by Louise, Tia
I study the road a minute, thinking. “And here I thought you’d say Xanadu.”
He exhales a laugh. “That’s really a terrible film.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s got roller skating and Olivia Newton-John. It’s magical.”
“Right.” He grins, looking out the window.
We’re approaching the airport, and I wish there was some way to go slower. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I follow the lane for departures up to the terminal building. He gets out, and I put the car in park so I can walk around to help him.
“I guess this is it.”
He catches my hand, and for a second, he seems to be trying to decide what to say. His dark brow furrows over his pretty blue eyes. “Think you’ll ever travel out to the West Coast?”
I shrug, thinking. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“I bet you could have a great shop in L.A.”
Our eyes meet, and I think I see a hint of sadness in his. Maybe something like regret? It twists the pain in my chest. “Maybe.”
“I’ve heard of jobs where you find antiques for movies, like for period pieces.”
“I’d need pretty good credentials to work in Hollywood.”
“Or know somebody in the business.” He grins, but the light has dimmed.
It hurts my stomach. “I’ll have to look you up if I’m ever out that way.”
“Tell my agent Tinkerbell is calling for me.”
“Right.” Exhaling a laugh, I’m losing my battle against the tears.
He leans down and kisses my cheek, and I’m surrounded by the scent of spicy citrus and warm Scout. “Good luck with your future, Daisy Sales.”
My hand is on his chest, and I can’t meet his eyes. “I can’t wait to see you on the big screen.”
He lightly touches my chin, and I lift my face for our last kiss goodbye. It’s tender and sweet, warm lips pulling mine. My fingers curl in the rough fabric of his shirt, and I never want to let him go.
And I have to let him go.
One last wave, and he takes off, moving gracefully through the doors. He’s magical. He’ll be anything he wants to be. He’s got that “it” quality, and people want to love him.
I stand watching him until he disappears into the crowd, until the first tear lands hot on my cheek, and I slowly walk back to my Bronco.
Tears blur my vision all the way back to Fireside. I tried to be good. I fought what was happening as long as I could. We were only friends—it was never meant for forever.
Until I broke the ultimate rule of friendship.
I fell in love.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My cousin traces her fingers through my hair as I lie on my bed with my head in her lap.
I touch a stray tear leaking from my eye. “You weren’t here. It all happened so fast…”
“It was not so fast,” Sly laughs. “You two have been dancing around each other since high school. I say, you should’ve tapped it then. You’d be over it now.”
“I don’t know.” I don’t think I’ll ever get over Scout.
“Some things simply can’t be avoided.” She twists a curl around my ear. “Not that I blame you. He’s ridiculously sexy… and funny… a total charmer—”
I sit up frowning. “So how come you never went out with him?”
“We’re too much like siblings.” Her nose scrunches, and she leans forward. “And I had a massive crush on J.R. That broody scowl, those blue eyes, that bod…” She does a little shiver. “He lit up all my lady bits. Then he went and married Evil Becky.”
I can never tell her I actually introduced Becky to J.R. It was one night a long time ago, before I even went to homecoming with Scout. She thought I was good friends with J.R., even though I just barely knew him through Sly.
I thought introducing them would give me a friend, but it didn’t. Becky totally used me. She got her introduction to J.R., landed head cheerleader, and left me in the dirt like I never even existed.
I drop down onto my side again, returning my head to my cousin’s lap. “I wasn’t brave enough for Scout in high school. I’d just lost my mom. I didn’t know anybody but you, and being with him felt like… More than I could handle.”
“Being with a big fish in a small pond is a lot of pressure, especially this small pond.”
“It doesn’t matter. He wants to be a movie star. I want to be an antiques dealer. Same planet, different worlds.”
“Not so different.” She slides her hand up and down my arm. “You have a common home, similar roots. You never know what might grow from that. Even if nothing does, you made some great memories, right?”
“I guess.” Exhaling a sigh, I watch as two actors on Netflix walk quickly down the hall of an office. That’s me now. I’m finished with Aunt Regina’s house. I got the offer I’d been dreaming of, and I’m starting my career. “Sly, tell me something…”
“Shoot.”
“Do you think we only get one great love in our lives?”
“You mean like a soulmate?”
“I guess.” Picking at the tiny flowers on the bedspread, a fresh tear trickles from my eye.
“No.”
“You don’t?”
“Of course not.” She waves her hand. “I mean, if that’s the case, what happens if your one great love comes along when you’re twenty and then dies? Then what? You’re supposed to live the next sixty years alone? Or worse, you meet someone, but you never give him a chance because you believe you’ve already had one great love. How would you ever know? You could have another great love. Or two.”
Chewing my lip, I touch away the tear. “But what if he doesn’t die?”
“If he doesn’t die, and he’s your one great love, why would you assume it’s over?”
I can’t answer that.
My ever-strong cousin shakes her auburn head. “I still don’t like it. It’s too limiting, and it’s just silly. Live your life and be open to whatever comes. You’ll be happier that way.”
“Different people have different experiences.”
“You said a mouthful there.”
Sitting up, I kiss her cheek. “I’d better get some rest if I’m heading to Columbia tomorrow.”
“You’re going to slay, and I’ll be ready to give you a full-body massage and hear all about it.”
That makes me laugh, which helps with the cement block in my chest. “Love you.”
Sly is my best friend and the most encouraging person I know. I think about her advice, Be open to what comes.
I also think about her observation. If he’s not dead, don’t assume it’s over.
“Live my life, and slay.”
Twelve
Scout
“You did Shakespeare…” I’m sitting in front of Lorraine of Lorraine’s Bankable Talent, and she looks like every caricature of every talent agent you’ve ever seen.
Her voice is gravelly, a cigarette dangles from her well-manicured claws, and she squints with heavy fake eyelashes through bedazzled readers.
“I was Macbeth in the Big Fall Show at Clemson.” I’m sure she can hear the pride in my voice.
“College theater…” She hums under her breath as she continues reading my résumé. “What’s this? Who’s Warren?”
“I was an orderly in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. It was a smaller production but well-reviewed.”
“An orderly.” She bobs her teased head and takes a longer pull off her cigarette. “That’s it? The rest of this is high school. Why didn’t you do more in college?”
“Football took up most of my time.” I shift in my chair. “I was starting receiver, and we had practices, away games—”
“College athlete.” She frowns briefly before her eyebrows rise, and she bobs her head side to side. “You’re a good-looking kid. We’ll send you out for sports pictures and commercials.”
“I don’t want to be typecast.” Her eyes narrow fast, and I quickly add. “What I mean is, I’m up for anything that will help me get
my foot in the door.”
“That’s a good boy.” She points an inch-long nail at me. “You’ve got the right attitude. I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, Lorraine.” I give her my signature grin, but she picks up her phone and swivels around in her chair, waving me away.
“You’ll hear from me. And get some headshots. I need black and white glossy. Any photographer will know what to do.”
“Sure thing.” I leave, unsure whether to feel encouraged.
She wants headshots. That’s a good thing, right? All I know is it’s too early to get discouraged. I need to find a good photographer.
My apartment complex in North Hollywood reminds me of something out of Karate Kid or an old 1960s motel. It’s tall stucco painted light blue with a huge pink flamingo on the middle tower. I like the retro feel of it, and there’s a swimming pool in the courtyard. The sun never stops shining, and in the two weeks I’ve been here, I haven’t seen a cloud. It’s weird.
An old lady with a little dog sits on a chair dipping her feet in the water, and I wave as I pass. “Hey, Cecilia.”
“You know I was named for that song.” Her voice is thin and yippy like her little dog’s bark.
“Hey, that’s cool.” I smile and give Oscar a pet on the head.
“You don’t know what song I’m talking about, do you?”
“I don’t, sorry.”
“Kids these days!” She holds up her hand. “It’s Simon and Garfunkel. Look it up!”
I laugh and tell her I will before jogging up the stairs to my shared apartment. Lucinda is a single mom with a little boy named Luis. They live across the balcony from us. Luis watches out the window as I unlock the door.
“Want to throw a football later?” His voice is small with the lightest Mexican accent, and I guess he’s between six and ten years old.
“Sure. Maybe after dinner?”
“Mama’s making Chipotle Turkey Chilaquiles.”
“Sounds delicious. Save some for me.” I give him a wave before heading into my shared apartment.
Crenshaw is standing on his head when I open the door. The answer to my wondering is last name. His first name is Tuck, Tuck Crenshaw.
“Did you get the part?” I toss my keys on the table.
I bought a used Honda when I got here. It’s old, but the previous owner gave me all the maintenance records. It took a bite out of my savings, but I learned fast having a car was vital in this city. Now I need a job. The production job I applied for fell through, and living in this apartment isn’t free. I confess, I’m feeling a little strapped.
“I did not.” His voice is quiet.
“Why the headstand?”
My roommate’s legs lower slowly. “Sirsasana is the king of all asanas.”
“The king.” I look through the mail on the table. Nothing for me.
“One minute in the morning and one in the evening will go a long way to keeping your brain healthy and shielding your body from paralysis.” He moves his hands from his head down his sides like a QVC model.
“I imagine paralysis would be a concern standing on your head.”
Tuck goes to the kitchen and puts on the kettle. My roommate is kind of an ultra-hippie, but he’s been in the city for ten years and knows just about everything.
“Lorraine said I need to get headshots done. Any tips?”
“Any photographer will know how to do actor headshots.” He scoops loose tea into a silver ball then drops it in a mug.
“So I’ve heard. I was hoping to get them cheap.”
“West Hollywood, Burbank, drive around and read the signs. There’s enough of them to be competitive.” The kettle whistles, and he pours boiling water into the mug. “I was studying my star chart this morning. Big changes are coming in the near future. Could be good. Or bad.”
“Isn’t that always the way?” Pulling out my phone, I reread the text I sent to Daisy last night. Tired of traveling yet?
I was feeling down and missing her.
She’d sent back a smiling emoji. Headed to Atlanta tomorrow. Big buyer’s convention.
Send pix.
She didn’t reply, and anger heated my throat when I realized she’s probably traveling with Spencer the douche.
I have to stop texting her. We’re three thousand miles apart, and I’m not headed back any time soon. We need to get on with our lives, but I can’t forget her face when we said goodbye at the airport. Her expression was so sad, and her eyes… Her round, dark eyes were so deep.
I had to walk away fast before I said something I couldn’t take back.
It was only supposed to be two weeks.
We’re just friends, and I can’t stop thinking about her.
“Open auditions for a new pilot.” Crenshaw is reading his phone.
“Oh, yeah? What’s it called?”
His nose curls. “Mighty Thunder. Stock car racers who solve crimes. Sounds right up your alley.”
I don’t know what the hell that means, but like I told Lorraine, I’m up for anything that’ll get my foot in the door. “Send me the link. I’ll be back.”
Grabbing my keys, I take off towards West Hollywood. Every open audition requires a résumé and headshots. The first one I see has the prices on the door, which can’t be good.
“Five hundred dollars?” Shit, that’s more than my car note.
I’m determined to find something cheaper. Walking down the sidewalk, it’s like my roommate said, a line of photographers all competing with each other.
“Ultimate Sensations.” I pause, looking at the black and white portraits inside. A yellow flier on the door says Photographer’s special: $150 headshots plus additional poses.
“Can’t beat that.” A bell rings as I open the door and head inside.
Franco Romano greets me as the photographer and owner. He seems like a good guy, friendly and engaging. He has chairs and sofas, ramps and footballs—every kind of prop and costume you can imagine, from gangster to Roman gladiator, even cowboy gear.
“I’d like to take one in that.” Unforgiven was one of my favorite movies as a kid.
“Of course. Any two outfits you want.”
I sign off on the paperwork. “It says here ‘headshots and three additional poses.’”
“Two wardrobe changes and one set of nudes.”
“Nudes?” My chin pulls back. “Why the hell would I want nudes?”
He exhales dramatically as if I’m an idiot. “Casting directors want to see the whole package. If they’re looking for a European role, most men are uncut. If you’re American, it’s assumed you are. It saves time and money.”
It takes me a minute to consider this. “Okay.”
I’m not embarrassed to take nude photos. I can always toss them if I don’t need them. Or shred them first, I guess. Or send them to Daisy. The thought makes me chuckle, then it makes me hard when I remember her on her knees in front of me, sucking me off.
Damn, that was hot.
“All set?” Franco calls from the other room.
“Sure, come on in.” I’m standing with only a towel around my waist, and he’s carrying a camera and a football.
“Let’s start with this.” He hands it to me. “Lift it back and behind your shoulder, like you’re making a long pass.”
I know what he wants. Tossing the towel aside, I square up my feet and strike the classic pose, holding my stomach in and flexing my muscles. It doesn’t hurt that memory of Daisy blowing my mind has me standing at attention.
“Ah, yes. You have a very appealing cock.” Franco sounds a little too enthusiastic, but whatever. Gay guys don’t bother me. “Let’s move to the settee. Put one knee up and look over your shoulder.”
Two hours later, I leave the studio with a full packet of photographs. I have headshots, mafia-style, westerns, and quite a few different nude poses, which I’ll stash someplace safe.
The quality is very good, and I’m feeling great about my bargain find. It feels like a good omen for m
y audition in the morning.
“You played with your brother?” Luis catches the pass as we stand around the pool throwing a football back and forth.
“Yeah, he’s only a year older than me, so we had three years on the team together.”
“I wish I had a brother. It’s just Mama and me.” He throws the ball to me, and I catch it easily.
“You’ve got a good arm. You should see if they have any community teams or anything. Maybe go down to the Y.” I toss it back to him.
“Mama says we can’t afford it. She has to work, and I don’t have a ride.”
“You got a bike?”
He shakes his little head, throwing the ball to me again, and I think about it. “I could give you a ride if you need it. Maybe we could check out the listings and see if anybody’s selling a bike cheap.”
His black eyes widen, and he smiles, showing off two big front teeth. “Hey, thanks, Mister!”
“Call me Scout.”
“Mr. Scout!”
“It’s no problem if I’m around.” Chuckling I pull back to throw the ball to him again when a young woman with long, glossy brown hair steps out onto the balcony.
“Dinner time, Lucho.”
The little boy hops on one foot and makes a beeline up the stairs. With his description of dinner, I can’t say I blame him. I’m slowly climbing the stairs behind him as he excitedly fills his mother in on our conversation.
“Mr. Scout said they probably have football teams in the park or at the Y. He said he’d give me a ride so I could play. That’s okay, huh, Mama?”
“I don’t know. Who is Mr. Scout?” His mother turns her dark eyes on me, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Hi, sorry. I just moved into 213 a few weeks ago.”
Her eyes flicker across the way then back to me. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”
“Sure.” I’ve been living on frozen pizza and hot pockets for so long, it’s an easy answer. “If there’s enough, I mean.”
“We always have leftovers.”
She holds the door, and I follow her inside. Their apartment is the exact layout of ours, but it has more of a homey feel with photos of family members and colorful paintings on the wall. I hadn’t really considered some people would live here permanently, and it makes me miss my gran.