by Traci Briery
WEREWOLF CHRONICLES
By
Traci Briery
* * *
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
* * *
Chapter One
Roxanne used to make jokes about how she and her roommate, Phyllis, were an "odd couple" because she liked ballet, and Phyllis liked jazz dancing. She only stopped making that joke because it grew old real fast. Still, they made an "odd couple" in other ways. Phyllis did tend to be neurotic, and Roxanne was more in control. Phyllis also preferred men, but Roxanne did not. At least, not romantically. As friends they could be acceptable. Phyllis's boyfriend Michael was acceptable, for instance, even if Phyllis wouldn't admit to herself that she was probably better off without him. It wasn't that he was an arrogant twit or a jerk, but he tended to take his time making certain important decisions. Phyllis was probably too patient for her own good.
She had first met Michael after a dancercize class one night, when she had stopped into the cafe where he waited for his big break while waiting on tables. In between acting auditions, of course. Performing artists require understanding bosses when it comes to time off for auditions.
An advantage to the performing arts is its extraordinary variety. A disadvantage is its extraordinary diversity in salaries. One can either live in several mansions, or barely pay rent, if at all. The roommates and Michael fell into the latter category, and Phyllis was the worst off of them all.
Roxanne's claim to fame was that she had once been the understudy for Jennyanydots in Cats, but lately she was able to find enough small dancing jobs to just make ends meet She could also sing and had that advantage whenever musical auditions came up. Phyllis could only dance, and she was only making rent because she taught "dancercize" part-time at a health club, not to mention her other part-time job waiting tables.
Their latest audition was for a music video. Both of the roommates were going. They were in competition, but not really, for they never wanted a job at the expense of the other losing it. So far they had worked only once on the same job. Occasionally one would get it, but the other would not, but usually neither of them did.
"How's this?" Phyllis asked, pursing her lips. Roxanne looked up from tying her shoelaces to glance at Phyllis's lipstick.
"Too dark," she said.
"No, it isn't; I wear this all the time," Phyllis said.
"I know," her roommate said. "But I've never liked it. You're not supposed to wear a lot of makeup to these, anyway."
"I'm meeting Mikey like right after it, though," Phyllis said, working on the mascara now. "I don't wanna mess around with this afterwards."
"It'll be running all over the place."
"Uh-uh," Phyllis said. "This is the stuff that stays on during a shower. I don't think it's too much. You've seen some of the other girls there. Swear to God, you'd think the mannequins were out dancing."
"Yup," Roxanne said. "You never see them at callbacks, either, do you?"
"Hmmmm," Phyllis said, frowning at her reflection. Finally she grabbed a Kleenex and wiped off the lipstick, then replaced it with a lighter color.
"Okay, so I'll keep it light," she said. "But I'm not going naked. This isn't so bad. Just the eyes and lips."
"You look beautiful; we're going to be late," Roxanne said, and grabbed her roommate's arm to drag her kicking and screaming from the room.
Nobody walks in Los Angeles, even if their cars are screeching junk heaps like Phyllis's old Datsun. It had worked its way past three tries to get it started, and was threatening to get to six soon enough. The finest mechanics in the county had looked at it long ago and had advised her to shoot "Old Yeller," but she refused to part with an old friend.
When they got to the audition the director wanted "Angry" from all of his hopefuls. It was all part of his statement, of course. Phyllis knew she was angrier than Roxanne, and gave him all her pent-up rage and frustration at the world. She was good, dammit; why wasn't anyone opening their eyes for once and seeing this? She showed him "Anger," and threw in a little sex for an extra wallop.
"Thank you," the director said in that same, unfathomable tone she seemed to be hearing a lot of lately. Phyllis hated the kind who never let their decision show in their voices. "We'll call you," he said, but they never did. Not as often as they should, that is.
Phyllis wanted to stick around and watch Roxanne, but she really did have to take off to meet Michael. She was a stickler for punctuality, even if he was not. That was another sore point she had with him.
"Well? Did you split his pants open?" Michael asked after he'd greeted her appropriately.
"What?" Phyllis asked. "Did I what?"
"Sorry, just a joke," Michael said. "How'd you do?"
"I dunno," she muttered. " 'We'll call you.' He said it the same way for everyone."
"I know what kind you mean," Michael sighed. " 'Don't call us,' etc. That's why you need to get away right away once you're done."
"You'd think they'd just tell you right away if you're hot or if you suck," Phyllis said.
"Not when they have so many people to see."
"I know," she said. "I'm just bitching."
"I love it when you bitch," Michael said, pressing his face into hers. Phyllis laughed, but turned away. He nuzzled at her neck while she giggled, until he kissed it and leaned back again. Their cocktail waitress brought their drinks. Phyllis always had her diet Coke; Michael ordered a beer, as usual. He had one of those metabolisms where he could eat anything and just barely make his ideal weight. This, too, was another sore point with Phyllis, but then, this would be a sore point with almost any woman.
Their waitress took their orders, and Michael settled back, happy to be served instead of serving others. Roxanne had been trying to convert Phyllis to the ways of vegetarianism, but she had yet to resist the turkey slices of the chef's salad. But no beef or pork anymore, so off went the ham slices.
Michael watched her eat for a while, then touched her hand. Phyllis glanced up and smiled, but quickly resumed her eating. She looked up again when she felt him staring at her.
"You okay?" she asked warily.
"Am I okay?" Michael asked. "Yeah, sure, I'm okay. I was just… I have good vibes about you."
"You do, huh?" she said. He patted her hand, then held it and squeezed it once.
"I think good things will happen to you," he said. "That's all."
"Since when are you a psychic?"
"I didn't say I was a psychic. I just think you're gonna make it someday. Maybe it'll be in this latest job. You'll get picked, then get discovered by the star. Janet Jackson, right?"
"I wish," Phyllis said. "Come to think of it, I'm not even sure who it's for. I didn't even pay attention to that. Usually I only know where the auditions are, not who they're for."
"Same with me sometim
es," he said. "Maybe you'll get all the closeups."
"I wish," she said.
"Just trying to make you think good thoughts," he said.
"I know," she said, pulling her hand away to hold her bowl steady. "I'm sorry, Mikey. I'm in my 'pity me, pity me' mood. I could use a break. Hell, we all could."
"We'll all get it somewhere," he said. "So when I get my starring role, you'll have to be the costar."
"Not until I get acting lessons," she said.
"Ahh, you don't need lessons," he said, waving her off. "We're all just bullshit artists."
That made Phyllis laugh while she had a mouthful of food. Michael grabbed his napkin to catch what came out, but most of it ended up on her chest. Fortunately the waitress came by in time to fetch a wet towel to wipe off the stain and Phyllis resumed eating in a much better frame of mind.
Phyllis tried to be happy for her roommate, but she was never good at lying. She wanted to strangle Roxanne for getting yet another job when Phyllis had nothing. She had showed the man "Anger." What did he want? Uncontrollable rage?
"Look, I don't know what was so great about my stuff," Roxanne said. "Maybe he just likes redheads or something."
"I'm not mad at you," Phyllis said. "It's me. I don't know what the hell's wrong with me. I haven't gotten anything in three months! If I didn't have the classes, I'd be out in the streets tap-dancing for quarters!"
"You're just in a slump," her roommate said. "Everyone's had 'em."
"You haven't," Phyllis pointed out.
Roxanne held out her arms. "Do you see me on Broadway?" she asked.
"Broadway's in New York."
"Okay, have you seen me in anything bigger than as an extra in a Pepsi commercial?" she asked.
"At least I was in that, too."
"Anyway, my point is that we're both just barely hanging on," Roxanne said. "And don't think I haven't been dead flat broke before, either. You should have seen me just before I did Cats. I was flopping around from friend to friend, with no money at all. You'll get over it, darlin'. You gonna use the phone?"
"No," Phyllis grumbled. Roxanne smiled and patted her cheek, then dialed up her girlfriend Linda to relay the good news. She hung up on the machine that answered. Roxanne never talked to them, even if everyone on earth seemed to have one, except for her and her roommate. They couldn't afford one.
Phyllis reconsidered, then called up Michael to talk to his machine.
" 'Well, Michael's not here, but I am. I'm his machine; tell me everything, and I just might let him know you called, Hoo hoo ha haaaa! Beeeeeeep.' "
"Michael it's me call me back," Phyllis rattled off, then hung up.
"You know what I hate about these jobs?" Roxanne asked while poking around in the refrigerator's veggie drawer.
"What?"
Roxanne found a carrot, and worked at cleaning it off.
"They always work your butt off all day long, and you get something like fifty bucks for it," she said. "If I didn't love dancing, I'd hate it."
"That's why they can get away with fifty bucks," Phyllis said. "I still hate you for getting picked."
"You know," Roxanne said, pointing at her with her carrot, "I've been thinking. I wanted to talk to you after your number, but you had to take off."
"What about?"
"Maybe I'm wrong about it," Roxanne continued, "but it's kind of like—well, you know how Ted—oh, that's the director?_you know how he wanted everyone to be 'angry?' "
"Yeah?"
"You get angry at people," she said. "It's kind of_ohh, it's hard to explain."
"I gave him as much anger as I could," Phyllis said. "I don't know what else he wanted."
"If you ask me," Roxanne said, "and I know you won't, so I'll tell you anyway: you seemed like you were more pissed off at him than… 'at the world,' or whatever he wanted."
"I didn't think so."
"Like I said, I could be wrong about it," Roxanne said, shrugging. "It's just what it seemed like to me. It's all attitude, you know."
"Well, that's what I gave him," Phyllis said. "So what're you—?"
The phone interrupted her question. Phyllis was closer and reached for it.
"I'm not here unless it's Linda," Roxanne said. "Oh, or Ted. The director."
"I know," Phyllis grumbled, bringing the phone to her ear. "What?" she said.
"What," a voice mocked.
"Michael, knock it off," Phyllis said. "Where are you?"
"At home."
"What? I just called you!"
"Well, I was screening my calls."
"I hate it when you do that," Phyllis said. "Why do you do that?"
"Because somebody's making his living by selling my phone number to salespeople," he quipped. "Don't they ever bug you?"
"You're the only one who ever calls me."
"Ooooo, I've got exclusive rights to you, then. What did you want, my little Phylly?"
"Why did it take you so long to call back, anyway?"
"Well, sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to have such a weak bladder that needs emptying sometimes."
"Ohhhhh," she said. "I wanna go out tonight, that's all."
"Ooo, can't it be tomorrow night?"
"Well, I'd kinda like it to be tonight," she said. "I didn't get the job."
"Which one?"
"The video, you butt!"
"Jeez, come on, you've had other auditions since then, you know," Michael said.
"Oh, yeah," Phyllis said. "Sorry. It's just—well, obviously I'm a little depressed about it. It's hard to keep your attitude up if you haven't had a gig in three months."
"You'll get one of the other ones, then," he said. "Trust me.
"Sure you can't tonight?"
"Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to hold you in my arms and tear off the buttons from your blouse with my teeth," he said, "but I've got something tomorrow, and there's a whole goddamn speech to memorize."
"You got a play?" Phyllis asked excitedly.
"No, just an audition," he said. "A soap."
"What? God, not a soap!"
"Why not?"
"If you get on one of those, you'll be working fifteen-hour days every day, and never have time for anything else, least of all me."
"Come on, I'd trade in my penis for something that steady!"
"What??"
"Uh… well, not that," he said. "My big toe."
"You're damn right," Phyllis said. "But soaps are hell; trust me."
"How would you know?"
"I just do," she said. "I don't watch them, but I've read about them here and there. The actors are exhausted all the time."
"No, they aren't," he said. "I know someone who worked on one before his character got killed off, and—"
"Yeah, that's another thing," she interrupted. "One day you go in and find out that your character's dead or something. That's a screwed way to get fired."
Michael was silent for a moment, then was somber when he next spoke.
"Phyllis?" he said. "Do you think you can try to wish me luck for tomorrow? Even if you don't mean it?"
"God, I'm doing it again, aren't I?" Phyllis said meekly. "I'm sorry, Mikey. Yeah, good luck and break a leg and all that. Hope you get the lead."
"Well, there are no 'leads' really on soaps, but I guess it'll be a fairly prominent character," he said, and there were sounds of paper shuffling. "Um…" Michael said, "oh, yeah, he's 'Louis, a drifter with a shady, but mysterious, past."
"Everyone on soaps has a shady but mysterious past," Phyllis said. "But hey: let me know what happens, okay?"
"Sure," he said. "Um… sorry about tonight, though. I'll make it up to you tomorrow night, right?"
"I'll see how I'm feeling then," she said.
Michael then proceeded to outline in detail how he was going to "make it up" to Phyllis. The more obscene he got, the more she laughed, and the less she believed him, too. He meant well, though.
"I don't think either of us has the stamina for half
the stuff you're talking about," she giggled.
"If I get the job, we'll see how much energy I can dredge up," he said. "Listen, I gotta go, babe. Hey: you'll get something. You're too hot to ignore for long."
"Thank you," she whispered. "Same to you. Bye, Mikey."
"Bye, Phylly," he said, then made kissing noises. Phyllis hung up, then slumped into her sofa and shut her eyes. "Maybe you're right," she said to her roommate. "Maybe it's the wrong kind of anger that I project. Maybe it's just pity or whininess, instead."
"Could be," Roxanne said, sitting next to her. "You only need to watch it if it starts making you thoughtless."
Anyone else would have had her head bitten off—even Michael. But for some reason Phyllis had never had a problem taking Roxanne's blunt honesty. That was part of why they made such good roommates.
"I was being thoughtless to him, wasn't I?" Phyllis asked, rubbing her eyes before opening them again. "Usually it's the other way around. I've been getting too stressed out, I guess."
"How about a vacation, then?"
"Oh, yeah, like I can really afford one," Phyllis said.
"Just a suggestion," Roxanne said. "Doesn't the club ever give you a vacation?"
"It's not a full-time thing. They don't have to give me anything."
"Oh, b.s., they have to give you some perks somewhere," her roommate protested.
"Well, yeah, I could say 'I'm taking a vacation, but they'd never pay for it," Phyllis said. "They don't have to."
"Still," Roxanne said, putting her arm around her, "I haven't seen you go anywhere or do anything for a long time."
"Well, neither have you."
"I could use something, too," Roxanne agreed. "Hmmm, I wonder if Linda's up to it? But then, I could use something steady, too, before running off to Jamaica or someplace."
"We'll see," Phyllis said, and patted her roommate's hand before rising from the sofa. Roxanne turned on the television and clicked through the channels until she reached one of those "dating" shows.
"Hey, think they'll have a gay couple on this time?" she called to Phyllis, who was in the bathroom now.
"What?" Phyllis called, poking her head out.
"Never mind," she called back, and sipped at her cabbage juice. Just then the phone rang. Roxanne leapt up from the couch excitedly.