Sometimes It Happens Here

by K. S. Thomas

  “Lift your finger,” I call out over his yelling.

  “WHAT?” he shouts back, unable to hear beyond his own noise.

  “LIFT. YOUR. FINGER.” It takes everything I’ve got to keep a straight face.

  There’s a second, where his panic turns to dumbfounded, and then, like magic, his finger pops up from the power button and beautiful silence ensues. At least for a second.

  “That old bastard gave me a faulty drill!” he huffs, hunching over so dramatically, I have to assume it’s more for effect than due to pain. “I can’t move. Someone get help.”

  I step into the huddle of women on the brink of dispersing in search of aid and reach for the tool he had no business asking for, let alone walking off with. Then, because I’m a decent human being, I hold my free hand up toward him, ready to assist his descent. “I can help you,” I tell him, when he ignores my efforts.

  “I think I’d prefer someone with a little more testosterone, but thanks,” he growls before sucking in air as if in agony. “I need someone who can lift me down, not try to and drop me in the process.”

  Before I can assure him, I’m up to the task, I hear the door thrust open and the click-clack of several sets of fancy heels rushing from the room.

  “I guess we’ll wait for help,” I mutter, moving to the next set of tables and placing the drill down. Maybe if I had stepped up ready to do the job two handed, Macy’s dad would have had more faith in me. As it is, he seems a bit distrustful, at least that’s the vibe I’m getting from the current disdainful glare he’s shooting in my direction.

  I glance back at the bit-less drill. I get it now. Ruben’s lack of concern about handing it out. He knew all along the drill wasn’t capable of doing anything the way it was.

  I lean back against the table and cross my arms while I wait. Still sensing his steely eyes boring into me, I stand up a bit straighter and clear my throat. “Actually, you should be thanking that old bastard,” I inform him. “If he hadn’t given you a faulty drill, you could have hurt yourself, waving this thing around the way you were. Not to mention the damage you could have caused. And the potential for deadly disaster with you blindly swinging that drill around the lighting and those exposed wires.” Now that I’m in here looking at them, those really do need fixing. That is so not safe the way it is. Even without Macy’s dad and a power tool in here dancing on the tables.

  “Excuse me!” he snaps, still bent forward, his back oddly arched and his butt sticking out so much he reminds me of a giant duck. The fact he waddles a bit as he tries to get closer, doesn’t hurt the imagery either.

  “Macy’s dad, right?” I ask, ignoring his interest in being excused and instead making the most of our time alone together. “You have a first name of your own, I assume?”

  “Richard.”

  Naturally. “Dick it is.” I laugh at my own joke. I’m the only one here to think it’s funny, though, I’m fairly certain, Kaleaha will laugh when I retell it later.

  “You’re Lilan,” he sneers, still huffing and puffing in pain when he’s not speaking. “Marc’s ex-wife.”

  “You knew Marc?” It’s not that surprising. Small town. Only one high school and he looks about Marc’s age. Or, the age he would have been, if he was still alive.

  “Yeah. I knew Marc,” he confirms. “Know all about you keeping his daughter from him, too. No wonder he drove his truck straight into that tree trunk.” He shakes his head in disgust. Not so long ago, his words would have cut me to the core, crushed my heart into a million pieces and left me reeling with the shame and guilt I was so certain I was entitled to.

  That was then.

  I’ve had time to heal. Time to see clearly what for years I turned a blind eye to, just like everyone else in this town still likes to.

  “Marc drove his truck into that tree because he was so drunk, he couldn’t see straight,” I say, words cold and void of emotion. “I know, because he damn near did it with me in the passenger seat while I was pregnant. Missed the tree, but still managed to flip the tuck and land us in a ditch. I had my baby two months early because of that accident. She had to fight like hell just to survive him then, I wasn’t ever going to risk her having to survive him a second time.”

  Dick opens his mouth again, but this time, another voice rings out behind us.

  “I heard you guys could use some help in here.”

  I turn at the sound, half-expecting to know the source of it, though I can’t place the voice off the top of my head.

  “Bodhi James!” Dick suddenly sounds like a completely different person. Pleasant. Charming even. So much so, I’m doing double takes in both directions, unable to fully register either man before me anymore. Especially when Dick stands up straight, as if the whole ‘hunchback on the makeup table’ era never even happened.

  “I thought you couldn’t move,” I blurt out, more bothered by Dick’s miraculous recovery than the apparent trip to the twilight zone I’ve clearly taken, because A, Kaleaha was right about something that sounded insane, and B, Bodhi James.

  Meanwhile, Dick does the dick thing and ignores me, leaping from the tabletop which previously held him captive to give Bodhi a proper greeting. God that sounds weird. Even inside my head. And I think weird things all the time.

  I watch in stunned silence as the two carry on like long lost brothers, and I’m somewhat in awe by Bodhi’s ability to act as if he knows Dick as well as Dick seems to think he knows Bodhi. I’m sure he gets that a lot. People thinking they know him just because they see him in their favorite movies or follow all his social media pages. Hell, even I thought he sounded familiar when he walked in, and I’ve only ever liked one movie he did. I definitely don’t cyber stalk the man, pretty or not – and he is, so damn pretty, even in person, I can only look at so many staged selfies of any one human being.

  A few more slaps on the back and Bodhi is gradually pulling away from Dick and all his fangirling efforts.

  “Did you need help?”

  I stare straight at him when he says it, but it still takes me several seconds to register what he’s said. “Uh, no. I’m good.” Which reminds me. Lights need fixing and I’m the one with the power tool now. More importantly, I have a collection of bits and screws in my pocket. “Better now that Dick isn’t standing on the table anymore and thus is finally out of my way.” I shoot a sideways glance in his direction as I turn and make my way over to climb up and take his place. As soon as I have my back to the men and my eyes on my work, I can focus on the task at hand, and then, slowly, life starts to make sense again.

  Except for the part where Kaleaha was telling the truth about a famous person for once. That part is still completely incomprehensible.

  Bodhi

  I DON’T KNOW WHICH is worse, the amount of bro-hugging I’m doing with a man who smells a lot like Icy-hot and hairspray, or the fact I’m in a room with the Bread Bin woman and I can’t think of single intelligent thing to say to her.

  Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there’s something worse. Like standing close enough to know what this dude smells like when I’m so far from her, I can’t even get a whiff. And I bet she smells amazing.

  Her bread certainly did.

  Balls, man. Not a single intelligent thought to be had. If this continues, I’m never going to talk to her. Can’t risk saying stuff along the lines of what I’m thinking. If one can even still consider it thinking. It’s more like brain Jell-O, bouncing about just begging to be dropped and make a mess of things.

  “Man, you were robbed, I tell you,” the Icy-hot dude rambles on, “completely robbed. That Oscar should have been yours last year!”

  I nod. Then I register what he’s saying. “Against Parker Holmes? No way, man. Trust me, the man with the most talent won that one.” Parker’s only got a few years on me in life, but he’s been at this gig a lot longer, and it shows. Everything he puts on screen or stage is pure artistry anymore. Even just landing in the same category with that man was the thrill of a lifetime.
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  The dude looks surprised, but I’m not bothered. Because Bread Bin Woman just turned around to look at me.

  “Something I can help with after all?” I offer before she can move back to facing the wall.

  “Nope.” She does a funny little shrug and an awkward smirk crinkles her mouth. “Was just eavesdropping. Sorry.” She waves her hand at us, gesturing. “Carry on.”

  She’s halfway turned again, when I add, “You’re the woman from The Bread Bin, aren’t you? From the marketplace? I think I saw you there this morning.”

  Gradually, she unwinds again. “Yep. That was me.”

  “I thought so.” I smile. It feels like an extra big smile. The sort that might scare a woman. “My brother bought some bread from you. He devoured it so fast I barely had a chance to try it.”

  “Was he starving?” she asks, eyes shifting sideways then back at me.

  “Huh?”

  “I’m just trying to establish his reasoning for devouring my bread. I don’t want to just assume it’s a compliment when it could just as easily have been the basic need for survival.”

  I laugh. She’s funny. I can feel my brain turning to Jell-O all over again. “It was delicious.”

  She smiles. It’s even better up close than it was from across the aisle at the marketplace. “Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Thank you for providing something so enjoyable.” Yeah. That’s the Jell-O talking.

  Icy-Hot clears his throat loudly and I remember we’re not alone in here. “So, Bodhi – is it cool if I call you Bodhi?”

  I nod, trying like hell to keep the connection between me and her going, but she wastes no time in returning her to her work the second he opens his mouth. “Yeah, sure. Bodhi’s fine.”

  “Awesome.” He pats my shoulder and I feel a distinct pressure to move for the door. “So, listen. As you’re a true professional in the field, I’d love to introduce you to my daughter. Hannah keeps casting her in bit parts, but I know she has star potential.”

  “I’m not sure I have as much power over Hannah as you think, buddy,” I tell him, slowly giving in to the inevitable fact this is not the magic moment I’ve been waiting for with Bread Bin Woman after all, and making my way out of the room. “Besides, I’m used to being the talent, Hannah’s the pro at spotting it and then nurturing it so it can thrive. Trust me, Hannah’s giving your daughter exactly the parts she needs right now.”

  I can tell he’s doubtful just by the sharp inhale. Then, he proceeds to vocalize said doubts. I’m hardly listening though. Just walking along, eager to meet his daughter if for no other reason than it will free me up to track down Bread Bin Woman again. A task, as it turns out, I no longer need Hannah for, since it seems she’s working on the set. Hopefully from now until the show. Even if all I’m working with is Jell-O brain, that’s more than enough time to get to know her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LILAN

  Bodhi James. I think he’s not who I thought he’d be. Not that I put much thought into it, ever, or that I can claim to know him well enough to assess who it is he is after our brief and somewhat odd encounter. Still, I can’t deny I pegged him for a privileged pretty boy who was probably so accustomed to getting everything he wanted he was certain to feel entitled to it by now.

  Not the case. I mean, he’s definitely pretty. But given his reaction to losing one of the most prestigious awards in his industry, it seems he’s managed to retain some humbleness despite the obviously blessed path he’s traveled in life thus far.

  Even with my Bodhi wandering mind, my newfound solitude proves productive, and I’m nearly done fixing the light situation when the door flies open yet again and Hanna bursts in with it.

  “Oh, thank GOD! It’s you.” She clasps her chest, dramatically gasping for air. Some days there’s no guessing how she wound up running the theater department. “I heard the drill from out in the hall, and I thought for sure I was about to find Richard with his hand permanently screwed into the wall.”

  “You call him Richard?”

  She steps all the way into the room and closes the door again. “I’m a teacher. My job kind of depends on my not calling the parents insulting nicknames.”

  “Perks of being a volunteer.” I flash her a snarky grin before I give the light one last check. “Alright. I think we’re all good here now. Light is straight, everything works, and all the wires are safely tucked away again.” I nod, satisfied with my work, then squat down to place the drill on the table at my feet before I leap to solid ground. “Speaking of Dick and volunteers. What’s up with you and Bodhi James and no one telling me about it?”

  Hannah’s lip curls briefly, before she places both hands on her hips, a gesture I recognize from our years of being on the debate team in high school. She’s about to make an argument. “First of all, there is no Bodhi and me. Ew. And second, I didn’t tell you because I don’t tell anyone. Ever. Do you know how insane people think you sound when you say stuff like, I’m friends with Bodhi James? You’re basically guaranteed a stalker label or deemed a pathological liar moving forward. It’s not the sort of information people can just accept at face value. Also, Kaleaha said she told you, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

  “Uh,” I pause to bug my eyes out at her and whip my pointer finger out, a move I’m sure she finds familiar also. “Kaleaha’s the reason people can’t accept that sort of information at face value! Do you recall the Malcom incident?”

  Hannah grins. “Yeah. She told me you didn’t buy it.”

  “Seriously though. You like, know him, know him?”

  Her grin turns sly and mischief flares in her dark eyes. “Why? You got the hots for him, or something?”

  “No.” I don’t even have to try to sound convincing. I am convincing. Because it’s the truth. “I’m merely asking to make small talk. And also, to accumulate content for future small talk I may have to make where having a friend who knows Bodhi James might be just the sort of trivial thing to whip out and keep things from getting silent and awkward.”

  Her brow cocks creating a hook shape on her forehead, also known as physical displays of skepticism. “Yeah. Name dropping. That sounds like you.”

  “You’re right. Forget I asked.” I reach for my drill and start for the door. “I was just being nosy. Guess I liked the idea of town gossip not being about me for a change.”

  “Did you really call Richard Dick to his face?” she asks, completely off topic.

  “Yeah. It was appropriate. Believe me.” Especially after the turn that conversation took toward Marc.

  “I don’t doubt that,” she says, and it’s completely genuine, “however, he’s not just Macy’s dad...he’s also Margo Whitman’s son.”

  Margo Whitman. The town’s most prominent activist. And the single most well-informed woman in town. There are times I’ve wondered if part of her volunteer efforts aren’t fueled by her interests in getting the inside scoop from as many people about as many things as humanly possible. “I thought her son lived up north.”

  “He did,” Hannah confirms. “Until three months ago. When he moved home. With his wife and kids. I think he’s angling for his mother’s title. This is the fourth parent volunteer gig he’s signed up for at school already.”

  “Damn.” Some days it really doesn’t pay to be an introvert. Spent my entire life in this little town and I still don’t know all the inhabitants of it. Let alone the comings and goings of them. Even with all the time I spend at the marketplace and doing jobs around town. “So much for finally being too boring to talk about.”

  “Lilan,” she says with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve always been too boring to talk about. It’s the asshats you attract that draw so much attention to you.”

  “I do have some sort of internal asshat magnet,” I agree. “I need to look into having that extracted.”

  Hannah bumps me with her hip. “You know who’s not an asshat?”

  “Me?”

  She
laughs as we start moving for the door again. “Bodhi. No asshat tendencies whatsoever.”

  I reach for the handle and twist. “I don’t know what you expect me to do with that information.”

  She shrugs, following me out into the hall. “Nothing. Just letting you know. In case your initial interest in my knowing him turns out to be a secret crush so secret even you don’t know about it yet.”

  “That’s not a thing, Hannah,” I insist. “Besides. In case you forgot in the thirty seconds since we stopped talking about it, I’m not interested in being the talk of the town. Ever again. And hanging around a major movie star doesn’t scream of the sort of scenario that would protect my privacy.”

  “Fine.” She hooks her arm into mine as we walk. “I’ll stop trying to push you on the hottest, most decent guy I know. Go ahead. Stay single until your cha-cha shrivels up and your boobs hang down to your kneecaps. See if I care.”

  “God, that was crude. And my boobs aren’t nearly big enough to reach my knees. Ever.” I unhook myself, preparing to split off at the turn. I’ve got some work left to do on the set and not much time to get it done anymore, thanks to Dick and his power tool escapades. “Also, I like being single. It’s peaceful. And easy. And frankly, freeing.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, girl. I’m all about that independent life.” She slows to a stop when we reach the point of parting ways.

  “Then why are you talking shit about my old and wrinkly lady parts?”

  She pokes my shoulder in a way I’m sure she deems playful, but which is painful enough to get the point across. “Because you’ve spent your whole life taking care of people. And I for one, am ready to see someone take care of you for a change. So, stop being all closed off and bossy. It’s sending the wrong message to non-asshats everywhere.” Then she spins on her heel and marches off.

  I laugh quietly, shaking my head at her misguided efforts. I still appreciate where it’s coming from. At the center of all her snappy snarky-ness is nothing but love.