As Drifters commenced the shooting of its last episode, and Charlie was expected imminently in conjunction with the wedding gifts starting to arrive at La Casa, the earth was suddenly shaken beneath Jessie’s feet in a way she’d hoped she would never have to experience again. It rocked her world and sent her spiraling into a new - yet terribly old - darkness, and it was the closest to the edge of the abyss she would come since leaving Charleston.
Shockingly, and out of character since Jessie, Mary Helen and the staff of the shelter had begun to believe in her, Terri went missing. She had been working at Revolver for about four weeks when, one Thursday night, she didn’t turn up for curfew. Since moving into the shelter months before, Terri had not once missed the eight p.m. evening deadline, and that evening there was a special birthday dinner planned for her roommate that everyone at the home knew she would not miss. Yet, there she was – gone.
Mary Helen didn’t call Jessie until early Monday morning. Secretly she hoped Terri was just out with friends from her new job, or perhaps relapsing, but only short term, as some of the girls occasionally did, and that she would be home after the weekend. Mary Helen did, however, call the police, but other than putting out an APB they generally subscribed to the notion that ‘those who do not want to be found cannot, for the most part, be found.’ The police on the Downtown Eastside beat were always busy dealing with the despondent, the addicted; runaway teenage girls were prevalent on the sketchy sidewalks.
When Jessie got the call, she was in the red Mustang running through a Tim Horton’s drive thru grabbing a coffee, about ten minutes late for Call. She was scheduled to arrive at base camp at eight that morning, and had already spent a few hours writing a new song for the fall tour – it floated around in her brain all night begging Jessie to get up and write; at five she finally gave in. It was difficult to leave the piano and head for set – stunting one’s creative process when the juices were flowing and things were moving along well was always difficult for Jessie. She liked things finished, complete. That way she had some semblance of control over her world. Unfinished business unsettled Jessie.
She answered her cell while waiting in the Tim Horton’s drive thru line-up wishing ROAM Coffee was on route to the Drifters camp. She had made a promise to herself not to drive while talking on the phone, even with a hands-free unit, but she didn’t see the urgency of that while one was stuck, unmoving, in a coffee take-out line-up. Seeing Mary Helen’s number pop up on the cell’s display so early in the morning, Jessie’s heart jumped, but she pushed an impending anxiety away as the green Mazda Tribute in front moved ahead and she idled slowly forward.
“Hi MH,” she breezed. “What’s up?”
She knew instantly that something was indeed out of sync in the universe when Mary Helen spoke, her tone terse and urgent.
“Jessie,” she said. “I’ve been trying to reach Deirdre but she’s not answering.” She took a breath.
Jessie filled in the pause. “She’s in New York for the third time this month.” Then, “What’s up, Mary Helen?”
As she listened to the shelter’s manager and all-round resident housemother tell the story, Jessie felt a deep-seated fear she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Sure, she knew better than to have gotten attached to Terri because Jessie knew more than most just how tenuous life could be with a recovering drug addict. Josh flashed in her mind. She sometimes worried for him, too, and occasionally found herself wondering at the fact that he’d even been cast on a show with such expectations and pressures as Drifters. But that was Josh, and this was Terri. And right now, the skinny, freckled teen was missing from the Downtown Eastside.
And that, Jessie knew, was a crisis.
***
“Mary Helen, you should have called me on Friday!”
Jessie was trying to keep her cool, but she was not successful in any way, shape or form. Her voice was high and pitchy. She could not admit to herself how much Terri meant to her, how much the young girl reminded her of the good friend lost to drugs barely a decade ago in Charleston. How much, in fact, Terri reminded her of herself. How much hope and faith she had in the girl’s ability to defeat the curse of street drugs, to keep a job, meet a good man, settle down and have a family – to live the normal life Jessie coveted.
Jessie had arrived at the shelter in record time. Storming up the two inside stairways, she found the older woman responding to the stress by engaging in a bathroom-cleaning spree, too close to tears to respond to Jessie’s exclamation. Normally a hard-hitting calm, cool woman, she too was desperately worried about Terri. But she had messengers out on the streets – connections – they would report on anything they found, any clue to Terri’s whereabouts. Her face a pale ashen grey, she had been at the shelter long enough to know what could happen to an unprotected teen out there on her own. Jessie felt immediately remorseful for taking her own worry out on this kind, hardworking woman.
She stepped past the sparkling toilet and gave the older woman a hug.
“Keep trying to reach Deirdre,” she insisted. “And call me if you hear anything.” She headed towards the door, and then looked back. “Anything!” she demanded.
Mary Helen found her voice. “Jessie,” she said in a whisper. Then, “Jessie!”
Jessie paused but didn’t look back. She stared at the Oriental rug covering the parquet floor, tilted her head and listened.
“Jessie, you can’t go out there looking for Terri. You know that. And if I let you go, Charles and Dee will never forgive me.”
“I lived on the streets for a good chunk of my life, Mary Helen. I know what to expect. I’m not afraid.”
“Yes, but you didn’t have Oscars on your shelf. People weren’t singing your songs, Jessie, as they cruise down Hastings Street!”
Whipping around, Jessie raised her voice. Precious seconds were passing them by. “Hell, they can sing them as they shoot up in front of me, they won’t notice or care who I am. All they are concerned about is their next fix. I’ll be fine. Anyways, I have friends out there who’ll look out for me.”
“Jessie, please, just let the police do their job. If anything happens to you, I’ll have the whole world up my ass…your wedding is coming up, for God’s sake!” Pleading, Mary Helen lunged forward and gripped the bathroom door as Jessie started down the stairs, pulling a grey hoodie up over her head.
“Just call me if you hear anything.” Her footsteps echoed in the big house, then faded as she slammed the door behind her.
Leaving the shelter, Jessie hurried up the street towards Hastings, cursing because she’d forgotten to ask Mary Helen if she had called Terri’s mother in Oregon. But then – why worry the woman until necessary? The grinding feeling in the pit of Jessie’s stomach was nauseating. And here she was setting up more shelters in other North American cities. No wonder she usually kept her distance and tried not to get attached. No wonder she was marrying Charlie instead of taking a chance on Josh.
As she turned the corner and wandered purposefully down East Hastings, Jessie fought the urge to call Matt, her head of security. She could likely use some help, but she knew he would insist she go home and wait it out while he and his team nosed around in the filthy crack houses and drug dens. And she also knew that, regardless of who people thought she had become over the last many years, she was, and always would be, homeless Jessie Wheeler from Prince Edward Island, Canada. And Jessie Wheeler was, and always would be, a part of these here mean streets.
From a cracked fourth floor window on Hastings, Deuce McCall lifted a Cuban cigar to his lips, flexing his stovepipe forearms. Well, he mused. That was easier than I thought it would be. There she was, below him, dodging the losers on Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside, occasionally stopping to ask questions. And all he’d had to do was wait for the day Terri - purported by a roommate to be Jessie’s ‘favorite’ - had a shitty day at work, then offer her some percs she could crush, melt and inject. Bingo, he had his test subject. So friggin’ easy it shouldn’t be legal
. Well, hell, he thought. It ain’t legal!
Sardonically, he chortled, then puffed the cigar between pale pink lips, wondering who his next target should be. She didn’t seem to be hanging around that Josh guy…maybe it should be Charlie after all? Or the producer, Charles Keating? His society wife, Deirdre? Who meant the most to Jessie these days?
Even Deuce’s diabolical mind couldn’t have predicted just how well things would end up in his favor. Oh, but he was a lucky man.
***
Even actors take the occasional sick days, some more than others. Jessie was not known for them – sniffles or nasty menstrual cramps, she generally worked through the pain and discomfort. So there was a buzz on set as folks wondered just where she was and why she was not slogging out this day with the rest of them. Jonathon had to work with his first and second ADs to change the day’s shooting schedule. They’d been informed it was likely she would not be in at any point during the day. Jonathon just hoped she would indeed be back tomorrow.
Some of the crew were joking that Charlie was back in Van and that the lovers were taking an early honeymoon. But Josh doubted that to be the case – even though he disliked any thought of Jessie with Charlie in any intimate manner, he realistically knew that no way would she miss a scheduled day of shooting to hang out with Charlie, or anyone else for that matter. She was a workaholic – Jessie was committed to Drifters. Besides, she knew what havoc would be created if she wasn’t there – Jessie was in almost every scene that day. She wouldn’t do that to Jonathon, to the crew, to the rest of the cast, to him.
As everybody scrambled around with the revised sides for the day, learning new lines and preparing for locations that hadn’t been prepped and costumes that weren’t clean and ready, Josh sat down on the steps of the schoolhouse with Stephen and Sue-Lyn. All were quiet, wondering. What could have detained Jessie? They’d been texting and calling her, but so far she hadn’t responded.
“She must be super sick,” Sue-Lyn offered. “She could be in the hospital with appendicitis or something.”
“She better be sick, or I’m going to put her in the hospital myself for making me learn tomorrow’s lines a day early,” Stephen joked, looking down at his cell quizzically as Maggie arrived and pretended to club him.
“Geez, Steve,” she said, plopping down beside Josh. “Narcissistic much?”
“I’m kidding,” he said, whipping out his cell and showing the screen to the others. “Anyways, she just texted me back.”
“Finally,” Sue-Lyn gasped. “Let’s hear it!”
“Is she okay?” Maggie demanded, trying to grab the phone as Steve waved it over his head out of her reach. It was everything Josh could do not to reach out himself. He almost had to sit on his hands while Steve read the text.
Crisis at the shelter on Downtown Eastside really sorry
They all paused, pondering what lay beneath the cryptic message.
Then –
“Hey!” Sue-Lyn called as Josh got up and headed back up the hill towards base camp.
“Well,” Steve said casually, watching his friend whip off his black hat and flag down a cast van carrying that episode’s guest star to set. “Looks like we may be learning another set of new lines today.”
Sue-Lyn stood up, leaned a hand on Maggie and carefully sidestepped to where Josh had just been sitting moments before. She started to follow Josh but Steve grabbed her hand and gestured magnanimously towards the step.
“Sit,” he demanded.
“But…”
“But nothing,” he said. “Stay.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“Ruff.” He played with her hair and tickled her as Maggie gave Sue-Lyn a big bear hug. It worked – it was a good diversion. The last thing any of them needed was the rest of the cast down amongst the unknown menace on East Hastings.
Plus, Steve found himself thinking. Charlie isn’t home yet. Over the last few months, watching Josh and Jessie fight their demons and remain civil to each other and then become something akin to good friends, Steve had begun to accept the fact that something deeper than a lustful fling had been at play between the two. At the very least, they’d shared a lot of time together under the relative safety of the cottonwood tree and, if Jessie needed a trusted friend right now, Steve knew it should be Josh.
Besides, he thought, as Josh swung open a door and jumped into the red van, they’ll likely be back by mid-afternoon.
***
It was just about nightfall before Josh even found Jessie. It had started to mist in Vancouver; a soft moisture permeated the warm air, necessitating a frequent hand on the windshield wipers, switching them constantly on and off. Josh finally spied Jessie through beads of trickling rain that lent her a distorted, warped, amorphous presence. She was wandering down a side street, having just left a derelict three story white clapboard house, her hoodie up, head down, hands in pockets, and the ubiquitous yellow Chucks on her aching, tired feet. By then Josh had been trolling the streets in his pick-up for hours, feeling like he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t soon find her.
Charles was now at the shelter with Matt after hours of walking and driving around, eyeballing the streets. Both were cursing Jessie big time for not answering Mary Helen’s calls, or their calls. But Josh knew why – he and Jessie had talked about life among the homeless. Without giving away any of her personal secrets, Jessie had told him about the code of the streets. The cops were searching for Terri, and likely for her as well. That was more than enough. Jessie did not need any other extraneous people out there wandering into drug dens looking for the wayward teen. Josh felt it was likely Jessie had turned her phone to silent, and then just checked once in a while for messages.
Yet when she looked up, bone weary, and saw Josh’s pick-up pull in crookedly next to the sidewalk, she almost collapsed with simple gratitude. On the outside, she was a hardened street person, impenetrable as Fort Sumter on a blustery day prior to the American Civil War. In her core, she ached for someone to just step up and take charge, to hold her and make the bad things just go away. And there, all of a sudden, was Josh.
He hopped gracefully out of the familiar truck, slammed the door behind him, and stepped towards her. When he got close enough, he reached out with his left hand and grabbed her bicep, pulled Jessie towards him, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. It took her a second, but gradually the hands came out of the pockets and slipped around his waist. He was wearing a black T-shirt with a picture of the Red Hot Chili Peppers on the front – he and Steve had gone to the concert to celebrate Josh’s birthday a few months back. Faded jeans and brown leather Vans were the rest of his comfort clothes that day, and around his neck hung a small silver medallion on a leather thong. His forearm had healed nicely – he was tanned and building muscle again. Jessie felt she hadn’t seen such a sight for sore eyes in a very, very long time. It had been a stressful day. She closed her eyes and nestled her face into that magical hollow between his shoulder and neck, and breathed in trust and friendship.
They stood wrapped around each other in the dewy June twilight while she composed herself. Not for the first time, Jessie caught herself thinking Josh felt like home. Josh lifted his right hand and ran tender fingers through the droplets in her hair. Eventually, Jessie forced herself to pull away from him and peek sorrowfully into his eyes. He touched her damp cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“Any sign?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your texts.”
“You should be. But I get it. I’m not sure Charles and Dee do, though. Or Mary Helen.” He held up his phone, which he had just removed from his pocket. “I have to let them know you’re okay. All right?”
Silently she nodded, and waited as he punched in a quick text to Charles.
“Have you eaten?” he asked after he tapped send.
She shrugged. “Not really hungry.”
As he led Jessie to his truck, his strong fingers clasped securely around her s
maller ones, Josh opened the passenger door and wondered what it was about Jessie’s past that had accumulated to make her this way – some people clung to others for every little thing. This girl seemed to push people away, even in a crisis. He made sure she was settled, then closed the door behind her and walked around the truck. Climbing in, Josh reached out and laid a hand on her cheek. He stroked her face with his thumb, and then applied a little pressure to encourage her to turn her head and look up at him. She looked so small; a worried figure hunkered down in his big pick-up, wasted from the warring elements of the day, her heart laid bare.
Josh turned the key and pulled a U-turn in the quiet street. He took Jessie to A & W on Broadway and Commercial, which wasn’t the healthiest option, but at least it was reasonably close. They ordered Mama Burgers with cheese, and shared a large root beer and onion rings. They sat in his truck and ate, and it was then that Jessie looked at him and truly wondered what life would be like as Josh’s partner. Through their parts as Kate and Billy over the last many months, they’d emerged from a shaky start. As butterflies from cocoons, their friendship evolved, albeit with a certain comfortable reticence. Lately, they often hung out together on set or at social occasions without feeling the need to speak, and there was a certain ease in that quiet, unspoken presence together. Now, Jessie lost herself in Josh’s eyes and once again ached for more. She’d learned over time that, despite his own precarious past, he was a kind and generous man, still a bad boy in the press, but a good and true friend who was well liked by those who were finally starting to know him.
A Song For Josh, Drifters Book One Page 23