Until It's Time To Go

by Connie Bailey

“Oh shit.” Isaac dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I forgot your husband died.”

  “He didn’t die. He was killed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. I didn’t want him to enlist, but he felt like he owed his country something. He didn’t want to get married until he got back, but I pushed to have the wedding first. So I got my big church ceremony and he got to wear a uniform, but neither of us really got what we wanted. Is that fair? I mean… do I look like a widow to you?” Callie stopped to take a breath. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just unloaded like that. It’s not like me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m drunk, and I probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

  “You realize it’s only two in the afternoon, right? You have plenty of time to sober up before bed.”

  “Only if I stop drinking, and that is one of the many things I absolutely refuse to do.”

  “Don’t forget Colby’s coming by in a couple of hours.”

  “Save me.”

  “Come on, he’s not that bad.”

  “He’s just so fucking chirpy. Is it just me, or is he the happiest guy on the planet?”

  “He seems happy to me, but I don’t view that as a bad thing.”

  “It gets on my nerves, all that relentless sunshine and optimism.”

  “The horror,” Callie replied. “You should get hardship pay for what you put up with.”

  “I assumed I was.”

  “I’m going,” Callie said, getting up from the table. “Got a million and one things to do.”

  “Tell Tony I’ll have the revisions typed up by the end of the day.”

  “Great.” Callie stepped down from the motor home and turned to close the door.

  “If Mr. Movie Star doesn’t completely throw me off track,” Isaac added.

  Callie shut the door a little harder than necessary.

  ISAAC glared resentfully at the door, but the knocking didn’t stop. “Come in,” he called out.

  “Hey,” Colby said as he stepped into the RV. “How’s it goin’, Tiger?”

  Isaac raised an eyebrow as he gestured for Colby to sit opposite him at the table.

  Colby made himself comfortable, turning sideways on the bench seat, slipping off his shoes, and putting his feet up. “I’ve finished reading the script—what there is of it—and there are a couple of things that just won’t fly.”

  “Do tell,” Isaac drawled as he sipped his warm cognac.

  “Right here.” Colby pointed to the middle of a page. “Dorian wouldn’t do this.”

  Isaac read the paragraph upside down and sighed. “We, Tony and I, were trying to make him a little more sympathetic,” he said in the voice he’d use with a four-year-old.

  “Why?” Colby grimaced. “Are you going to change the ending so he lives happily ever?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Then why would he need to be sympathetic?”

  “We want the audience to feel something when he dies.”

  “They should feel happy that a scumbag is gone. Duh. Dorian’s not the hero of the story.” Colby paused. “It doesn’t really have a hero. Except maybe the girl’s brother.”

  “Yeah, James does some things that could be considered heroic, but you’re right, the story has a main character but no hero.”

  “We’re off point now. I’m saying that having Dorian be nice to an orphan is just too cheesy.”

  “Cheesy?”

  “Yeah, you know, cheesy. You’re going for the easy score. Why not have him take in a stray puppy while you’re at it?”

  Isaac could no longer pretend he didn’t see the thing that had been nagging at him now that Colby had described it so well. “You’re right. It’s cheesy. I’ll change it.”

  “You will?” Colby’s surprise was palpable.

  “Yes, I will. Mostly because you haven’t said yeah once today.”

  “You made me self-conscious.”

  “Good. You could use some self-awareness.”

  “I said self-conscious.”

  “I heard, but what you need is self-awareness.”

  “Seriously, what have you got against me? I’d be interested to hear. And pour me a drink, you antisocial fuckstick.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Isaac reached down a coffee cup without looking and poured it half full of cognac. “Take a snort and tell me just why you think I should like you.”

  Colby took a drink. “God damn. This is pure alcohol.”

  “Smooth, huh?”

  Colby coughed and took a smaller sip. “Okay, so the question before us is why you should like me.” He brushed the silky bangs out of his eyes. “Well, I’m a looker. That’s undisputed. I’ve got talent and style, though both have been debated. My sense of humor is excellent, and I’m great in bed. What else do I need?”

  “I’ll give you the first one. You’re very attractive. Now let’s talk about the rest. Talent? Really? Name one thing you’ve done that exhibits an ounce of acting ability.”

  Colby took another sip of his drink.

  “You can’t do it, can you?” Isaac said. “You’ve been trading on your looks and charm your whole life, and you actually believe the suck-ups that tell you you’re talented.”

  “What about Sunset Ranch?”

  Isaac laughed. “Drivel. You mugged your way through it. I can only suppose you hoped people would think it was deep because it had Native Americans in it. Plus all those sweeping exterior shots of the northwestern coast. And that tear-jerking soundtrack.”

  “The critics called it heart-touching.”

  “As if critics have hearts,” Isaac scoffed. “Come on. Convince me.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

  “Fine.”

  “What about The Dotted Lion then?”

  “Cute, but disposable.”

  “Does your cat know you feel that way about felines?”

  “Don’t try to ingratiate yourself. I’m still waiting for you to name one thing you’ve done that isn’t pure crap.”

  “Everyone loved me as Famous Shamus, Boy Detective.”

  Isaac made a gagging noise. “You’ve never been much more than a ventriloquist’s dummy… and so what? People like you and you’re making money.”

  “Oh, so I should be an asshole like you and be poor.”

  “I’m actually fairly well off. And I don’t advise you to be an asshole. Your looks will only take you so far, and then you have to be nice to people if you want them to like you.”

  “Same goes for you, Crabby McCrabberson.”

  Isaac smiled. “Still having fun?”

  “I’m not bored.”

  “Well, how nice for you. I’m so glad our little production could divert you from the drudgery of your life as a Hollywood star.”

  “You only agreed to these meetings so you could snipe at me, didn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I notice my serial killer idea is in the script.”

  Isaac fetched a heavy sigh. “It’s a good idea.”

  “Maybe I could get a little respect for that?”

  “You’re drinking my booze, aren’t you?”

  Colby held up his cup. “Good point.” He took a drink. “Since I can’t impress you with anything in my body of work, I’ll have to do it on this film.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “I won’t need luck. I have you.”

  “The hell you say.”

  “You’re going to make me look good with your script, and I’m going to play the role the way you write it.” Colby grinned. “With my input, of course.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever been this drunk.”

  “So do we have a deal?”

  Isaac glanced at the cat stretched out on the motor home’s dashboard. Punkin winked and went back to sleep. “Deal?” Isaac repeated.

  “Excellent!” Colby picked up Isaac’s hand and shook it. “Let’s have another drink.”

  Isaac wat
ched Colby pour more amber cognac, the action appearing to transpire in slow motion. He tried not to notice how the light gleamed on Colby’s fair hair. He tried to ignore how engaging Colby’s smile was, with the pointed canines that made dimples on his full lower lip. However, his brain was blocked by the alcohol that was running interference for his dick.

  Isaac made an attempt to gain control of the situation. “If you ruin this film, I will follow you around making farting noises for the rest of your life… or mine.” He could hear how badly he was slurring his words, but he didn’t care.

  “Bottoms up,” Colby said.

  Isaac looked over at the actor. When had Colby moved to his side of the table? Isaac swallowed hard as his heart began to beat faster and his dick got a little harder. He was disgusted with himself for feeling attracted to this cocky pretty boy, but he couldn’t deny the attraction was real. Or that it had been a very long time since he’d been “intimate” with anyone.

  “The truth is that I’d like to change my image,” Colby was saying. “I know you think it’s crazy that I’d take a part in a movie that isn’t being made by a major studio, but I’ve been there and done that. What I’d like is—”

  “If you tell me that you want to be taken seriously as an actor, I’m going to barf all over you.” Isaac hiccupped. “I might do it anyway.”

  “You’re not going to throw up,” Colby said. “And I would like to have the respect of my fellow actors. Fame just isn’t enough, you know?”

  “But you’re so good at being famous. The camera fuckin’ loves you, and you’ve got that great smile that makes you look thrilled to be wherever you are.”

  “I used to be. I was thrilled about all of it at first, but—”

  “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not going to tell me some tragic story and make me like you. Get up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re leaving. The meeting is over.”

  “Oh, come on. What are you so afraid of?”

  Isaac gave Colby a shove, and Colby got to his feet. “You’re not my therapist,” Isaac said.

  “Well, who is? ’Cause I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Just go away.”

  “I’ll go, but I’ll be back, and I will make you like me.”

  “Why? I’m not triple-dog-daring you or anything.”

  Colby smiled. “Because I like you. How could you not know that?”

  “Why would I care?” Isaac turned his blurry gaze on the keyboard.

  “See you tomorrow.” Colby said as he closed the door behind him.

  Isaac reached between his legs and adjusted his half-a-hard-on. “I don’t want any sass from you either,” he mumbled to his crotch.

  Isaac’s cock heeded him not, remaining stubbornly at half-mast while he tried to form nebulous concepts into words that made sense. Hazy images of Colby Lightner glowed at the edges of his thoughts, drawing his attention away from his work. Colby smiled and licked those kiss-inviting lips before the vision changed to Colby’s ass from the locker room scene in Gridiron Princess. Isaac hated cute body-switch comedies, but had to admit he’d rented it and freeze-framed Colby’s naked backside more than once. Twenty-one playing seventeen, Colby had famously trained for hours every day to sculpt his body into anatomical perfection.

  Isaac had lied when he told Colby he hated all of Colby’s work. There were several moments in the teen-targeted film that didn’t make Isaac want to puke. He had nothing but contempt for the tired concept of a cheerleader trading bodies with the quarterback and found the acting adequate at best. However, once or twice, when Colby was called upon to act like a spoiled princess trapped in a man’s body, he actually pulled it off without turning into a caricature. And he’d looked amazing under that shower. Fuck!

  Isaac snapped out of his reverie and glanced at the screen, hoping he’d typed something brilliant while he was daydreaming. No such luck.

  Punkin meowed demandingly.

  “Begone, Creature,” Isaac said. “I already fed you.”

  Punkin jumped onto the table and looked Isaac in the eyes.

  “Mind control isn’t going to work either. I have no mind to control at the moment.” Isaac scratched the cat between the ears. “So this is what it’s like to lust after someone you don’t like.” Punkin meowed loudly. “I don’t like it either,” Isaac said.

  Resolutely putting the images of Colby out of his mind, Isaac concentrated on forming sentences that were at least coherent, if not impressive. He knew dialogue and plotting would get changed around once the director and actors got hold of it, so he contented himself with writing down a meaty outline. Satisfied he had a solid framework to build on, he showered and went to bed with a cranky feline pacing the length of his body. Only when Punkin was absolutely sure that Isaac wasn’t going to get back up did he settle in behind Isaac’s knees. With the Creature’s rusty purr filling the room, Isaac fell asleep.

  Chapter 3

  THE intermittent tone grew louder, and Isaac leaped out of the road as an ambulance flashed by, the back doors open and flapping. The emergency vehicle was gone, but the alternating noise remained, pulsing in Isaac’s ears. He opened his eyes and became aware that he’d been dreaming. As soon as he realized it, the dream receded as swiftly as the ambulance. Under his pillow, his phone was ringing. He pulled it out and saw Janelle’s number.

  “What’s up?” he said, putting his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes. It was far too bright in the motor home.

  “I’ve been trying to get you all night.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I need you to pick up Laith for me.”

  “What?” Isaac opened his eyes.

  “Laith is at a juvenile detention center in Los Angeles. I have their number here.”

  “Hold it. Hold it.” Isaac sat up… slowly. “Laith is here?”

  “Yes. I should have called you yesterday, but I thought, you know, why worry you if it turned out to be nothing? Anyway, Laith took Ky’s car and drove it to LA.”

  “Why is he in a detention center?”

  “You’ve still got a great neighborhood watch system. One of your neighbors called the cops about a suspicious person loitering in your drive. Laith was picked up, and because he couldn’t prove the car was his, he was put in juvenile detention. Of course, as soon as he called Kylie, she was able to give the cops the information they needed, so he’s not under arrest.”

  “That’s good.” Isaac looked into the bathroom mirror and quickly looked away.

  “I need you to pick Laith up and hold onto him until I can get there.”

  Isaac groaned. “Of course,” he said, picking up a pen. “What’s the number of the place?” He wrote down the number she gave him. “Okay. And when are you coming to get him?”

  “As soon as I can, which realistically means sometime after four o’clock.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Isaac said as more brain cells woke up. “Get here when you can. I can bring him to work with me if I need to.”

  “I’d like to leave right this minute, but I’m—”

  “You don’t have to explain. I’m getting dressed right now.”

  “Thanks, Zee.”

  “No thanks necessary, and it would be a lot easier to get dressed if I had both hands.”

  “Okay. Call me after you pick him.”

  “I will. Bye.” Isaac hung up and found a clean pair of pants and a shirt. He pulled them on, applied deodorant, and brushed his hair. Slipping his feet into shoes, he glanced in the mirror again. “Guess we’re going with the unshaven look,” he said, as he did most mornings.

  After telling one of the crew he’d be gone a couple of hours, Isaac walked down the hill to his car. Pulling the old Volvo away from the curb, he dialed the number Janelle had given him. A woman answered, her tone indicating that she had a lot to do and little time to do it. Isaac explained the situation, and she transferred him to another phone. He spoke with a man with a vaguely familiar voice, like an act
or in one of the old movies he’d watched on TV as a kid. As the man spoke, Isaac gradually became aware that things weren’t as bad as he feared. It sounded like all he had to do was show up, produce identification, and pick Laith up like a piece of lost luggage. He thanked the man and hung up.

  “Thank God,” he sighed. The idea of dealing with a bunch of bureaucrats and paperwork in his current hungover state would probably kill him. He owed Janelle for propping him up after Steve died, but why did she have to call on him today? Now that he was fully awake from the air ramming in through the vent window, he was highly aware of the throbbing between his ears. It was expanding, beating against the inside of his skull, trying to hammer its way out. His eyes felt like they were being forced from their sockets, and his eyelids had been replaced by sandpaper. “Jesus, what is that taste?” he muttered as he groped around the passenger seat. He came up with half a bottle of water and chugged it down. As he tossed the empty into the back, it occurred to him he should have used the water to take a couple of aspirin.

  A horn blared, and Isaac swerved back into his lane. “Yeah, yeah,” he said as the driver he’d almost sideswiped gave him the finger on the way by. He glanced at the clock on the dash. “And it isn’t even nine o’clock yet.”

  ISAAC found a space in a city parking structure and took the elevator to street level. He found the juvenile facility and waited in line until it was his turn to talk to one of the ladies at one of the windows. His ID was requested and produced. He signed a paper, received a copy, and was directed to take it to another office.

  Isaac entered an area marked as Administration and knocked on the third door on the left.

  “Come in,” called the man who’d sounded so familiar on the phone.

  Isaac opened the door and paused as he stared at the middle-aged man behind the desk.

  “I remembered you when the juvie officer gave me your name, Mr. Zevin,” the man said.

  “I remember you too, Detective Kovac. I’m surprised you aren’t retired.”

  “I retired from the force a couple of years ago, but I like to stay busy. I like working with kids, maybe making a difference to one of them.”