by Simon Murik
Nathan rubbed his hands together. “Here’s what I want to do: We need to fill this part today. Would it be possible for you to come over to Gold Bar with me to meet Joel Cross and Leslie Karos so they can get a quick look at you?”
“Sure, I can do that,” I said.
If I could land the role I could be out of the crummy apartment by the end of the month.
“Awesome,” Nathan said. He looked at Rachel.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I can’t make it, Nathan; I’ve got a six o’clock with the Murphy brothers.”
Nathan smirked, “Jesus, the Murphys.” He looked over at me. “OK, it’s just you and me kid. Ready?”
Man, this was happening fast. “Sure, let’s go,” I said.
Nathan tilted his head towards the hallway and I followed him out there.
Fifteen minutes later we were sitting in a crowded bar area at a black high-top table outlined in gold neon. Nathan’s phone beeped and he checked it.
“Looks like it’s just going to be us. Leslie and Joel got hung up with some pre-production stuff.”
The table shook and I picked up my water so it wouldn’t spill.
“Damn mini-quakes,” Nathan said, lifting his glass.
I looked around the restaurant but no other tables were shaking.
I shrugged and took a sip of water. The table stopped rattling and we spent the next two hours talking about the movie, why I wanted to be an actress, the scar on his cheek, which was from an accident he’d had on his boat, and just a bunch of random stuff.
“Well, I had a great time tonight,” Nathan said after the waiter brought the check. “And, to be honest, I’m going to bypass Leslie and Joel and offer you the part.”
I squeezed my fists, “Wow, that’s awesome! Thank you!”
Nathan signed the check and set the pen down. “Maybe we could get together and talk about things this weekend?”
I held my breath for a second but couldn’t resist. “Yeah, I would love that,” I said.
We left the restaurant and Nathan drove me home. He gave me a hug and I opened the BMW’s door and got out. It was just after nine when I walked into the dark apartment. I went into the bedroom, lay down on the bed, and fired up the Netflix. At midnight I started to drift off to sleep.
I heard the scraping sound and my eyes popped open.
The bed began to rattle and I slid off it.
My entire body trembled as I grabbed my iPhone off the nightstand. Flipping the flashlight on, I walked into the living room. The scraping was coming from inside the closet. If an animal was trapped in there I had to let it out—but it didn’t sound like an animal.
It sounded rhythmic ... almost beckoning.
I walked up to the closet and opened the door. A blast of icy cold shot out at me and my skin felt like it had frosted over.
The closet was empty.
Just a single shelf with a manila folder sitting on top of it.
I took the folder off the shelf and opened it up to see a black and white head shot of a girl with black hair and beautiful, almond-shaped eyes. At the bottom right corner it said, in gold print, Kara Walker. I took the photo out of the folder and there was a copy of typed letter underneath it.
Nathan,
I am tired of your empty promises and lies. If you do not put me in your next movie, I will go to the media about our affair. You can deal with the hell your wife brings after that.
Kara
I typed “Kara Walker” into my iPhone.
“Kara Walker Death” appeared at the top of the search.
I tapped the screen.
August 11th, 2015
The body of Kara Walker, a 22-year-old actress from Minnesota who had stared in two films for Sun Star Studio, was recovered from the Pacific yesterday by a deep sea fisherman whose line became entangled with the corpse.No foul play is suspected at this time.
Boating accident.
The gust of cold wrapped around me and the photo shook.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
I set the folder on the floor.
Tomorrow I would call the police.
And then I was getting the hell out of Hollywood.
Itapped my nails against the window and gazed at the glittering Manhattan lights. Sam never shut up about the view the floor-to-ceiling windows gave us. Hell, he loved it so much it was amazing he never spent any time up here. But Sam worked hard at the firm—with the problem being that he played even harder outside of it.
And tonight was another night out with the boys.
Old friends died hard, and unfortunately the forty-something-year-old man-children that he still hung out with probably weren’t going anywhere soon.
But hey, I’d made the choice to marry a multi-millionaire investment broker thirteen years older than me, and now I was a thirty-four-year-old stepmom alone on a Saturday night in a three million dollar high-rise condo.
This was what alcohol was for I guessed.
I turned around and looked over the golden prison. For the third Saturday night this month, the onyx wet bar was going to be my date and the 70-inch plasma hanging from the brick wall between the windows was the entertainment. Of course, the pinball machines lined up against the wall opposite the TV were there for me when things really got dull, which they always did.
Might as well get started.
Sam had put the bar between the two bedroom entrances so he could slide right in there every morning and whip up a quick pre-work screwdriver. He kept it stocked like an uptown nightclub. I walked around the counter and grabbed a bottle of vodka off the shelf. Popping open the little fridge under the bar, I took out a bottle of diet tonic water and the little glass bowl of sliced limes. I mixed the drink and took a sip. The rough edge of the boring night faded a bit and I walked over to the purple, gold, and green desert impressionist painting hanging on the far side of the condo. I’d painted it the year before I met Sam and it was the last work I’d done since.
I took a sip of my drink. Time lost.
Three sharp knocks hit the door like a spastic judge’s gavel and my shoulders slumped.
There was only one person besides me and Sam who could make it up here without the doorman calling first
, and I was in no mood to deal with him.
I went to the door, took another sip of my drink, and opened it up to see Sam’s son, Talon, looking scrawny as ever in a black suit and open-collar black shirt.
“Hey, Sara,” he said as he walked past me.
Nine years as his stepmom and he wasn’t going to be calling me “mom” anytime son.
Not that I wanted him to.
Talon walked straight to the bar and poured himself a glass of scotch. Sam had been letting the twenty-three-year-old drink since he was fifteen and, if nothing else, the kid wasn’t a cheap drunk.
I noticed his hand jittering as he raised the glass.
“Where’s my dad?” Talon asked just before he took a drink.
“He’s out with his buddies. How’s school?” I asked, walking towards the bar.
“I’m quitting,” he said and walked around the bar to the window. He took another drink and stared out at the city.
Talon was a motor mouth but he seemed to be taking the night off, so I walked over to the leather couch in front of the TV and grabbed the remote, flipping the TV on.
In the corner of my eye I saw Talon kill off his drink and go back to the bar to make another. That was quick—even for him.
“Everything all right?” I asked as I switched the channel.
“Everything’s fine. I just need to see my dad.”
I bet you do.
The TV flickered and switched channels. I changed it back and it switched again. I hit the back button again and white static swarmed over the screen.
“Damn it,” I said quietly, trying a few different channels. I bit my lip and glared at Talon. Things just went bad when he was around.
The kid didn’t look good, though. His thin arms
and hollow cheeks made him look like he hadn’t eaten a real meal in a week and he had dark pockets under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in a few days.
Talon suddenly swatted at the air and then downed his drink, made another, and hurried into his old bedroom where he still crashed a few times a month. He slammed his door and I rubbed my face. I’d rather have him lock himself in there until Daddy came home then deal with him, but the mom—or stepmom—in me was a little concerned for him and I walked to his door. When I got to the door I turned the knob but it felt like a sumo wrestler was pushing back on the other side.
“Talon, let go of the door.”
He didn’t budge and I pushed harder but got nowhere—for an alcoholic runt the kid sure was strong.
“I’m not touching the door,” Talon said, his voice sounding thin and flat, like it was coming from the far side of the room.
The door suddenly swung open and I stumbled into his room.
Talon stood ten feet away staring out his window.
“God damn it, Talon,” I said, rubbing my hands together, “I don’t know how you did that but I will—”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Talon asked, still staring out the window.
My blood cooled a bit and I pushed my hair back and walked over to him. “What’s going on, Talon?”
“Two weeks ago I got into a high stakes poker game with this old guy. When it was over I was down 70k. I told him it would take me a few months to get the money together. The guy freaked out and started screaming. The next thing I know his face turned purple and he had a heart attack and died on the spot.”
“Jesus, Talon,” I said, rubbing my forehead.
Talon put his hand on the window. “A few days later is when it started.”
“What started?” I asked taking a step forward.
He turned his head to me, “This. He’s come back to collect.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, “Talon, look, have you thought about seeing somebody? You’re partying and gambling a ton, now you’re saying you’re dropping out of school—”
“You’re not my freaking mom, Sara,” Talon said as he looked back out the window again. He took a breath. “The first time it showed up was last Wednesday. It would blow in my ears, whisper to me when I was trying to sleep, slam doors.”
I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. I knew Talon used drugs, but I didn’t know how much. Maybe he was having a nervous breakdown or even a psychotic episode. “What would he whisper to you?” I asked.
Talon said nothing and just stared out the window.
“Talon.”
“What the hell do you think—that I owe him!” he snapped. He looked down and ran his hand through his scraggly black hair. “The morning after the first night, when I went outside I saw a very faded ace of spades kind of printed on the door of my apartment. It was really dull, almost not there, but I could see it.”
Talon looked up at me. “Stanley, the guy I’d lost the money to, he’d had an ace of spades tattooed on his forearm.”
“I’m going to get you a Xanax, Talon,” I said. I walked out of the room and into my bedroom. I went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and took out the little green bottle of pills. I then went back to the bar and poured him a glass of orange juice
“No!” Talon’s voice shot across the condo, “You’re dead, leave me alone!”
I ran back to Talon’s bedroom with the pills and the juice to see him sitting on his bed with his face buried in his hands. Opening the bottle, I took out two white pills and held them out. “Talon, I want you to take these.”
Talon took the Xanax and the juice. Putting the pills in his mouth, he took a gulp of juice and swallowed them. A few seconds went by and he smiled at me. “You know, Sara, it’s too bad you met my dad first.” He suddenly swatted at the air again and his face twisted red. “I told you I’d pay! It’s your fault you died like that anyways!” he yelled at nothing.
I bit my lower lip and shook my head. How did I wind up in this mess? A whacko, gambling stepson, a forty-seven-year-old husband who thought he was twenty-five ... that painting had been good.
One of the top art dealers in Soho had appraised it for almost thirty grand.
Talon’s body relaxed and the redness in his face went away, “One good thing about you being with my dad though—”
“Yeah?” I asked.
His mouth widened into a Joker grin. “At least you’re not out there punishing the world with your art.”
I let out a small chuckle, turned, and walked towards the door, “See you in the padded cell, Talon.”
I walked out of Talon’s room and into my bedroom. Grabbing my purse and car keys off the dresser, I went back into the living room and towards the apartment door.
“Where are you going?” I heard Talon ask from the entrance of his room.
“I don’t know,” I said without looking back, “but I’ll be back for my painting.”
“What should I tell my dad?”
“Whatever you want, Talon,” I stopped at the apartment door, put my hand on the knob, and looked back at him, “You always do.”
I opened the door and took a step out. I turned back around, “And Talon ...”
“Yeah?” he asked, his face now drooping like a lost puppy.
“Do something with your life.”
I slammed the door shut and before I could leave my eye caught a faded white marking on the upper left corner of the door’s beige wood. My heart beat a bit faster as I squinted at it. It was an “A.” Underneath it was the faint shadow of a spade.
“Son of a bitch,” I whispered. I ran my hand over the A and a streak of cold shot through my palm and into my body like someone had injected ice water into me. I took my hand away and my body warmed up again.
So ghosts are as real as pain-in-the-ass stepsons.
I thought about going back in but the last thing I needed was a pissed off ghost chasing me around. Hell, dealing with Talon - and Sam - had been enough of a headache for the past ten years. I nodded and walked down the gray carpeted hallway towards the elevator.
Ghosts and desert landscapes.
Perfect imagery for all the painting I would do in my new life.
Iflipped the switch on the wall and the office lights lit up the little army of white cubicles. It was late for me to be here, but I had to get the reports finished or life with management was going to be living hell tomorrow. Naturally, Ashley had been pissed when I told her I was coming back here tonight and she’d instantly started bugging me again about going into the deep sea fishing business with her brother.
But I didn’t get a Stanford MBA so I could go play in the ocean, and this was the way the corporate game was played. Work yourself to the bone, impress the right people, move up the ladder.
Very simple.
Unfortunately, Ash didn’t see it that way, and our two-year marriage was starting to strain. I guess she didn’t take me that seriously the night we first met when I’d told her I was a committed workaholic. Fortunately, the next promotion meant another twelve grand a year and money always had a funny way of making our relationship better.
The office was totally empty, which was good because I wanted to be out of there by 11:00 p.m. and I didn’t need any distractions. When I got to my cubicle by the window I set my laptop and office key card down, grabbed an energy drink from the machine in the break room, and got to work. The first hour pretty much floated by, but I could tell I wasn’t going to be anywhere near done with the reports until after midnight. I was going to need some more fuel, so I pushed my chair back and went to get another Red Bull.
When I got back the key card had fallen on the floor. I picked it up and set it back on the desk, stopping to look out at the lights glittering like little blue and green jewels in the LA night. I got back to work and about twenty minutes later I stretched my arms out and saw that the key card was gone. I looked down and saw it on the floor again. Was the desk slanted or so
mething? It didn’t seem like it was.
Who cares? Just focus so you can get out of here before midnight.
Another hour went by and I hit a snag when the computer server froze up. My face got hot and I scratched the back of my head with both hands. The server usually went out a few times a week; sometimes it lasted a few minutes, sometimes it lasted an hour, but either way I was in zero mood for this. I got up to go splash some cold water on my face. When I got to the men’s room, I pulled the door open, went over to the sink, and stared into the mirror. My eyes were a little bloodshot and I was pretty sure a couple of lines had popped up on my forehead in the past few months. Too much squinting at tiny numbers, I guessed.
Putting my hands under the faucet, the water kicked on and I splashed it onto my face. The hotness went away and I grabbed a paper towel. Drying myself off, I tossed the paper towel into the garbage and pushed the restroom door open.
The lights were flickering like they were having a seizure.
“Freaking great,” I whispered.
I stood there watching the office spastically flip from light to dark for almost thirty seconds and then the flickering suddenly stopped and the lights stayed on. My eyes ached a bit from the light show but I couldn’t let that stop me—another hour or so and I’d be out of here anyways. I started to walk back to my desk and a sharp thud like a thick stack of papers had been smacked against a desk shot across the office.
Someone’s here?
I walked past the cubicles to the other side of the office where the mangers’ offices were lined up. All the lights were off. No one was here.
Shaking my head I headed back to my desk. When I rounded the corner of my cubicle I saw my laptop upside down and my chair lying on its back next to the big cane plant in the corner of the room.
I’m knocking someone’s teeth out.
A stupid plastic chair was one thing, but the $1500 laptop was no joke and I felt my face get hot again. I turned the computer over and stormed through the office.
Everything was neat; everything was quiet.
The lights flickered again and my cell beeped. It was a text from Ashley.
“What time are you going to be home?”