The Actor

by Maya Brooks

  When he woke up again, he turned the TV on. It was difficult to watch moving pictures, but he could at least figure out what day it was.

  Damn. I’ve been gone almost a week.

  The answering machine blinked with thirty-two messages. The only ones not adding to his misery were from Laura. Hearing her voice say, “I hope you’re okay, and that things are going well for you,” made tears swell up in his eyes.

  Someone cared for him, enough to put up with him and to keep calling.

  Yeah, I’m doing great. Peachy.

  It was good to hear her voice on the machine and not just in his head. The last message was from the previous evening.

  “Hi, it’s me. I just… I wanted to check in on you, I’m a mother hen you know. It’d be great if you’d call me and tell me you’re alright. Take care, Marc. You, um, you know I love you, right?”

  She loves me?

  He had no time to process the gem of information; someone banged on the door.

  Now what?

  The route through the hallway seemed endless, and when he opened, he was only mildly surprised to see his agent and lawyer side by side.

  “Bill, Lawrence, you don’t usually visit in pairs.”

  Bill was a tall and scrawny man with steely grey eyes that matched his steely gray hair.

  Yeah, you always say you’ve been there and done that. Guess what, I have too. I just can’t remember a fucking thing.

  Lawrence was younger, with a smooth face, an expensive haircut, and eyes as warm as the agent’s were cold. His eyes were the only thing sparing him from extensive jokes about “Lawrence the Lawyer working with Law.” He cleared his throat.

  “Anne has been asking for you. I thought you came home to settle this thing, but I guess I was wrong.”

  The mere mention of his wife made Marc groan.

  Lawrence continued, unperturbed. “I haven’t heard from you for a while, not since your adventure down south, and when Bill here told me you resurfaced, I thought it was time to go see you.”

  How do you know I resurfaced? Do you keep my house under surveillance? Just go away and let me die in peace.

  He couldn’t remember being this sick, uncomfortable, and itchy ever. His very skin was too small, and the world swayed in and out of focus.

  When he didn’t say anything, Bill sent him an unimpressed look and pushed his way into the house. Lawrence followed.

  Ugh. Now they’ll never leave.

  Once inside, both men wrinkled their noses. “Damn, this place is a pig sty. You need to clean up.”

  Marc shoved a few empty bottles down on the floor to make room for himself and sunk down on the hard sofa. He couldn’t focus his eyes on either of them.

  Lawrence rubbed his forehead.

  Neither man spoke until Marc asked, “What do you want?”

  Bill tucked his hands in his pockets.

  “I think this is an intervention. You need rehab.”

  The very word filled Marc with a dark rage he couldn’t explain, and he got to his feet, fueled by adrenaline.

  “That’s it. Get out of my house.”

  Afterwards he’d only have a faint memory of pushing them through the hallway. He threw them both out, but they would be back. No doubt about it.

  The way back to the living room seemed longer than ever, and he paused several times, leaning against the wall. He wanted to sink down on the floor and wallow in self-pity, but it could wait until he reached a chair.

  Maybe Bill and Lawrence are right. Maybe they’re my only friends, telling me the truth and not just what I want to hear. Fuck that, I’m not going to rehab.

  Sure a few days disappeared every now and then, or a week, but that was normal, right?

  There had to be something to drink in the house, something to help him feel better. He found a bottle of scotch and an almost clean glass in the kitchen, and when he returned to the chair tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead, rolling into his eyes.

  A small voice of sanity deep inside him spoke up.

  What do you want? Are you trying to kill yourself on purpose?

  He jumped at hearing his own voice when he answered aloud, “I want Laura.”

  Really? I do?

  He turned the thought around, examining it from all sides. He had always been happy with her, and she claimed to love him. Many women said that, of course, but she was the first one he believed.

  I think I love her too.

  As he sat there, sipping the strong alcohol, fighting down waves of nausea and shivers, his imagination painted out a happy life. He saw images of fulfillment, where working went well and he didn’t get fired from crappy shows.

  Could there be a world where his children no longer despised him?

  A world where home was truly a home, a good place to return to after a long day, and where he was loved?

  Laura loves me for me, not for one of the make-believe versions of me.

  Even with the prospect of a wonderful life free from hangovers and humiliation so tauntingly close, he didn’t call her at once. He couldn’t remember her number, not even her last name, and he couldn’t find his cell. It took almost half an hour of retracing his steps before he went to the fridge to get some ice for his new drink.

  Why did I put the phone in the glass holder?

  He grabbed it with a triumphant look on his face.

  “Eureka! There you are, you little bastard.”

  The irritating little piece of technology must have been hiding on purpose, conspiring to keep him from the happiness he now knew waited for him, only a phone call away.

  Sighing, he brought the phone and his new drink, with ice, back to the chair.

  She loves me.

  They spent countless hours on the phone when he was fairly sober, and he must have called her many times too drunk or high to remember. Now, he didn’t know what to say. His mouth was dry and his mind blank, and everything he could think of seemed idiotic.

  Leaning back in the chair, fighting down an urge to vomit on the rug, he finally made his mind up.

  I can ask her if she wants to come over on a vacation. That doesn’t sound too needy. She was sad when I left, I know she was.

  It wasn’t a brilliant plan, but it was the best he could come up with.

  Try not to sound like a wreck. Well, what kind of actor would I be if I can’t pull that off?

  His hands shook so badly he had problems browsing through the contact list to her name. The phone was much more than an emotionless piece of technology. It seemed to be a living, thinking obstacle, intent of keeping him from reaching salvation. The need to reach Laura was the only thing preventing him from throwing it against the wall and crushing it to pieces.

  Once he managed to place the call and her voice answered, “Oh lover, I’ve been so worried for you, is everything okay?” all lies washed away from his mind.

  He heard himself plead. “Please help me.”

  Laugh, cry, yell at me, please say something.

  “Of course I will. Tell me all about it.”

  He stuttered out an explanation of everything he could remember.

  “So… I was thinking… could you, maybe… I’ll get you tickets on the next flight.”

  “Alright. Just give me enough time to pack and get to the airport.”

  Good thinking. If the travel agency said there was a plane in fifteen minutes, he would have booked it.

  “Yeah… Sure.”

  He rolled the cool glass over his forehead. The relief that flooded up in him when Laura agreed to come made him want to weep. He hurried to say, before she could change her mind, “I’ll arrange tickets for you and call you back.”

  And I still can’t find the bloody wallet. I should probably call about the credit cards, but who has the energy to care?

  The travel agency had his information on file, and it took less than five minute to arrange a seat.

  She’ll be here tomorrow. Stay out of trouble for just one day and you’ll be
okay.

  He stared at the phone before calling her back. “Please don’t change your mind.”

  Laura’s voice encouraged him. “Okay lover, I’ll be there tomorrow. Now, I want you to try to eat something, and go take a nap.”

  In her voice, the words seemed reasonable.

  “Will you stay with me on the phone?”

  God, I’m pathetic.

  The warm female voice laughed.

  “Of course, sweetheart. Go tell me what you have in the kitchen.”

  The fridge contained moldy pieces of pizza and he hurried to close the door. The freezer was more encouraging.

  “Yes!”

  “What is it?”

  “I just found my wallet.

  “That’s great.”

  “And a pair of socks.”

  She laughed.

  “What else do you have in there?”

  “A packet of… spring rolls.”

  He wanted to toss the entire box into the microwave, just to be able to sit down, but Laura scolded him, “No, don’t do that. They’re probably in plastic or something. Sit down and read the cooking instructions.”

  As much as he squinted, the letters on the box danced in front of his eyes. Maybe they weren’t letters at all; maybe they were tiny ants.

  Why did everything have to fight him like this?

  It wasn’t worth the effort.

  Just when he was about to throw the package at the wall, Laura interrupted him.

  “Take them out, put them on a plate, and shove them in the microwave. Zap them for two minutes, if they’re still not warm, zap them for two minutes more.”

  His heart beat like a sledgehammer, and every bite seemed to grow in his mouth. His stomach wasn’t adverse to the food, though, and he did his best to keep eating. “So… What have you been up to?”

  “Nothing much. Missing you, working, crying in Heather’s arms over your leaving.”

  Her words made him laugh out loud. The mere thought of someone missing him enough to cry was preposterous enough to belong in a comedy club.

  Once he made it to bed, exhaustion took its toll and it was a matter of seconds before he drifted off. He fell asleep with Laura’s gentle voice in his ears.

  “Sweet dreams, lover. Call me when you wake up.”

  *****

  When Laura hung up, she exhaled and forced herself to put the phone down slowly.

  She wanted to yell, slap him, and shake some sense into him, but that would be counterproductive. Maintaining a serene façade took a lot out of her.

  What I’ve been doing? For the last three days I’ve been worrying myself towards an early grave. Before that, I told you to go home, to eat something, to get some sleep, and to charge your phone, but you don’t remember any of it.

  His incoherent ramblings had all but broken her heart, and the complete silence that followed was even worse.

  Snatching the phone up again, she called Heather.

  “I have to go to Canada.”

  “Canada? When?”

  “Tomorrow. What do I do?”

  “I’ll put in for vacation for you, but you’d better call in. You know he’s been on a firing spree.”

  True, and this will take more than a few days. Maybe I should just quit and get it over with.

  Heather’s voice sounded curious. “Honey, why are you going to Canada?”

  “Marc lives there.”

  “And he’s in trouble, of course. Funny, I always imagined him belonging to Hollywood.”

  “Me too. A lot of stuff I thought was American comes from there. I had no idea.”

  “You know they have winter now, right?”

  “No. Crap. I don’t have any warm clothes.”

  Heather hesitated. “Laura, I don’t think you’ll be coming back here. Keep in touch, okay? And take care of yourself. He’s adorable, but don’t let him drag you down.”

  The kind words created a big lump in her throat.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  All of a sudden there was so much to do, and she couldn’t decide which feeling was more overwhelming: being mortified for him, or joyous over him asking her to come.

  She scurried around the apartment, touching random things, realized she wasn’t getting anywhere, and forced herself to sit down and make a plan.

  I have to be there for Marc or I won’t be able to live with myself. Whatever mess remains behind, I can deal with later.

  Her wardrobe had never seemed so poor.

  How long will I be there? A day? Forever?

  She ended up packing all her good clothes and shoes, and a few loved things that were so small he wouldn’t notice.

  What else? Bills? I get them online. Mail? There has to be a forwarding form here somewhere…

  Marc called again after a couple of hours. She could hear him grimace.

  “As long as I’m home talking to you, I’m not getting into trouble.”

  The comment pinched at her heart, but made her laugh too. He was still drinking, but it was the most sober he’d sounded since leaving her apartment.

  It’s harder for him up there, surrounded by old habits.

  They spent a couple of hours playing online games, just to keep him occupied.

  He wasn’t the only one with problems sleeping. Her stomach was filled with butterflies, keeping rest away, but she managed to slumber for a couple of hours.

  She had a peculiar feeling when she went through her apartment, checking doors and windows were locked. Heather’s words rang in her ears.

  I’ll never come back here. It feels like I’ll be back in two days, but I don’t think I’ll ever see this place again. Even if I do, it won’t be the same.

  She had a lump in her throat when she went to the taxi, and swallowed hard, saying goodbye to the woman she had been.

  The airport overwhelmed her, but she made her way to the right gate, and her mood brightened once she was on the plane. One had to gamble to win. This might be the greatest gamble of her life, and if she won…

  Either way, it was an adventure. It was her first time in first class, and she marveled over the flight attendants fussing over her, tending to her every need. There was breakfast, orange juice, and all the coffee she could ask for.

  Is this plane never going to land?

  A man in the neighboring seat pulled up a terminal from the armrest, and she imitated him.

  Ooh, a computer. Games. Flight data. Four more hours, are you kidding?

  When the plane finally went in for landing, she peeked out the window. After living a lifetime in the sunshine state, the outside snow looked so different she almost panicked.

  Wow it looks cold. This might not have been my best idea ever.

  She forced herself to shake it off. She was a big girl, and had nothing to fear. Worst case scenario, she could get a taxi, go to a hotel, and fly back home.

  She left the plane trying to look in all directions at once. Marc had promised to meet her, but she didn’t know where, and the airport was huge.

  At least there’s lots of stuff to look at. Is that supposed to be a fish? Oooh, that abstract bird is pretty cool. Holy moly what a big canoe. I hope he isn’t standing me up.

  Maybe he got drunk again and forgot all about her, or slept through the day.

  Trudging forward, she hoped she was going in the right direction. Then he was there, leaning against a wall, waiting for her. He had made a valiant attempt to straighten up, was newly showered and shaved, and he held her tight.

  He whispered, “Thank you for coming, it’s so good to see you.”

  Marc took her suitcase and fumbled for her hand. She squeezed his fingers, suddenly overwhelmed by an urge to sit down, anywhere would do, rest her head against him, and close her eyes.

  “People are staring.”

  He glanced around and gave a slight shrug.

  “Ignore them. They don’t have lives of their own, so they want a piece of ours. How was your flight?”

  She cl
asped his hand a little harder.

  “It was good. I can’t believe you put me in first class.”

  “Do you want anything? Coffee? Lunch?”

  She paused and stood on her toes to whisper in his ear.

  “I want you.”

  He rewarded her with a warm smile that reached his eyes.

  “You have me. Anything else?”

  “I’m good for now. How ‘bout you?”

  He snorted, “I want a big fucking drink, what else is new.”

  “Lately, you swear a lot.”

  He burst out laughing, and she grinned, happy with herself for lightening the mood.

  When they reached the garage, he led her to a big black Escalade, tossed her suitcase in the back as if it weighed nothing, and looked her over from top to toe. The scrutiny made her cheeks heat.

  “That’s your warmest clothes, huh?”

  Yes, and what’s so funny about that?

  He shook his head, looking amused, and pulled out a jacket, a furry little hat with matching gloves and scarf, and a pair of cute boots from the back of the car.

  “I hope they fit. I forgot your shoe size.”

  She stared at him, at the clothes, and back at him.

  “How did you… Whenever did you get time to do that? Wow. Thank you.”

  He seemed to find her extremely comical. “I’m not completely useless all the time. Put them on, we’ll have to make a couple of stops on the way home, and it’s cold.”

  The boots fit just fine, and her eyes darted over to Marc who pulled out some winter clothes for himself.

  You’re the only man I can imagine looking sexy with a knit, striped hat pulled down over your ears.

  “Are you okay to drive?”

  The words popped out of her mouth without any involvement of the brain. Her lover shrugged and flashed a smile that made her want to drop all her clothes.

  “I made it here. You can drive if you want to. Just remember ice is slippery. It’s not usually this cold and snowy here, I guess nature wanted to show you some winter.”

  All of a sudden, the car towered over her. Compared to her little Toyota, it was huge.

  I wouldn’t even get that thing out of the parking spot without crashing.

  “Naah, just checking.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose and held the door open for her.