by A. S. Tucker
Elder Fisher and I pack up our gear, slinging the black bags we carry everywhere across our bodies as we stand. The food has given me a renewed sense of vigor, and there’s a bit of a bounce to my step as we walk toward the door.
“You guys enjoy the rest of your day. Maybe I’ll see you around this evening!” Quinn shouts as Fisher pushes open the door and steps outside.
I turn, giving him a small wave.
Quinn’s eyes meet mine, that devastating smile he gave me the other day on the street returning to his lips. And, again, my breath hitches, a tingling sensation spreading across my body as I try to catch my breath.
“Bye, Barkey Boy,” he says with a wink.
The smile doesn’t leave my face for the rest of the day. And, if I’m being honest, it has nothing to do with the food. The spring in my step is all Quinn.
CHAPTER EIGHT
* * *
Quinn
“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
I almost drop my keys at the sound of the gravelly voice behind me. I was so zoned in on trying to get into my apartment and ready to go out that I didn’t even hear the door open behind me. Tonight is a rare night off for me. And I can’t wait to let loose a little. It’s been a week from hell.
I turn and see an old woman staring out at me from the door across the hall. Though age has hunched her stature some, she’s impressively tall. Her long gray locks are thin and wispy but well cared for. I’ve been here for three weeks now, and I have never caught sight of the woman before, leading me to believe she doesn’t leave her apartment much. Even still, cherry-red lipstick stains her lips, and the apples of her cheeks are rouged pink.
There’s only one word that comes to mind when I see her.
Elegant.
So, what the fuck is she doing living in this dump?
She lifts a perfectly drawn-on eyebrow at me as I stare at her. “Are you just going to stand there all day, or are you going to answer my question? Or did your mother never teach you about respecting your elders either?”
A smile cracks across my face. “Sorry, ma’am. You caught me off guard. But why do you ask if my mother never taught me manners?”
I suddenly think back to the night last week when I was drunk and lonely, which is never a good combination when it comes to me. I woke up the next morning with a man I’d never seen before, lying spread eagle on my bed. And, judging by the two used condoms that had been tossed on the floor, I think it’s safe to assume we got up to some rather…interesting activities that night. Who knows what this poor woman could’ve heard?
“What I mean is, you’ve been living across the hall from me for weeks now, and you still haven’t come over and introduced yourself. In my day, we called that sort of behavior bad manners.”
The smile that spreads across her face as she scolds me lets me know she’s just giving me shit.
I turn, wiping my hand on the side of my jeans before holding it out to her. “You’re right. That is bad manners. And my mama would string me up by my toes if she knew. She’s a good ole Southern belle. Manners are her forte.”
She takes my hand, her eyes lighting up at the mention of my mother. “A Southern girl? I like her already. Born and raised in South Carolina myself. Until the bright lights of Hollywood brought me west.”
“We would’ve been neighbors. My family is from Georgia. I’m Quinn by the way. Quinn Owens.”
Her smile only widens. “Judith Keller. And what brings you all the way out here, Quinn?”
“Bright lights, big city,” I say with a wink.
She giggles. “I knew it. You’ve got that actor vibe. You’re going to do great things; I can tell already.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Keller. Now, if we could just convince the producers and talent scouts.”
She gently slaps me on the arm. “Oh, pfft. If they had any sense left in those tiny brains, you’d already be breaking hearts left and right on the big screen. And none of that Mrs. Keller nonsense. You can call me Judy. My friends call me Judy K.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “Shut. Up. You’re Judy K?”
She blushes. “You’ve heard of me?”
“Heard of you? Who in the hell hasn’t heard of you? You’re a legend. One of the greatest actresses of your time.”
“Would you like to come in?” she asks with a smile, opening the door wider and gesturing to the inside of her apartment.
Even from out in the hallway, I can see that it’s nothing like my place. For starters, the paint on the walls isn’t peeling, and the carpet doesn’t look like it’s been ridden hard and put away wet. The place looks like a palace compared to my dump. And that’s just the entryway.
I look back to my front door, contemplating momentarily. I did have plans to head out to a club with a few friends. But they won’t miss me for a few minutes. And it’s not every day you get to sit and converse with a Hollywood icon.
“I would love to,” I say, tucking my keys back into my jacket pocket as I let her guide me inside.
The pride and care that was evident from the doorway continues throughout the apartment. It appears to be slightly larger than my cracker box—I hope she at least has room to climb into bed each night—but other than that, the layout is the same. You’d never know it by looking at it though. Blue curtains hang from every window, and the light-gray sofa and love seat take up most of the space in the living room. Several small end tables with well-dusted lamps are placed strategically around the room. Various knickknacks and mementos cover every available surface but are set up in such a way that it doesn’t appear cluttered. Though the decor is simple and refined, it’s light-years away from the hovel I’ve been calling home.
“Wow. It’s like stepping into another world in here.”
Her eyes crinkle in the corners as she gives me a warm smile. “Thank you. I know you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at it, but forty years ago, when it was first built, this place was really something to see. This whole street was. I bought this apartment for quite a pretty penny back then. And, throughout the years, I’ve watched as the neighborhood slipped and slid into what it is today. It broke my heart, seeing it fall from grace. But I’ve made sure that at least a part of it has retained its former glory.”
I finger a chenille throw covering the back of the sofa. “You’ve done a great job of it. This place looks awesome. I’m not sure I understand it though. There’s no way you’ll ever get back the money you’ve so obviously put into it. Not in this neighborhood.”
Her face turns sad as she looks at me, her eyes shooting to a framed black-and-white picture of a young man and woman, the woman obviously a younger version of the one standing before me. “Some things are more important than money. My William and I bought this place together, right after we married. It was our escape. Our place of solace and solitude. We had twenty-five years of wonderful memories in the confines of these walls. When he passed, I knew I could never live anywhere else.” Her voice warbles on the last few words, as if even the mere mention of her husband’s passing brings her nearly to tears.
I quickly do the math in my head. She said she’d lived here around forty years. If her husband passed after twenty-five of those, then that must mean he’s been gone around fifteen years. Fifteen years, and she still gets misty-eyed at the thought of him.
I wonder if I’ll ever know that sort of love. If anyone will ever think of me and weep, even years after I pass. Or if the thought of being without the love of my life will ever cause me physical pain. It might sound crazy to wish for that kind of thing. A love so powerful and all-consuming that it has the capability of destroying me completely. But standing here, watching this old woman miss her husband, I realize there’s nothing I want more. I’d give up all my dreams of stardom if it meant I could spend the next fifty years with someone who loved me unconditionally.
Judy takes a seat on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. “Come sit. Tell me about yourself.”
All
traces of her tears are now gone, the bright smile from the hallway back on her face. I sit, turning my knees toward her so that I can see her better.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting on Judy K’s couch. If you’d asked me this morning what the craziest thing to happen to me today would be, I’d have guessed being struck by lightning before something like this. And there’s not even the slightest chance of thunderstorms today.”
She softly pats me on the shoulder. “And, just think, if you’d only come over and introduced yourself, we could have been the best of friends by now. I might’ve already written you into my will. But I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
In the two minutes since I’ve met her, this woman has scolded me twice, invited me inside, nearly brought me to tears, and insulted me. I think I’m in love.
I settle back into the couch, tucking my right leg under my left so that I can still face her but lean into the plush pillows as well. “Don’t write me off yet, Miss Judy K. We’re still going to be besties. You just wait and see.”
She chuckles softly as she makes herself comfortable beside me. I watch her face as she moves, the deep lines and wrinkles from all the years she’s been on this earth intensifying as she scowls.
“Getting old sucks. Don’t let anyone fool you into doing it. It’s a trap,” she says with a groan as she tries to right herself on the couch. “I have aches and pains in places I didn’t even know existed when I was your age.”
I smile at her, reaching out a hand for her to take so that she can pull herself up a little when I see her struggling. When she finally seems content, I start in with the barrage of questions I’ve been firing up ever since I found out who she was.
“But think of all you’ve seen! What was Hollywood like in those days? I bet it was amazing. All glitz and glamour instead of the corruption and politics it is now. What was working with Fred Astaire like? Did you ever get to meet Audrey Hepburn? I would kill to have met her. She’s fantastic. Breakfast at Tiffany’s is pretty much my favorite movie of all time.”
Judy laughs a little, clearly finding my…exuberance amusing. “Calm down, boy. I don’t think you took a single breath during that entire spiel. If there’s one thing an actor needs to know, it’s how to breathe. Nobody likes to watch an actor talk himself blue in the face.”
I duck my head, giving her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I tend to spew words all over the place when I’m excited.”
She raises her eyebrows. “What an eloquent expression. Spew words. Has such a poetic ring to it.”
Her tone is light, and I know she’s just giving me shit, so I laugh.
“Never claimed to be a poet. I’m not trying to be a screenwriter. I want someone to do the writing for me. I’ll just bring it to life.”
Judy smiles, and this time, it reaches her eyes. “Ah, there we go. Spoken like a true actor. Now, back to your questions. Hollywood was everything you think and more. Sure, there was scandal—plenty of it. But there was such a passion in the air back then. You could almost taste the drive and the commitment people had for their craft. It was pure. More authentic. Nowadays, it just seems like all anybody wants is to see their name in lights and get a fat paycheck. Don’t get me wrong; we enjoyed those perks back then, too. But it was secondary to the love and ardor we felt for what we were doing.”
I nod. “That’s the whole reason I want to become an actor. Growing up, I signed up for every school play and community theater production I could find. During the month of October, I lived at haunted houses just to be able to dress up and be someone I wasn’t for a few hours. I lived for it. Breathed for it. The happiest I’ve ever been is on a stage, and I know there is nothing else I’d rather do with my life. From the time I was able to recite my first line from Romeo and Juliet, I knew I wanted to be an actor. I’ve got to say though; living out here these last three years sure has dampened my spirits a little. It’s fucking tough.” I say this last bit without thinking, and immediately, I try to recant. “I mean, uh, it’s not what I—”
“It fucking sucks,” she says simply. “You were right on the nose the first time. You think I haven’t watched one aspiring actor after another come through these halls, seeing their faces fall more and more as time passes until they finally pack up and move home?”
My shoulders slump. “So, you’re saying it’s just a matter of time before I follow in their footsteps?”
She smacks me on the knee. “Did I say that? What happens next is entirely up to you. I’ve seen a lot of actors give up and go home. But I’ve also seen a select few who have gone on to bigger and better things. Not always feature films, but they’re making names for themselves. Do you want to know the difference between the two types?”
I nod, wanting to soak in any advice she’s willing to give me.
“Passion. That same passion I just heard you talking about. The same passion that Hollywood was founded on. Passion might be dwindling in this industry, but it’s not dead. Those who have it know that, no matter what life throws at them, being here and doing what they’re doing is exactly what they need. And they won’t give up. No matter how long it takes.”
“I’m not sure I have much passion left in me though,” I say, looking down at the floor. “When I first got here, yeah, I was ready to take on the world and not let anybody get in my way. But, now? I’m not ready to give up, but I don’t know how much more rejection I can take.”
Judy holds a hand out, and I take it in mine. She pulls herself up, so she’s not leaning back into the couch anymore. No, she’s sitting straight up, staring me dead in the eye.
“Let me tell you something; I told you I’ve seen a lot of aspiring actors come through this joint over the years. Some last a few weeks, some months, and some make it a few years or even a decade. And, when you’ve been around as long as I have, you pick up on things. You learn to read people. Within about five minutes of meeting someone, I’ve always been able to tell if they have what it takes to make it in this business. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I’m right.”
She falls silent.
After a few moments, I bring my eyes to hers, dying for her to continue, to tell me how I measure up on her built-in scale of success. “And?”
A sly smile spreads across her face. “You’ve got it, kid. You’ve got it in spades.”
CHAPTER NINE
* * *
Jaden
“And I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
I unfold my arms, lifting my head from its bowed state as I look at Elder Fisher. His eyes are already buried in his scriptures.
The meeting we had with his investigator a few days ago went well. So well in fact that we are scheduled to return for another lesson tomorrow. His name is Andy, and he seems really interested in what we have to teach him. But he also has a lot of questions. Thus the reason Elder Fisher started our lesson-planning session with a prayer asking for guidance. He thinks, if we can give Andy the answers he needs to hear, he’ll be a member before the month is through. We just need to make sure God is ready and willing to help us provide those answers when the time comes.
I stare at Fisher as he pours over his scriptures, his eyes darting frantically across the pages. If you ask me, the guy just wants to be able to say he has at least one baptism under his belt before he gets moved to a different area. It has nothing to do with the fact that Andy is so eager to convert. Fisher just hates that he hasn’t been able to close the deal yet.
I open my own Book of Mormon, pretending to read. Instead, I think about how intense this guy is. I mean, I grew up in Utah. I know how devoted Mormons are. But Fisher takes it to a whole new level. I knew most of our time would be spent proselytizing, praying, and planning. But I always heard stories of some of the funny antics missionaries would get into on their downtime. Nothing crazy, of course. These boys weren’t going out, drinking themselves blind and getting themselves into trouble. But I heard about pranks and jokes the Brothers in my ward had pulled on thei
r companions while out in the field, and it always sounded fun. A brief respite during an otherwise intense schedule.
There’s absolutely none of that with Elder Fisher though. This dude lives and breathes for the church. If we’re not out tracting, we’re planning our route for the next day. If we’re not planning, we’re studying. If we’re not studying, we’re praying. And, if we’re not praying, we’re sleeping. I’m almost positive he’d skip that whole last bit if he could. Fortunately for me, the mission president mandates lights out by ten p.m. Otherwise, Fisher would be out knocking on doors at four in the morning. I’m sure of it.
So, no, there are no shenanigans occurring when Elder Fisher is around.
My thoughts turn to the other day, that afternoon when we ran into Quinn at the bistro. I asked him a few simple questions and answered a few of his. No big, right? When you meet someone, it’s common courtesy to try to get to know them.
Only I didn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the night. As we made our way to Andy’s house, Fisher scolded me over and over on getting too friendly with the man living upstairs. He tried to make it out like he’d have a problem with my talking casually with anyone, chatting them up like we were buddies out grabbing a bite. But I knew the truth. It wasn’t the questions I’d asked Quinn that Fisher had a problem with. It was the person I’d voiced them to.
Case in point, we know all about where Andy grew up. I can tell you he has three brothers and one sister, a sister who will never get married if her brothers have anything to say about it. And I can tell you Andy and Fisher had a good old time talking about their little league baseball days. Both went on to play in high school with the same boys they’d played with growing up. Between the two of them, I heard more baseball stories in those two hours in Andy’s living room than I had in my entire life combined.