by Jade Astor
“Agreed,” Darian said.
“Maybe it’s not too late to salvage things, though. How about a little walk? Burn off some of those calories, not to mention those three glasses of wine I drank.”
It was more like five, Darian thought, but he didn’t think it wise to argue. “Okay, sure. Why not?”
“And I promise, I won’t even mention J—ah, certain people we’ve already spent too much time discussing. Deal?”
“Yes,” Darian said, relieved. “Deal.”
Victor offered him a clumsy handshake. They started off down the sidewalk, which sloped downhill toward the center of town. Most of the shopfronts had gone dark for the night, though a few pedestrians, mostly older straight couples, moved slowly back and forth around them. Thumping music drifted from the bar and grill two blocks up the street. A group of people stood outside the entrance, talking and laughing. The sharp, sweet scent of a clove cigarette drifted toward them.
“There are more people out tonight than I would have expected, considering nothing is open,” Darian observed. It was a lame comment, he knew, but at least it didn’t refer to the subject they had both agreed to drop. “Plus it’s getting cold.”
“Yeah,” Victor said, relaxing. He drifted sideways, stepping off the curb and into the street. “Snow’ll come before you know it. You’ve probably never made a snowman, have you, Florida transplant?”
“As a matter of fact I haven’t. I’m looking forward to trying my hand at it.”
“I’d be happy to teach you. We could even have a contest—”
The roar of an approaching car drowned out his last syllable. Bright white light washed over them, forcing Darian to put up his arm and shield his eyes from the glare.
The next few moments unreeled in a blur. Twin orbs swallowed the night, blotting out their surroundings. A car, dark and nondescript except for its excessive speed, roared by with such force that Darian felt his hair blow back.
“Watch out!” Darian grabbed the back of Victor’s jacket with both hands. He heard the fabric rip as he yanked him back onto the sidewalk.
Chapter 8
When he thought about it later, what stood out most in Darian’s mind was the clarity with which he registered certain details—the yellowish haze of a streetlamp, the metallic taste of the late-autumn air, and an oddly-shaped decal, like a triangle superimposed on a square, stuck to the bumper speeding toward them.
His mind logged sounds, too. Tires screeched as the car careened away, after which a hubbub of voices and footsteps ensued.
Then, thankfully, Victor’s voice. “I’m okay. He missed me.”
The two of them were lying on the sidewalk. Darian’s fingers were still clamped around Victor’s sleeve. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’s fine. Let me up.”
People came from both directions to check on them. “Did anyone call 911?” someone asked.
“No!” Victor rolled into a crouch. Darian, already back on his feet, offered him a hand up. “Don’t bother. Nothing happened. It was partially my fault. I was walking in the street.”
“Good thing you pulled him out of the way,” an older man praised Darian while Victor stood dusting himself off. “Could have been a hell of a lot worse.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with people nowadays,” a woman said. “He could have at least stopped.”
“Probably drunk driver,” someone else commented. Unfortunately, no one had noticed the license plate number. Gradually the crowd dispersed, leaving Darian and Victor pretty much where they had started.
“Well, that sobered me up in a hurry,” Victor cracked, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Just the same, I think we should head home. Walking around in the dark has lost its appeal.”
“Sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah. Just shaken up.”
“That makes two of us.
On their way back to the car, Darian felt Victor’s hand brush against his as if by accident. Then, cautiously, his fingers curled around Darian’s.
“Thanks for saving my life,” Victor said.
“Oh, come on.” Darian forced an uneasy laugh. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”
“Sure it was. And I won’t forget it.” Victor clung to Darian’s hand all way back to their parking spot. Under the circumstances, Darian didn’t think he should object. And part of him really had no objection.
Had Patricia and Jake called Argo to tattle on him yet? To his surprise, he found that he didn’t care all that much. Nearly getting flattened by a runaway car put things into a different perspective.
On the drive back to Reece Hall, he continued to replay the near-accident in his mind. The more he thought about it, the more he worried that it hadn’t been a random event.
“Victor,” he finally said, “I have to ask you something. Do you think what happened could have been some kind of homophobic attack? I keep wondering if someone might have seen us…you know…together and decided to teach us a lesson.”
“I admit I hadn’t thought of that.” Victor straightened up in the passenger seat, scowling. “But I doubt it. Seems a little farfetched.”
“Does it? Why?”
“Because stuff like that just doesn’t happen around here. It’s a small town, sure, but there isn’t much stranger-on-stranger crime. Drunk driving seems the most likely reason.”
“Maybe you’re right. I hope so. Still…do you think we should have called the cops?”
“No. What for? Look, it’s over. Nobody was injured. I’d really just prefer to let the whole thing go and move on. I can’t handle the distraction right now, with the film and everything.”
“Okay. If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
Darian found Victor’s insistence a bit strange. Wasn’t he worried that the same drunk driver might plow into someone else? Still, he wasn’t in the mood to argue.
When they got back to Reece Hall, Victor invited him inside.
“Will you sit with me awhile? I don’t want to be alone right now. I’m still a little jumpy. I won’t be able to sleep yet.”
“Sure,” Darian agreed, and Victor’s troubled expression relaxed into a smile. Inside, they found Wes crossing the foyer, carrying a bag of chips and Darian’s bottle of cognac.
“You’re just in time,” he said. “We’ve got a fire going in the big sitting room. Come on in and hang with us.”
“Good idea,” Victor said. “Maybe I can get my buzz going again.”
Wes led them to the white and gold sitting room, where Chuck and Sandra watched a fire snapping in the grate. He poured some cognac into waiting glasses and handed them around while Chuck opened the potato chips and propped up the bag on the sofa.
“Hey,” Sandra said, sparing Darian and Victor a disinterested glance between sips of cognac. “What have you two been up to?”
Victor barked out a laugh. “More like what haven’t we been up to. This turned out to be an evening for the history books—or maybe I should say a horror book. We were walking along the sidewalk downtown when a car came out of nowhere and almost knocked me down. If it hadn’t been for Darian, I’d be nothing more than an oil slick right now.”
“What?” Chuck exclaimed, almost dropping his handful of chips. Wes, too, gaped in astonishment.
“Oh my god, Victor! Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”
“Already covered all that. The answer is no. All that really happened is that I fell on the sidewalk and suffered a slight sartorial inconvenience.” He plucked at the rip Darian had accidentally caused to the side of his coat. “The car didn’t actually hit me.”
He paused as an admiring murmur rippled around the group.
“Wow! Good job, Darian,” Sandra said. “Sounds like Victor owes you his life.” Then she scowled. “Lucky you didn’t scrape up your face. Otherwise Chuck’s hi-def camera would make you look like Frankenstein’s monster tomorrow.”
“Maybe we could write that into the script,” Victor said. �
�Couldn’t be any worse than the next idea Jamie will probably come up with.”
The mention of Jamie prompted Darian to scan the room. “Speaking of that, where are he and Logan?”
“Don’t know,” Chuck said. “We didn’t exactly go looking for them. After you and Victor left, we ordered the pizzas for dinner, but Jamie threw a fit and said he wanted sushi. He made Logan take him out to find some. Good luck, right? They probably had to drive for hours.”
Darian perked up at that information. So Logan and Jamie were out in their car. Was it possible they’d been the ones who had almost flattened Victor? As farfetched as the notion seemed, tensions had been running high between all three of them. He also recalled Victor holding his cell phone when he’d come out of the men’s room. Had he called one or both of them and goaded them into taking drastic action?
“What kind of car do Logan and Jamie drive?” he blurted. The question earned him a strange look from Victor.
“A green hatchback,” Sandra said. “Total piece of junk. Why?”
Darian exhaled. As hazy as his memory was, that wasn’t the kind of car he’d felt rush by him. He had the impression of something larger and flatter, like an older sedan. He forced a casual shrug. “No reason. I just wondered what a soap star drove.”
“Ex-soap star,” Sandra said. “Besides, the car belongs to my brother. Jamie wouldn’t take it to the studio. He negotiated limo service into his contract. Silly fools went along with it. But then, Jamie usually gets his own way.”
“Anyway, what happened to me is only part of the story,” Victor piped up. Darian got the impression he wanted to divert their attention from Jamie and Logan. He couldn’t help but wonder if Victor knew perfectly well who had tried to run him down. Was that why he refused to report the incident? “Before we left for the restaurant, Darian had a run-in with my unofficial tenant out on the driveway. He suggested I warn everyone to be careful if you venture out there. I’ve never known Brother Lew to be violent, but apparently there’s a side to him he’s hidden from me all these years.”
“Brother Lew?” Chuck asked.
Sandra gave a disgusted snort. “Yeah. He’s some homeless bum who lives in the woods behind this house. Victor told us about him back in college. Why he allows him to stay there is beyond me.”
“He’s not a bum, and he’s not homeless, either,” Victor objected. “Reece Hall is his home, and has been all his life.” Briefly he repeated what he’d told Darian at the restaurant.
Chuck listened in amazement. “No way. You’re telling me there’s some weird old hermit camping out in a monastery behind the house? Go on. You’re full of it,” he told Victor.
“Nope. He’s telling the truth,” Wes said. “Jamie, Logan and Sandra, and I have always known about it. Victor told us when we were in college. We didn’t believe him then, either.” He circled his ear with a finger. “Not all there, is he? Still, he might be better off out there than he would be in an institution.”
“That’s been my feeling, though I’ll have to rethink it now, I guess.” Victor sighed. “The point is, keep an eye out for him if you decide to go walking on the trails. Probably better not to go alone. I still don’t think he’d hurt anyone, but better to err on the side of caution.”
“I’m sure as hell not walking out in those woods,” Sandra vowed with a shudder. “It’s too cold and dirty for my tastes, even without a maniac running around with a club. Apologies to every nature poet who ever lived, but I prefer the indoors. The way I see it, the human race moved out of caves for a reason.”
“I doubt Wes will agree with you there,” Victor said, turning to him. “Remember those hikes you used to take us on in college? I used to wonder if you were part mountain goat. Then again, maybe it was just the beard that got me confused.”
Everyone laughed, including Wes, and he was about to respond when they heard Jamie’s high-pitched voice in the hall. Moments later he raced into the room with his cell phone held aloft in triumph, like an Olympic torch. Logan followed him in. The two were still in their coats, apparently having just returned from their quest for sushi.
“It’s happened!” Jamie cried, waving his phone back and forth in the air. “Finally!”
“What?” Darian and Victor asked, talking over one another. Chuck and Wes perked up, too. Only Sandra said nothing. “What happened?”
“I got a new agent!” Jamie shouted, pumping a fist. “I knew if I kept trying, it would happen eventually! People haven’t forgotten me after all. I still have some clout in this industry!”
Sighing, Sandra reached for the cognac and refilled her glass. “Is that all?”
“All?” Jamie sniffed in outrage. “This is ground-shaking. You of all people should know you can’t get anywhere in this business without a high-powered agent. The whole reason that crummy soap took such advantage of me was that I didn’t have a shark in my tank. Luckily, that’s all over now. This guy is new in the business, but he has good contacts.” He tapped his phone and pulled up the agenting website, swinging it around for all of them to view. Darian saw flashy pictures of celebs and attractive models of both genders arranged in two rows. “See?”
“Where’d you find him? Wes asked skeptically. “One of those sites where people sell hoopties and timeshare vacations?”
“None of your business, actually, but he reached out through a perfectly legitimate contact. That’s as much as I feel comfortable telling you. Aside from confidentiality issues, I have no intention of letting you Negative Nellies ruin my good news.”
“What do you need an agent for right now?” Logan asked, sounding less than thrilled. “You already have a job with me.”
The smile Jamie turned on him was little short of predatory. “Things can be renegotiated, you know. Every agreement has loopholes. For example, if my new agent lands me a role in a commercial or maybe even a prime-time gig, I’d have no choice but to rethink my commitment to this little sideline. I mean, who wouldn’t be all over an opportunity like that?”
“How do you know this guy knows what he’s doing?” Chuck asked. “Have you actually met with him face to face?”
“You don’t understand how things work in today’s world, do you? It’s all electronic now. In some ways, that’s way better. Everything’s preserved.” Jamie tapped his phone. “I have a complete and portable record of everything he said.”
“But anyone can claim to be an agent online,” Sandra pointed out. “This could be some twelve-year-old on his laptop for all you know.”
“Sandra’s right,” Logan said. “You definitely see some fishy stuff online these days. Best to verify every detail.”
“And how do you know I haven’t already done that? Honestly, Logan, I don’t see why you can’t be happy for me just this once. As it happens, this gentleman used to work for my old agent. He got my name that way. How would he know my old agent’s name if that wasn’t true?”
“Okay, that’s a start. But did you hear his name from your old agent while you were still at the old agency?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean a thing. This new fellow came on board after I’d already been—I mean, after I’d already left. He got my name later, when he was going through agency files. Then he left to start his own agency. All completely above board.”
“Sorry, but it sounds sketchy to me,” Chuck said. “Be careful, Jamie. That’s all any of us are saying. And we mean it as your friends.”
“The kind of friends who can’t wait to see me do a face-plant in front of the whole world, you mean. Frankly, I’ve about had it with the jealous vibes I get from every single participant in this kindergarten-level pantomime. You’re all going to start treating me with respect right now, or I may very well have my new agent drive down here first thing tomorrow and negotiate my way out of this crappy flick.”
Logan’s expression stiffened. “All right, let’s drop this for now. We can talk about it later, after we’ve checked the guy out.”
“We? I don’t re
call your name being mentioned in the offer letter. You can try ordering me around all you want, Logan. But it’s all going to be different for us once I get representation.”
Sandra’s gaze flicked from her brother to Jamie. “What does your new agent think about your time on the soap?” she asked, barely able to tamp down her disgust. “One role isn’t a lot to build a career on, is it?”
“I have to point out that it’s more than some people have or will ever have,” Jamie said with a sniff. He cast a pointed glance around the group. “Actually, he thinks we can use my screen time to our advantage. Says we should play up the bad boy image my character had on the show and emphasize how different I am in person. One of his first goals is to line up a story and an interview in one of the soap magazines. Kind of a debriefing. We have to build a new branding campaign for me, he says. It’s all in the advertising.”
“Isn’t that clever,” Sandra said. “Truth in journalism is certainly a slippery subject these days, so I won’t comment further.”
“Be sure you mention this production,” Logan said. “We can use the publicity.”
“That depends how well the final version showcases my talents. The nice thing about this little movie of yours is that it can’t really hurt me. If it turns out to be an amateurish mess, most likely no one will ever see it anyway. If I look good in it, I can use it to promote myself. Win-win for me. Not so much for you, maybe, Logan. Sorry about that, but show biz is mostly about who’s in front of the camera, not behind it.” He winked at Chuck, who pointedly ignored him. “Come to think of it, I know plenty of backstage secrets I could leverage once I’m back in the game. For example, Lance Bolden was hitting on me the whole time I acted on Secret Hearts. Do you know who that is, Darian?”
“I’ve heard of him,” Darian confessed. Jamie was referring to the soap’s hunky leading man, who inspired tabloid tales because of his on-set tantrums and demands for special treatment. Darian had seen such articles displayed in supermarket racks and on the Internet. It occurred to him that Jamie had learned a lot from Lance, whether he realized it or not.