He thinks I’m a drug dealer? Camden thought. Thank God!
“Lew, I’m not selling drugs.”
“Well, you’re not serving at Hamburger Haven either.”
“No, like I said, I quit.”
“Last year.”
Camden sat there in the quiet of his guilt. There was no contradicting the truth, but there was a way to sidestep it. And though Camden loathed to do it, he’d heard that word travelled fast in Hollywood, though he couldn’t recall from where.
“Okay, Lew, you got me. I … I met a woman, older, well, older than me anyway. Divorced, lonely. She doesn’t mind helping me out.”
Lew cracked a wide smile and leaned back in his chair. “Well there you go! Why didn’t you just tell me?” Camden almost spoke, but Lew held his hands out and said, “No, no, don’t bother, of course, you’re not gonna go around telling everybody that. Still, there’s nothing wrong with it, not that I can tell. It’s Hollywood. So, live and let live, right?”
“Right,” Camden said, not wanting to show his relief. “So, can we talk about my next audition?”
“We can now,” Lew said, glancing around his desk and finding a business card. He handed it to Camden. “Langford Productions, doing a biopic of Paul Lynde.”
“Who?”
“Hollywood Squares? Bewitched?” Camden could only shrug. “Actor from the seventies, the Queen of Prime Time. So they’re playing up the whole gay underbelly thing. It’s like Club 54 meets Boogie Nights meets, I dunno, Casino or Goodfellas or something. I haven’t read it, tell you the truth. But it’s for HBO, so it’s gotta be good. And I got you a slot, tomorrow at ten.”
Camden glanced at the business card. “They want me to play this guy?”
“One of his lovers, I’m guessing. You don’t have a problem with that?”
Camden didn't have to think about it long. “Well, no, a good role is a good role.”
“That’s the spirit. And this time you need any role you can get.” Lew winked at him and leaned back in his chair. “Gimme a call after, lemme know how it went.”
Looking at his father’s reflection on the computer screen in front of him, Camden smiled, “How’s it goin’, superstar?” Gerald Kalan said as he leaned forward, his face becoming bigger on the Skype window dominating Camden’s laptop screen. Besides his short, graying hair and aging face, the resemblance to himself was hard to miss. Camden always felt he was looking into his future with every chat, but that wasn’t enough to make Camden miss their weekly appointment.
“It’s going good, Pop,” Camden said, letting his Boston accent leak out just a bit, knowing it made his father comfortable. “How’s everything back home?”
“Fine, just fine, already raining horse-cocks outside.”
“Pop, c’mon, I could have a girl here, you don’t know.”
“Oh sure. Y’know, I wouldn’t mind at least one grandson before I go meet your mother at the pearly gates.”
“Pop — ”
“I know, I know, you’ve got your career. Any good news? How’s that scumbag agent treating you?”
“Pop!”
“What? He just seems downright scummy to me, always has.” Gerald expressed.
“He’s doing the best he can,” Camden said, trying to believe the words that were coming from his mouth.
“I’m just saying, if your career hasn’t taken off yet, maybe it’s not exactly your fault, ya know?”
Camden released a long, tired sigh. “He got me an audition for tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh yeah? For what?”
Considering his father’s predilection for backward thinking, one of Camden’s principle inspirations for moving across the country, he thought better than to go into detail about what kind of story it would be or what kind of character he might be playing.
“Not sure,” Camden said, “some cable thing, no big deal.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, Camden.”
“Pop — ”
“What? They don’t have any good Catholic agents out there in Lala Land?”
“Some, but they're all working for the Church.”
“Oh, very funny. Maybe instead of being an actor, you should be a comedian.”
Camden cracked a smile and offered a consolatory nod. “Maybe I should. I gotta go, Pop. I love you, take care.”
“You too, kiddo. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The click of the touchpad to close the Skype window coincided exactly with the pop of a Champagne bottle in the living room. Camden stepped out to see his roommate, Kate Walsh holding the opened bottle, a waft of icy mist rising up out of the mouth.
“Kate, isn’t it a little early to celebrate?”
Kate’s eyes and mouth were wide, big and round, much like the rest of her. She often reminded Camden of a vanilla ice-cream sundae, three big, round pale scoops topped with a head of chocolate-sauce hair, her red nose, the cherry on top.
But she was just as sweet, too, and Camden was often struck with the same thought: Who doesn’t like ice-cream?
“You’re gonna get it, Camden, I can feel it in my bones. Anyway, it’s after five.”
Camden checked his watch and chuckled, “It’s only three.”
“I didn’t mean in this time zone, silly.” She handed him an empty glass and she filled it, then her own. She set down the bottle and they toasted, the glasses clinking between them. “Here’s to your career.”
“I guess I can drink to that.” He considered and took a sip, the crisp and bubbly drink undeniably satisfying.
“Paul Lynde, how exciting. I love him. I can’t believe he thought of all those jokes on Hollywood Squares just off the top of his head like that. So talented.”
Camden shrugged. “I really don’t know anything about him. I should probably hit Youtube, check out some docs.”
“Absolutely … later. Right now, we’re having a party!”
“Kate, I really gotta watch it. All this drinking, I’m almost thirty, I can’t afford to age myself any more than God’s doing for me.”
“Oh, c’mon, you’re gorgeous and you know it.” Kate batted her eyes, the way she often did. Camden tried to ignore it, the way he always did.
“Well, just one,” he said, having little else to say before downing the drink.
She refilled their glasses. “I’ve heard that before an audition, it’s always a good idea to be nice and relaxed; get real loose, y’know?”
“And where’d you hear that?”
“Actors come into the bar all the time. I’ve heard it all, roomie.”
Camden tried to shrug it off. “I’ve got exercises I do to get ready.”
“Oh, I know you do,” Kate said, her eyes tracing Camden’s strong arms and muscle-caked torso. “I know you got lots of exercises and things, and I know you’re so good at them … so good … ” she said, getting lost in a private fantasy.
“Okay look, Kate, we’ve been dancing around this flirting, but it’s really gotta stop.”
“Why, Camden? It’s because I’m a big girl, isn’t it?”
“Kate — ”
“Oh just say it; you’re a hunk and I’m a chunk, that’s what it always comes down to.”
“We’re friends, Kate, roommates. That would get ruined.”
Kate leaned forward, eyes getting even rounder with her fervent optimism. “It wouldn’t have to. It wouldn’t have to be a whole love thing, I don’t care about that. I’m just talking about … you know, benefits.”
“But that’s not what I want, Kate, that’s never been what I was looking for.”
Kate set the bottle down on the coffee table with a deliberately heavy thunk. “So it’s okay for you to go have sex with women for money but you won’t hook a sister up?”
“Kate — ” he said exasperated, having had this conversation too many times before.
“You’re such a hypocrite. You’re waiting around for Miss Right, for the love of your life, then you go around
doing what you do? What a joke.”
A long, awkward silence passed between them, Camden releasing a long and reflective sigh. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Kate.”
She leaned forward again, another little burst of hope in her eyes. “Yeah?”
“About some things. But I’m not looking for Miss Right, anymore. I think I may have found her.”
Kate’s big eyes dipped shut, lips pouting ready to land a big wet kiss, “Oh, Camden … ”
“Her name … is Amy.”
Kate’s eyes opened again, her parted lips closing, posture slumping. “Oh … Amy.”
Chapter 17
Camden
The waiting room of Langford Productions was packed with men between eighteen and twenty-five years old. At twenty-eight, Camden knew he was the oldest one in the room, and he also knew that was a very bad sign.
He signed his name on the bottom of a long list, the pretty receptionist as unimpressed with him as with everybody else. “Just take a seat,” she said for the hundredth time that day, at it wasn’t even noon.
Camden sat down and glanced at the other men around him. They were all comparably tall and handsome, some with long hair, others with short cuts and some shaved completely bald. The majority of them were white, though a few were black and there were a few with light brown latin complexions.
He had faced many roomfuls of such men countless times in his struggling career. They’d chased off better actors than he, men more confident and more experienced, but for some reason, the competition only inspired Camden to press on, with even greater determination if for no other reason than to prove them wrong.
But as the years went on, he had to wonder if they really had been wrong, if he wasn’t just stubbornly standing his ground like some old croc at a watering hole that was fast drying up, the beast dying in the mud rather than give up what was fast becoming untenable ground.
But the world had trained him to be committed, to dig in and not give in, to be resilient, a fighter. And if there was still a chance of making his father proud, Camden was willing to keep trying. Just one more audition, he told himself, just one more shot.
And Camden also knew that he had little choice. Longshadows was keeping him alive, but he didn’t see a future in it. With Kate’s words ringing in his memory, he felt more and more that it wasn’t where he belonged. But neither was South Boston. And Camden had spent so much time and energy trying to become an actor that he was looking at a future that had little else to offer him, and to which he had little else to offer.
After what seemed like hours, they called his name and Camden took a deep breath before stepping into the executive office.
They were very friendly and receptive, glancing at Camden’s headshot and resumé. “Okay, Camden,” the woman said without standing up. “I’m Claire Appleby, producer. This is Tyler Tate and Randall Ott, director, and executive producer.” She was a slight and pretty redhead, flanked by two casually dressed men with fast-food guts and graying stubble.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Camden said, taking his place in front of the desk.
Claire handed him two sheets of screenplay manuscript. “It’s okay,” he said, “I’m off book.”
The woman and her male colleagues shared impressed glances and she said, “Okay, let’s do the speech then. I’ll give you the pickup lines. Ready?”
Camden shook out his limbs and twisted his head to release any extra tension in his neck. “Go for it.”
The woman read in a stilted tone, “You were never anything more to me than a diversion, don’t you know that?”
“Yeah,” Camden said from memory, “I knew that, I always knew that. What could be less important in the world than somebody like me, especially to somebody like you? You’ve got everything you thought you wanted; wealth, fame, top of the world.” Camden thought about Amy, about what she’d faced and tried to overcome, and about his own challenges to prevail over a different and almost opposite set of challenges. Camden knew at that moment that he and Amy were two different sides of the same coin, one wealthy and one poor, neither contented or complete.
Without the other.
He went on, “You finally made it out of Mt. Vernon; Paul Lynde, America’s favorite bitch. But what did you find out here, Paul, what have you really created for yourself? You’re just the man in the center square, trapped in a little box you couldn’t get out of if you tried. It’s a cage with golden bars, Paul, and you’re in it for life.”
A lingering silence filled the office after Camden’s performance, and the female film executive offered a curt smile. “Okay, thanks for coming in.”
Camden smiled and thanked them and made his way out, certain that he’d never see any of them again.
He headed down to his car, parked on the crowded Sunset Boulevard. No chance they’ll hire me, Camden told himself. I’m too old, and they didn’t care about that performance. Maybe it wasn’t even any good. I thought it was, and I’ll bet Amy would have appreciated it, but maybe neither one of us truly knows what we’re talking about.
Amy.
Camden shook it off, trying not to think about her.
Get that girl outta your head, Camden’s inner-self warned him. She’s off to something else by now, no question. Now that she’s been turned on, she’s probably on a flight to Amsterdam ready to go buck wild or something. Bet she’s not sitting around thinking about some failed wannabe actor!
Maybe I should follow her lead, Camden silently suggested to himself. Maybe it’s time to admit this whole actor thing is pointless. Even if I succeeded, what does it all amount to anyway? All this fiction, all these lies, one upon another. Love will always discover the truth indeed. What truth is there in my life to reveal?
What love is there?
Camden’s phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket, Lew Weiss’ name on the screen. Damn, Camden scolded himself, forgot to call. Time to give him the bad news, I guess.
“Lew, hi,” Camden said, pressing a smile. “Sorry, I forgot to call, it was such a long wait —”
“No worries, Cam, no worries at all. I just heard from the girl at Langford.”
“Look, Lew, they were pretty unreceptive. As soon as I walked in, I knew they — ”
“You got a call-back.”
“I … what?”
Lew chuckled. “What can I tell ‘ya, Cam? They liked the cut of your jib.” Camden wasn’t sure how to respond, confusion clogging his throat. “They’re gonna want you to come in for some readings, photographs, things like that. Think you can keep your schedule open?”
“Well … sure, Lew, of course.”
“Excellent. Congrats, Cam, I’m really glad for you.”
“Yeah, thanks, Lew. I mean, I haven’t got the job yet. But either way, I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Just keep that in mind when you’re a huge star, okay? I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 18
Amy
Amy couldn’t wait to execute her plan. She’d been disappointed with Shin Lu’s rejection of her second appointment with Camden, but she was only deterred, and not even for very long. Camden had given her his name, and she knew he was an actor, so it wasn’t too hard to track him down online.
From there, getting his address was even easier.
Amy couldn’t resist the thrill she was getting from tracking Camden down, almost like she was stalking him. She knew that he’d felt the same mutual attraction that she felt, and she was determined to find out if they had a future together, regardless of what anybody at Longshadows had to say about it.
That nagging voice in the back of Amy’s head was continuously warning her against it, with every reasonable and logical argument. Just because he came up with some dumb love quote doesn’t mean he wasn’t just acting. That was dialogue, it wasn’t real! He might have a girlfriend, no good can come of interloping into his private world!
But it didn’t stop her. Amy countered every argument with a justificatio
n, an excuse. It was a compromise of her integrity just a bit, she knew that, but she felt compelled to act beyond reason. It wasn’t about thinking, it was about feeling, it was about acting.
It was about living and loving and nothing less.
And the nervous excitement that was streaming through Amy’s body and blood was more than she could ignore. She knew what she had planned for Camden, and it was perfectly safe and was going to be amazingly fun. But Amy could also savor that tinge of mischief, that wickedness that came from planning, researching. Amy was on the prowl, getting nearer and nearer to her target, thrilled more and more as she prepared to pounce.
She’d spent days driving around the area of Studio City in the San Fernando Valley, where he shared an apartment. The directory on the security intercom had Camden’s last name, Walsh.
Could that be his girlfriend, Amy wondered, or just a roommate? If he’s a struggling actor, he probably can’t afford to rent in Los Angeles, much less the Valley.
Amy sat in the driver’s seat of her BMW, smartphone to her ear, eyes fixed on the big front door of the apartment complex.
“I tell ya,” Isla said, “I think something’s up, something bad.”
“How do you mean?”
“Your brothers were really suspicious, Amy. They know something is going on.”
“But you shook ‘em.” Amy said, “and they’re not still popping by, are they?”
“No, but that means they're doing something else. I really don’t think they just gave up.”
But Amy was keeping a sharp eye out, and at that moment her sharp eye found Camden stepping out of the apartment complex and down the steps to the sidewalk. “Gotta go, Isla.”
“Good luck, Amy.”
Amy set the phone down and grabbed the plastic gun she bought and then wrapped it in a scarf so that only the plastic red tip was showing.
Her heart was pounding as she got out of the car and walked around it, quickly and with her head down so he wouldn’t see her coming. Amy walked up behind Camden as he took his first few steps down the street. She stuck the plastic gun into his back and said, “Don’t move.”
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