“Excellent! Bravo!” cried Bob, clapping. “That was terrific, young man.”
Henry was more reserved but later complimented Ethan on his ability to create atmosphere. “I don’t know how you do it, son, but it captures something in your heart.”
“Totally rad,” added Edwin, using language two generations his junior.
Then, without hesitation, Edwin offered him the role. They would have a full rehearsal on Monday night, at which time Ethan would meet the rest of the cast. Rest of what cast, Ethan thought, but then Edwin explained that the role Ethan was to play had been filled long ago by another man. The play had performed to sold-out houses for several weeks before losing the main actor to a motorcycle accident. The cast was devastated but had agreed that the show must go on.
Ethan was amazed and more than a little embarrassed about his previous thoughts. He was delighted and left with a copy of the script in his hands. It was the best news he’d had in a while.
An hour later, he was back at the apartment, his feet hardly touching the ground, but no one was there with whom he could share his good news. For the first time since arriving in California, he would finally have steady industry work and a venue where Frederick and others could see him perform.
There was a lot of work ahead of him to get ready. In each act, his character carried nearly half the lines, and learning it would all but consume him. With no one else in the apartment, he immersed himself in memorizing. Once he was through the script, he was ready for a break, but there still was no sign of Christa. Her return would be a diversion, so he opened a can of Heineken and went back to the start. Many hours of work lay ahead but he could only pack so much in at a time. He needed some “simmer” time to process all he’d taken in.
His thoughts turned to Christa and where he might find her. He would have liked to meet for dinner, but they’d made no prior arrangements. He was on his own, with little idea of where she was or when she’d return. After checking his wallet, he was about to head out for a couple of pizza slices when the phone rang.
“Hello,” he answered, anxious to hear Christa’s voice.
“Hello,” replied a male caller. “Is Ethan Jones there?”
“This is he.”
“Ethan, Randy Baseman. How the hell are ya?”
“Hey, I’m doing great. You?” Ethan answered, pleased to hear from the animator/cabbie.
“You won’t believe it,” Randy said, “but I just got back from Japan.”
“Japan? What’s in Japan?”
“Well, right after I met you, I got this call from a guy about my character. You know, the one I gave you a copy of.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d sent it to a local house, Dresden Comics,” Randy went on, barely catching his breath. “This guy liked it and sent it to Japan for review. I didn’t know any of this. Now, it’s catching on. Listen, why don’t we get together? I’ll tell you all about it. What are doing for dinner?”
“No plans,” Ethan answered. “I was heading out for pizza.”
“I’ll join you. Name the place, and I’ll be there.”
Instead of pizza, they agreed on a burger joint a block away from Ethan’s apartment.
“Also got some news that might interest you,” Randy added and hung up.
Not a minute later, Christa walked through the door sporting a new, daring look. Her hair was cropped short just below her earlobes. Her full lips and eyelids were painted with a dark rouge. Like a statuesque model having just left a Paris runway, she sauntered into the living room wearing spiked purple heels. Ethan stared, transfixed.
“I guess it’s your turn to meet me at the door,” she said, leaning forward to give him a kiss. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Truth or fiction?” he replied, mesmerized by her transformation.
The expression on Ethan’s face was the best mirror Christa could use to judge her new look. His eyes said it all. “I think truth.”
“Okay, I’ve been waiting all afternoon for your bodaciousness to come through the door,” he replied, breaking into a big smile. “Wow!”
She stepped forward and threw her arms around him. “I love you.”
“I know,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m in love with you too.” He took a step backward and looked at her again. Christa did a full three-sixty spin. “What inspired this?” he asked, still enjoying the results.
“You and just needing a change,” she replied. “I was tired of my hair and all the maintenance.”
“Well, you look amazing,” he added, unable avert his eyes.
“That,” she said emphatically, “is the right answer.”
“Right on!” He reached forward, took her hand in his, and brought it up to his lips. “Could I have the pleasure of taking this fairest beauty to dinner?”
Christa curtsied elegantly and acquiesced. “Of course you may. And where might you be taking her?”
“How about out for about a burger?”
“Just around the corner?”
“Yeah,” he said, staring at her new face. “I just got a call from the cab driver who brought me back from our first party together.”
“Yeah?”
“I left him a message the other day, but he was out of town. We’re going to meet and have a bite to eat. He’s got quite a story and something he wants to talk to me about.”
“I don’t want to intrude on your meeting,” Christa protested, but Ethan assured her that wasn’t the case. A few minutes later, as he held the door open to leave, the phone rang again.
“Forget it,” he said. “They’ll leave a message.”
Christa frowned and stepped back in to answer it. Ethan continued to stand at the opened door.
“Hello,” Christa answered sweetly. Her eyes brightened as she listened to the caller. Then she said, “Yes, he’s right beside me. Just a moment.” Waving her hand, she motioned Ethan back in, handing him the phone with an I-told-you-so look on her face.
He grabbed the cordless. “Hello?”
“Hello, Ethan Jones?” asked a strong, unfamiliar female voice.
“Yes, this is he,” he responded, his mind spinning through his internal Rolodex of names and voices but coming up empty.
“Ethan. This is Wiggy Jamison,” said the woman. “You called and left a message the other day.”
“Yes,” Ethan answered, trying his best to remember a Wiggy Jamison as his heart rate sped up.
“We’re conducting auditions tomorrow afternoon if you’re interested.”
“Yes, yes of course I am,” he replied, feeling clueless and confused at the same time. “Yes, I’m very much interested. Where, Wiggy?”
Wiggy supplied the address and some quick directions that Ethan scribbled down on the back of the newspaper Christa handed him.
When he hung up, Christa mimicked him with a smirk. “Forget it. They’ll leave a message. Those famous words, if followed, may well have been your last.”
“Fuck, how do I know who’s calling?” he retorted, hopping around the room like an excited fool. “Cool. I’ve got another audition. But I haven’t a clue which production it is. I’ve left a lot of messages.”
“You’ll find out tomorrow, sweetness.” Christa was as excited as he was and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Hey, we better go,” he said. “Randy’s probably already there.”
Ten minutes later, the two of them were sitting in a booth at Burger Fair, sipping New England iced teas while Ethan tried to describe Edwin between fits of laughter. Randy arrived as Ethan was imitating Edwin’s two partners shuffling into the deserted warehouse. Still laughing, he shook Randy’s hand and introduced Christa as the woman behind his fateful taxi ride home.
“He looks a might better than he did then,” Randy chuckled, shaking Christa’s hand. “I’d have kicked
him out too.”
Dinner was a bizarre combination of gourmet burgers and incredible stories from the creative graphic artist driving a cab in downtown LA. Randy talked almost non-stop. At one point, he paused and pulled a business card out of his pocket. He handed it to Ethan. The name Ben Lui was printed in black script in the bottom right corner.
“Before I forget, I met Ben on the plane from Japan,” Randy said, switching from a story of eating sheep’s eyeballs that was destroying Christa’s appetite. “He’s a talent scout for the movies. He was on a recruiting mission in Japan.” Randy shrugged his shoulders. “Figure that, huh? What’s Japan got that America hasn’t? Asian women? Don’t know why I thought of you. Most of my pickups, I never see again. He gave me his card and told me to get my friend to give him a call. ‘Never leave a stone unturned,’ he said.”
Ethan took the card, hardly believing his ears. Here was another guy he barely knew, helping him out.
They finished dinner, after feeding on wild bison and Cajun shrimp burgers. Randy had to go. His shift was about to start; there were paying customers out there still looking for a way home. He had to make up for his time in Asia. They would keep in touch and planned another get together in a month. Randy promised to bring along his latest character the next time.
On returning to the apartment, Ethan went straight back to the script for A Baker Makes Three, while Christa went to visit one of her girlfriends. Two hours later, his stomach began to cramp up. He broke into a heavy sweat as sharp pains shot across his abdomen, doubling him over. The nausea was so aggressive, he hardly had time to make the short distance to the bathroom before vomiting his dinner into the toilet bowl. His head pounded as he leaned over the chipped bathroom sink and looked in the mirror. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His stomach knotted, draining his strength. After another half hour, he was too weak to stand upright, so he went to bed, shivering uncontrollably as a fever took hold. He was unable to get warm, no matter how many blankets he covered himself with.
Just before midnight, Christa returned to find him buried in layers of blankets, with a stinking wastebasket of vomit beside him. She gave him some Tylenol and sponged his forehead. He was burning up. An hour later, the Tylenol seemed to stabilize his temperature, but another wave of nausea sent him to the toilet. Death crossed Ethan’s mind, but he felt too awful to be scared. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, waiting for his stomach spasms to subside, Christa wrapped a blanket around his shivering shoulders. Despite throwing up, his stomach continued to cramp. By 3 a.m., he dragged himself back to the bedroom. He was so weak, he could barely stand up. Sleep was all but impossible with his stomach in agony.
“I think you need a doctor, Ethan,” Christa whispered at some point, her face strained with concern.
Ethan could not remember ever feeling so sick. “Maybe,” he mumbled, not wanting to talk, move, or do anything. “I just want to sleep.” He lay still under the blankets, hoping to warm himself and stop shivering. Closing his eyes, he prayed for sleep to come, but his body had different ideas. Minutes later, he was back in the bathroom, dry heaving.
Using what little strength he had left, he rose to his feet, shivering uncontrollably. A blurry haze flooded his vision. Too weak to hold himself upright, he lost his balance as his hands scrambled to grab hold of the sink. In slow motion, everything went dark. He fell to the parquet-tiled bathroom floor like a falling tree trunk.
Chapter 29
Ethan’s Timeline
May 1991
“Please, Ethan, wake up,” Christa cried. “You have to wake up.”
Ethan opened his eyes and looked into Christa’s horrified face.
“Ethan,” she whispered, tears running down her tired, grief-stricken face as she cradled his head in her hands. “You’re okay? Can you hear me?”
He felt lousy. His body ached. As his eyes focused, he noticed he was in unfamiliar surroundings. Then he heard Robbie’s voice.
“You’re in the hospital, buddy,” Robbie said, his face moving into Ethan’s field of sight. “You fell and knocked yourself out. It’s been a while.”
His clothes felt wet. Christa was holding his hand. “Can I have some water?” Ethan whispered, his voice cracking. His mouth was parched.
“Sure,” Christa said from somewhere close by. “Here—take some of this.”
A large glass of ice water with a bent straw came into view. Christa helped him insert the straw between his lips. Cool water flowed into his mouth. It was the best-tasting water that had ever passed his lips.
“Hey, bud, slow down,” Robbie said, patting his right arm. “There’s lots where that came from.”
Christa pulled the straw and glass away. “That’s enough for a minute, babe.”
“We thought we’d lost you there, Eth,” Robbie said.
“You gave me a real scare,” Christa said. She was close to tears. “You weren’t moving, and your body was burning up.” She reinserted the straw in his mouth before he was able to reply.
Again, he took a long draw from the straw. The water tasted glorious as it trickled down his throat. An intravenous tube was fastened to his arm. “Where am I?” he asked, pulling away from the straw. His voice was rough and scarcely above a whisper.
“You’re at the medical center,” answered an authoritative voice. Ethan turned his head to see who had spoken.
Ethan watched as a doctor approached him from the right side of the bed.
“Relax, Mr. Jones,” the doctor said in a direct, professional manner. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” Ethan croaked, the sudden coldness of the water in his throat making it difficult to speak clearly. He hacked up some phlegm.
“I would agree with you, but if it’s any consolation, I think you’re through the worst of it.” The doctor paused for a moment and lifted Ethan’s right arm to take his pulse. He placed his open palm on Ethan’s forehead. “You’re still warm, but you’re looking a sight better than you did when you came in. Can you turn your head a bit? I need to take another look at that cut.” Ethan winced as the doctor examined the side of his head. “I know this won’t make you feel any better, but I think it’s a good thing you fell and hit your head.” He jotted something in the chart.
“Why?” Ethan asked.
“You’ve an acute case of food poisoning,” the doctor answered, peering at something in Ethan’s report. “Likely a bad case of salmonella. I understand you were out and had shrimp for dinner.”
“Yes, in a burger.”
“Well, that’s likely where you picked it up. You were quite dehydrated when you arrived, so we’ve been pumping fluids into you to get your levels back to normal.” He pointed to the intravenous bag. “You seem to be doing much better this morning. Nothing a little rest won’t fix. You’ve got some great friends here. They’ve been here all night.”
Ethan looked over at both Christa and Robbie. They looked tired. “Thanks, guys,” he croaked, coughing up more phlegm.
The doctor walked to the end of Ethan’s bed and hooked the metal clipboard to the bed frame. He looked over at Christa and Robbie, saying, “You two look like you could use some sleep. He’s going to be fine, thanks to you. Go get some rest.”
With the doctor’s exit, Christa came to Ethan’s bedside and assisted him with the glass of water. He pushed it away, his memory returning.
“This is Sunday, isn’t it?” he rasped, his voice stronger.
“Yes,” Christa replied.
“What time is it?”
“Quarter to twelve. Why?” Christa asked, knowing the answer as she spoke. A look of shock shot through her eyes. “No way, Ethan.”
Without a second thought, Ethan threw his bedclothes aside and sat up. Though light-headed and weak, he slid his feet to the floor and stood beside the bed. His legs felt rubbery and not altogether stable. His body seemed heavy, di
sconnected, and not entirely his. Christa shook her head. He raised his arm sideways—the one not connected to the intravenous; he would have to lose the IV—and then lifted his head as if to look at the ceiling. “See, I feel okay?”
“Ethan, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” Christa pleaded, her hands on her hips. “You need to rest. Come on. Don’t fool around.”
The white tile under his feet seemed to move sideways. He grabbed the bed frame. Robbie immediately had hold of his arm. Ethan’s strength wasn’t there. He leaned against the bed. “Okay,” he mumbled, disappointed by his weakness. “Looks like you win.”
“This is not about winning, Ethan,” Christa replied. “It’s about your health.”
There was nothing to say. She was right, but his auditions were all he could think about. He wasn’t about to miss one on account of a little food poisoning and a bump on his head. Keeping himself upright was difficult enough, without the added effort of convincing his friends he was well enough to leave. The sun was coming in the window beside his bed. The room was cool. The place was comfortable. But if he stayed here, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. “Why don’t both of you go back to the apartment and get some sleep?” he queried, his face a little brighter than the plan he was forming in his head. They looked at each other as Ethan slipped back into the bed. Before they answered, he added, “I’ll be fine. Some of that hospital food will fix me up real good. I’ll see you later and catch a little more sleep in the meantime.”
“Are you sure?” Christa asked, rubbing his arm. Her eyes looked heavy and bloodshot.
He nodded. “Yes. I can’t believe you’re still here.”
“I can’t either,” echoed Robbie from the end of the metal-framed hospital bed. Gray bags were under his eyes. “Let’s give the man some space. Besides, I’m hungry.”
“Okay,” Christa agreed, leaning over his bed and planting a full kiss on his lips. “We’re out.” She turned to pick up her black leather handbag while scrutinizing him closely. “You’re sure you’re okay? You’re not going to do something stupid, right?”
The Actor Page 18
