a pool when we live by the ocean?”

  “I’ll come up with something better tomorrow. That’s not what I needed to talk about.”

  “Is this about the Kit Kat you took?” She doesn’t seem upset in the least.

  “You knew?”

  “Yes, yes. I smelled it on you the next morning.”

  Evidently reconditioning made her a bloodhound. “How com
e you didn’t say anything?”

  She looks at me like the answer’s obvious. “You were hungry.”

  “But I stole from you.”

  The first hint of anger flashes in her eyes. “Only bad people steal. You’re not a bad person, are you?”

  A couple of months ago I knew the answer. Now . . . “I’m not sure.”

  “I am.” She smiles up at me with such affection that I almost lose it. She doesn’t care that I’m a weak link or a glowheart or a thief. She accepts me unconditionally.

  She whips the dragon brooch from behind her back. “Soon the dragons will come, yes, yes, and they can take us to our island and we can be happy. We need to find something for them to eat.”

  “But I thought dragons aren’t allowed on our island,” I say, my attention drifting to the screen. Simon’s interviewing the insurgent of the week, some middle-aged guy made to resemble a cross between a biker and a vampire.

  “We should let Arabelle visit. You like her.”

  “Arabelle?” For a second, I think it’s Keith. But it’s not, thank God.

  “The Silver,” she says with a dramatic huff.

  “I’m sorry, did you tell me that already?”

  “No. She only learned how to talk this afternoon, yes, yes. She said you’d want to know.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “She told me you came up with some pretty silly names for her.”

  “She did, huh?”

  “Little Blue Eyes, Smaug. She did not like those.”

  My focus snaps to Twenty-One. “How do you know that?”

  “Arabelle told me. She says you can keep calling her Baby, if you—”

  I press my palm to her mouth. Given her penchant for rambling nonsense, I doubt Big Brother monitors her too often, but it’s not her mike that concerns me.

  “Vultures in the sky. Gotta stay sharp,” I say.

  She doesn’t catch my meaning, but at least it distracts her. Her eyes dart around in suspicious little bursts. She settles her glare on Evelyn and friends. She shapes her right hand into a gun. “Their stench offends me, yes, yes. They’re upsetting the monkeys.”