METHOD

by Kate Stewart

  “Jesus, Lucas, who said anything about marriage?”

  “I just did,” he snaps without missing a beat, before scrutinizing my reaction. “Was that never a thought for you? Fuck, am I completely wrong about this, about us?”

  “No, Lucas, God, no, I just, I didn’t think…”

  “Think what?” he asks testily. “That I’m capable of marriage?”

  “Stop. I’m not her, stop putting words in my mouth.”

  “You look at me the way she does sometimes, like I’m an idiot.”

  “Yeah, well, I hope you’re getting that look from me right now because you’re acting like one!”

  He goes on as if he’s stuck in his own headspace instead of our conversation. “Maybe I fooled myself. Maybe we both did.”

  “Stop,” I say. “Stop it. Stop right now. This is ridiculous. We’re happy.”

  “But for how long? What will we talk about in twenty years?”

  My head shakes repeatedly as I speak. “What is wrong with you? She’s the ignorant one, she has no idea who we are.”

  “I’m not good enough! I’m not! I’m not on your level. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about sometimes and it kills me! I don’t know half the definitions of the words in your vocabulary!”

  He’s never yelled at me and instant tears spring to my eyes. “I had no idea,” I confess, chin wobbling.

  “Of course you didn’t, I’m a fucking actor, Mila! I can lie my way through walls. Why would your own boyfriend tell you he’s an illiterate fuck? He wouldn’t, he would just wait for your mother to figure it out for you.” He glances down at the console between us. “Maybe, it’s not so farfetched, maybe I’m really not the man for you.”

  Another crack, this one so deep I have to fight for breath.

  “Lucas, look at me, this is insane!”

  His voice is shaking as he grips the steering wheel. “I just think you truly deserve better.”

  “Please, don’t hurt me. Please, Lucas. Don’t break my heart, don’t break your own. We love each other, I don’t give a shit about your lack of education.”

  “But I do.”

  “This is really happening? You’re letting me go because you’re afraid you aren’t intelligent enough for me?”

  He bites his lip, his voice low when he manages to speak. “I think about it constantly.”

  “So what? I have to live with the scrutiny of the public, forever, just to be with you, you think that’s not something I think about? But I do it because I love you!” When he gives me silence for an answer, I bat away the sick feeling washing over me, summoning the rest of my fight.

  “Lucas,” I whisper, lifting my hand to his jaw. He jerks away from my touch, gripping my wrist and setting it between us.

  “I just don’t want you to regret me.” His eyes finally drift to mine resolute, and that’s when the glass bursts.

  Unimaginably shattered, I visibly crumble in front of him as he stares at me. I’m out of words, all of them falling away due to the jagged edges rustling inside my chest. Anger trumps hurt in those seconds and I embrace it.

  “You’re a coward. And this, this right here, is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” I sob, and he flinches the minute it fills the cabin of his Land Rover. Jumping out, I begin to shake uncontrollably at the anger coursing through me and the pain racing to catch up, not far behind. Lit up in his headlights, I slam my purse on his hood, livid, and meet his eyes through the glass. He watches me intently, and I can see his remorse, but my mind is also made up. “I regret you already, Hollywood!” I spout, not from the heart, but from the silver tongue my mother graced me with. “Don’t give me a second thought.”

  If he’s this clueless about my love for him, maybe he’s right, he’s a stupid fucking man. Stomping toward my porch, I let out a mewled cry just before I slam the door behind me, locking it and tossing my purse in the hall. I don’t even make it a step in before I slink down to the hardwood floor. For endless minutes I sit there, counting our days and nights together, crying my eyes out, unable to breathe, think, move.

  All of the time he spent convincing me that we were real, wasted.

  But I’d been so sure this time. I’d let him sweep me into the whirlwind, but never let my feet leave the ground until I was certain. And now it was far too late. My heart had memorized his, matched his rhythm and synced, declaring itself loyal.

  It will never be the same.

  I will never be the same.

  Never again.

  “There’s a point in time in your life where you think was I happy, or was I just not aware?”—Philip Seymour Hoffman

  Lucas

  ONE MONTH AGO

  Stagnant air recycles in the trailer as I light a cigarette to accompany my drink, taking a long sip of the stout liquid while I watch the old reel on my laptop screen. Maddie tosses a withering look at her opponent before spewing venomous lines. I take my cue, repeating them back to her with a bitter chuckle as I toss back the rest of my drink and pour another. She turns her head, the purse of her lips showing her annoyance, it’s one of her tells. And for a few seconds, I’m back in front of her.

  “You think you know me? You don’t know a damned thing about me. Take your assumptions and go back to your husband.” Maddie slaps me, and I move forward and grip her chin with rough fingers. “You need to leave, Mary, right now, before I throw you out of here.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpers as a tear falls down her cracked face. “I love you, Terrance.”

  I wiggle her chin in between my fingers before I let go. “You don’t know anything about it, doll.”

  Maddie straightens into her natural posture breaking the scene. “That was good, but next time you need to show more disdain with the last line. She’s been jerking your chain long enough.”

  “What is disdain?”

  “Another word for disgust. Go to the mirror,” she instructs. I do as I’m told and stand in front of the floor-length mirror. She watches behind me. “This isn’t a good habit to start because if you practice it this way and the director wants it another way, it can cause conflict, but we’ll do it today. Now, show me anger.”

  I flare my nostrils like she taught me and press my brows together. “Good. Now tell me about something that makes you cringe.”

  “I hate hot dogs. Mom boils them.” And we eat them at home practically every day.

  “Good, that’s good. Now make a face to show me how bad you hate the sight of them. The smell of them as they boil.”

  This time my nostrils flare, but my mouth waters at the thought and I look a little more of a mix of sick and angry.

  She lifts a painted-on brow, and I can tell she’s pleased.

  She repeats the line. “I love you, Terrance.”

  I push the words through my teeth. “You don’t know anything about it, doll.”

  “And that’s disdain.” She claps her hands with glee, and I grin. “Only thirteen-years-old and you can play any lead any writer dreams up. You’ve got it, kid. I’d say our work is done.”

  “Done?” I panic because running lines with Maddie for the last five years is all I’ve had to look forward to. I’ve been coming to her house every day since I was eight years old playing the part of Donald Ross, Troy Wilbur, Arnold Scott, and Terrance Cooper. These men are a part of me. I know their mannerisms, how they move, how they walk, and breathe. They are, despite being mostly bad men, my best friends and the fathers that raised me. Without them, I wouldn’t know who to be. It’s how I survive, as these men, as Maddie’s partner. It’s all I have.

  None of the kids in the trailer park are my age, and I don’t have any friends at school who live close by.

  Maddie reads my mind and pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry, there’s always room for improvement. Did you sign up for drama this year like I told you to?”

  “Yes,” I say sourly because I know what’s coming. A lot of shit from the kids I already despise.

  “Don’t worry.
You’ll find your tribe there.”

  “My tribe? In drama?” I roll my eyes. “Bunch of fags.”

  She slaps the back of my head. “Your parents are ignorant, so I’m going to let that slide just this once. Fag is no longer in your vocabulary. Do you understand me?”

  My thirteen-year-old brain is pissed at the burn on the back of my neck, but Maddie’s been good to me, always keeping a stock of burritos so I’m never hungry and I never much liked the word anyway. I nod, and her eyes soften, a tell that I’ve done something good. Maddie believes in tells over words and that you can always know the difference in what people feel and say by their signals. She said most men are too damned dumb for their own good and sometimes ‘I hate you’ means ‘I love you,’ that I’ve just got to pay close attention to tells because those are the truth. She says you can end up living years with a stranger if you can’t figure out what their eyes and hands say. I love watching the kids at my school for their tells. It’s a hobby of mine. I always know when Derick Jones is about to pounce me because his lip curls and he tightens his fists right before he strikes. It’s always with his right fist. Soft eyes are how I know Jessie Soto wants to talk to me, but she loses her nerve every time I get close. I wish she would talk to me. She hasn’t said a word to me since second grade when the lice got so big, they trailed down my forehead like a bunch of ants, and the teacher screamed before kicking me out of class.

  Maddie was the one to buy me the special shampoo and combed my head because my momma wouldn’t listen. It was one of the most embarrassing days of my life. No one spoke to me much after that. But they came up with enough nicknames to make sure I would never say a word to them. Maddie says my station in life will only be made greater through trials like this. I didn’t see how. She said I didn’t need to know anything yet.

  “Quit daydreaming and go get us some carrot juice,” she orders, pulling the fedora off my head and gathering the other props we’ve used.

  I walk over to her fridge and grab the glasses out of the dish drainer when a knock sounds on Maddie’s hollow door. I worry about her sometimes at night. She doesn’t have a lot of valuables, but she’s old and alone, so I sometimes watch out for her through my bedroom blinds until I fall asleep. Her husband died of a heart attack which Maddie only tells me about when she drinks, which isn’t much. He was a manipulator of the worst kind. She said she fell for him because she couldn’t ever memorize his tells. That’s what drew her to him and led to her losing both her fame and fortune.

  “Maddie,” my mother’s voice sounds, and it’s then I fully understand the word disdain because her tone is full of it. “My boy needs to get back home. And he won’t be coming over for a while.”

  Maddie shoots me a worried look over her shoulder as she holds the door tightly to her. “Can I ask why? Has he done something wrong?”

  “Because he’s almost thirteen and he needs to be spending time with kids his own age. Not some old lady.”

  Maddie takes immediate offense. My mother might as well have shot her. “But it was okay when you needed someone to watch him all these years so you could work.”

  My mother pauses as if she didn’t expect Maddie to put up a fight. “That was different.”

  “You mean convenient for you, until you got fired.”

  “I paid you.”

  “Ten dollars a week,” she says sourly.

  “And you took it.” I know that tone. My mother is about to blow, and Maddie is close. I gather my book bag and head to the door. “Anyway. He’s old enough now that he doesn’t need keeping.”

  “He still needs to be looked after. He needs guidance.”

  “He’s coming home. That’s the end of it.”

  Maddie glances my way, the same fear in her eyes as I’m sure she sees in mine.

  “I’ll be back,” I mouth. She nods as her eyes trail over me like I’m her entire world, and I feel the same because she’s mine. Her trailer is my escape. And this world we create gives me the break I need from my parents and their crap.

  I move to stand at the door and stare down at my mother who cuts eyes the color of mine up to me in a dark blue robe that’s seen better decades. She jerks her head in the direction of our trailer. “Come on.”

  I step outside and turn to Maddie who nods at me, forcing a smile and her signature wink. “See you soon, boy.”

  It’s the first time my heart ever broke, and I can feel the tear between us as my eyes swell. I’d been by her side since I was eight years old and there’s something so unnatural about what’s happening that I immediately stop my feet and start to protest.

  “No, Mom, I’m good over here. I’ll be home before dinner.”

  “Home, now!”

  Maddie chirps up from behind me. “Mind your mother, Lucas.”

  But I shake my head. “This is bullshit, Mom! What happened? Did Dad hurt you again?”

  My mother snaps to attention, looks back at Maddie embarrassed and then leans in to me with a vicious bite. “You have no business at your age staying with that woman. You’re growing.” My mother leans in, brows quirked. “Is she asking you to touch her?”

  My eyes widen. “What? No!”

  Maddie’s door slams shut before we hear the shatter of glass. I glare at her accusingly. “She heard you!”

  “Good, she needs to keep her paws off my son!” she shouts past me toward Maddie’s trailer.

  “All we do is run lines!” I say, standing my ground. “What’s wrong with that? I need all the practice I can get!”

  She harrumphs. “You should be playing football or something. That’s not good for you.”

  “What do you care what’s good for me!?” I dig my feet in as she tries to pull me toward our trailer. “There’s nothing to do in there!”

  “You need to study and make good grades,” she says, clearing the two cement steps up to push the broken button on our screen door.

  “All of a sudden you’re a mother?” I yell at her from where I stand. “She’s more a mother to me, and you know it.” I must have lost my mind, but my tirade is cut short when she looks back at me.

  “What’s that red mark on your face?”

  “What?”

  She peers closer. “Did she slap you?”

  “No, Mom! We were just acting.”

  “She hit you?”

  “No, that’s your job when you drink too much, smoke all your cigarettes, and have no one else to blame.”

  The truth barely pauses her tirade. “She’s an old weirdo. You either stay away from her or I’m calling the cops!”

  And with those words, my universe crumbles.

  The next day when I get home from school, there’s a dictionary and a glass of carrot juice on the steps of my trailer. I look over to see Maddie staring through the window and drink the juice in a few gulps before I begin to walk toward her door using the glass as an excuse. She shakes her head as I approach and lets her curtain fall. I grab the dictionary and open it to see a note scribbled on the back of the front cover.

  I don’t know why this is happening, my boy, but everything in life is a test, and you have to be ready to play the part. I don’t know what they’re teaching you in school, but you’re going to need a better vocabulary to make it in the biz. Drink your juice.

  X

  Maddie

  Maddie died alone of pneumonia in her sleep the day after my fifteenth birthday. She was only sixty years old. She didn’t have enough money or a way to get the medical attention she needed. Actually, she did have enough money to be seen, but she’d refused to waste it saving her life in order to save mine. Some may not see it that way, but when you’re in the shittiest and most desperate of circumstances the way we were, you have no choice but to see it. Giving up anything when you have nothing is the biggest of sacrifices. And she did save me. What she left was just enough to get me a ticket to Hollywood and off the streets for a few weeks. It was a chance, and that’s all it was, and I took it. Because I wanted out of that hell
and because I wanted to make her proud.

  Her hopes were all pinned on me. I’d bidden my time until my parents started taking my paychecks. Luckily, I’d had my girlfriend Jessie hide some of my cash at her house. She was loaded and looked out for me. Aside from leaving her behind, I didn’t hesitate when my father and I had it out over their constant harping on payday. I had no future there. None. And no amount of sitting idle would help it. Some family had moved into Maddie’s trailer a few weeks after she died, and it was all I could do to watch life moving on without her. I didn’t leave my parents in the trailer in West Virginia. The only parent I had died. So I took her money, kissed the girl that took my virginity, and left.

  And I did it.

  I did it all.

  I fulfilled our every dream. But even as I should be satisfied, I’m not. I’m considered the picture of success in my community and I feel like I’m nowhere. Because I’m still the same kid worrying if the lights are going to get cut off in freezing temperatures. Still afraid they’ll see the scars from my scratching when I shave my head for a role. Still the same bastard whose dad came home drunk from NASCAR and told him his mother was a whore and he’d played daddy long enough. I’d fooled them all. All of them, except my wife. Even now I see the pity in her eyes when my childhood comes up. Money, fame, it’s all a fucking lie we tell ourselves, and others strive for.

  “Maddie, what the fuck is all this for?” I whisper as I peer out into the parking lot from my trailer. At first, it was a means to get out of hell. To make something of myself. And then somehow it got twisted into a pile of ambition where I now find myself unrecognizable. I’ve got nothing left to prove, no goals to aim for.

  I’m on top of my mountain. I got the money, the career, the girl. I’ve got everything I could possibly want, and yet nothing I genuinely need, aside from Mila. She’s growing tired of my charade, and pretty soon she’s going to realize I’m just a fucked-up guy who says some words on camera, who’s void inside, and then where will we be?

  Did Blake feel this vacant when he was on top? Or was looking up at the mountain a lot worse after hitting ground? It had to be. Then again, we’d both seemed happier in the struggle, at least in the beginning. There was so much to look forward to, so many milestones to reach. Maybe we were both happier with the idea, the lie that if we got to a certain place, that place is where we would find it, whatever it is.