by Chase Connor
Lucas was jealous.
“Are you jealous?” I asked.
“Of course not.” Lucas’ voice was muffled.
“I don’t know,” I said, sitting back, bracing my hands against the mattress. “You were upset about Andrew—who is harmless, by the way. Probably not even a douchebag like we thought. I mean, it was the full moon, so…anyway, now you’re being all cagey about me going to Jason’s house to give him money for a funeral.”
“Do you know what cagey means?” Lucas stepped out of the closet, a pair of work jeans in hand. “Because I think you got lucky.”
“It means guarded.” I waggled my head. “You’re being guarded in asking me about Jason. You don’t want me to know you’re jealous. Worried at best.”
“I am not jealous or worried.”
I just stared at him.
“Fine.” He spat, though there was no heat in the word. “I’m worried.”
I continued to stare.
“Jealous.” He hissed. “Are you happy?”
“Immensely,” I stated blandly.
“The guy is good looking, okay?”
“So are you.”
“And you’re good looking.”
“Thank you.” I smiled. “So are you.”
“Maybe I’m worried that your hormones will get the better of you and you’ll…fumble.”
I laughed. “Like slip and fall on his dick? Or slip and slide mine into him? I don’t think people can fumble when it comes to cheating, babe. You either do it, or you don’t. And I didn’t. I won’t. And it takes more than a guy who is generically attractive for me to have sex, ya’ know.”
“He’s not generically attractive.” Lucas sighed. “He’s hot.”
“Are you planning to cheat on me with Jason?” I quipped.
Lucas couldn’t help but smile then.
“Stop it.” He said. “I’m trying to be serious. I don’t like you being alone with these guys. Even if I didn’t worry about your hormones—”
“Kind of you.”
“—I still worry about them.”
“They can’t make me do anything I don’t want to.” I shrugged. “So, if you’re not worried about me, you shouldn’t be worried at all, Lucas.”
With a frustrated sigh, Lucas began pulling his jeans on a little more roughly than was necessary.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“What’s that?” Lucas huffed.
“We both have been through some really traumatic shit over the last decade, and you just got your memory back last night, then a werewolf bit you and Jason is hiding two dead bodies,” I explained. “And we’re here in your bedroom after a night of lovemaking arguing about you being jealous of two guys I have no interest in. We haven’t even talked about your memories. How you feel. All of that. Do you think we’re fucked in the head?”
“Obviously.” He was buttoning and zipping his jeans.
“Seriously.” I stood and walked over to him, still nude, and took his face in my hands, making him look at me. “Isn’t it weird that we’re just like ‘tra-la-la just another day in Point Worth?’ This is some really heavy shit, Lucas. Magic, werewolves, dead bodies, recovered memories, Kobolds, witches, fire-laser shit coming out of my hands…the person we won’t talk about out loud…a handful of months ago, I was finishing up filming a movie in Morocco and now…this. What the fuck is life, ya’ know?”
Lucas smiled warmly, and his eyes lowered.
“I’m sorry, babe.” He sighed before looking up at me once more. “I know this isn’t the best time for my jealousy. I’m really sorry, okay?”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said before leaning in to give him a quick kiss. “Just promise that we’re a team, Lucas. Because…that’s all I care about. I want to know that no matter how this all ends, my hand will be in yours.”
Lucas stared into my eyes and reached up to take one of my hands in his as my other stayed against his face, cupping his cheek.
“Our story isn’t about jealousy and cheating.” He nodded. “I know that.”
“It’s more of an erotic novel.” I winked.
“With a bunch of weird paranormal romance shit thrown in, right? Like Laurell K. Hamilton.” Lucas laughed.
“Hopefully more Anita Blake than Merry Gentry.” I rolled my eyes. “But only if she had sex with just Jean Claude. Or Richard.”
Lucas cackled.
“Hopefully we won’t be executing any vampires.” He added.
“It’s still kinda early.” I shrugged. “We’ve got werewolves, so…who knows, right?”
He just smiled.
“This hand in mine ‘til the end?” I asked, squeezing his fingers with mine.
“This hand in yours ‘til the end, babe.” He leaned forward and kissed me gently.
When we finally separated so that Lucas could find a shirt to wear to work, all I could think was: whatever that end may be.
Chapter 3
There were three people sitting at Oma’s kitchen table when I walked into the house through the backdoor, and only one of them was Oma. While I had no real way to explain it, I had known that Jason would be waiting at Oma’s house for me. S0, seeing him sitting there was not that unnerving at all. The fact that he was sitting peacefully with Oma in her own home was unusual, however. Of course, the two of them acting civilly towards each other could be explained away by the third person at the table.
Nelda Hammersmith.
My manager.
That was definitely a plot twist that I had not seen coming—my manager flying in from Los Angeles to make a surprise visit. Honestly, I hadn’t known that people in the entertainment business even knew that Ohio existed, let alone how to get there. Well, maybe that wasn’t fair. A lot of people in entertainment know where Ohio is on the map and how to book a flight there. But for people like Nelda Hammersmith—high-power, high-profile talent managers—asking them to go to Ohio was like asking them to go to Narnia. It was a magical land which existed only in storybooks about Middle America where everyone wore bib overalls and work boots.
Not that that was entirely inaccurate.
At least, not as far as Point Worth was concerned.
“Good morning,” I stated neutrally as I stood in the open doorway and stared into the eyes of each person at the table in turn.
“Jacob.” Nelda gave a relieved exhale.
I smiled tightly at her.
Oma’s face was blank and unreadable.
Jason was smirking.
Obviously.
“Hi.” I nodded before turning to shut the door. “What are you doing here, Nelda?”
Oma presented a raised eyebrow surreptitiously as Nelda rose from her seat dramatically, her actual, honest to goodness, fur capelet nearly twirling all the way around her neck like a Hoola-Hoop. I thanked my lucky stars that Lucas had not come home with me to see the menagerie of dead animals around my manager’s neck.
Nelda Hammersmith was Old Hollywood, though she had actually been born in the early fifties and was no older than Oma. However, the way she presented herself, from her dress to her demeanor, to the flourishes she gave her speech and body language, you’d have thought she attended the premiere of the first talkie and sat on Jack Warner’s lap for the entire showing. The fact that she had the fur capelet and a fucking turquoise headwrap on did nothing to dispel the myth that she was a one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old woman in the body of someone nearly half that age.
“What is on your head, Nelda?” I asked evenly.
One hand gently went to the side of her head, laying lovingly against the material of the wrap. Diamond teardrop earrings hung from her ears.
Alzheimer’s or Delusional. Those were the only excuses.
“It’s vintage, Jacob.” The blood-red gash on her face parted, and the vibrant blue lids of her eyes danced as she answered. “Do you like it?”
“It’s…a look.” I tried to be polite, then turned my attention to Jason. “What are you doing here?”
> “Just getting to know your Hollywood manager here.” The smirk deepened. “Hearing all about your time out there in California while we waited on you this morning, Jacob.”
He pronounced “Hollywood” as “Hall-ee-wood” and “California” as “Cal-ee-for-nee-ya.”
It took all I had to not roll my eyes. And then punch him in his.
“Jacob—” Nelda began.
“Robbie,” Oma spoke, startling Nelda. “Mrs. Hammertoe here—”
“Hammersmith, dear.” Nelda corrected her with a sniff. “Hammersmith.”
“Mrs. Hammersnatch.” Oma nodded. Nelda sniffed again. “Seems to think that you need to be back out in California instead of out here with us country bumpkins.”
I sighed. Nelda Hammersmith didn’t have the wherewithal to look offended at the butchering of her name or the insinuation that she thought everyone in Ohio was a rube. Of course, if I knew Nelda, she had probably declined any offer of drink or food from Oma, attempted to smoke in her house, and refused to let Oma take her fur capelet for her. Nelda Hammersmith was not known for knowing how to blend in, conform to social norms other than the ones she had made up in her head, or generally, just be polite. If she didn’t know everyone in Hollywood and hadn’t gotten me project after project to work on, I wouldn’t have put up with her over the years. Harmless, yes. Asshole, definitely.
“Nelda.” I reached out, offering my arm. “Why don’t we go to the living room to have a talk? In private?”
That red gash on her face split again, her shockingly white, bleach-enhanced teeth beaming out at me.
“Oh.” Jason leaned back in his chair, making Oma give him a quick glare. “We’re all friends here. Whatever y’all have to say we sho’ don’t mind, do we, Mrs. Wagner?”
Oma’s lips curled up in distaste as she stared at him and shook her head in response.
“Jacob—” Nelda said.
“We’ll go in the living room, Nelda,” I said as she laid her hand on my arm.
Classy.
Leading Nelda to the kitchen doorway, I pointed out the living room to her, gesturing towards the sofa, indicating where she should have a seat. The look on her face let me know she wished she had brought a drop cloth for the occasion. Maybe she thought the critter around her neck was going to catch fleas from the davenport.
You really are reverting to your old self, Rob.
“I’ll be in to talk in just a second, Nelda,” I assured her, patting her hand as it laid on my arm. “Then we’ll get squared away. Do you want me to bring you a drink or something to eat?”
Nelda gave a last glance back at the kitchen as her hand slid from my arm.
“No.” She said dismissively. “I wouldn’t think so.”
Oma started to rise from her seat. I shot her a look and eased Nelda through the kitchen door with reassurances that I would be along “in just a minute” to have a little chat with her. Oma lowered herself to her seat begrudgingly as I watched to make sure that Nelda found her way to the sofa and hesitantly found an acceptably clean spot to perch upon. Once it was clear that she was settled for the time being, I spun around to face my grandmother and my nemesis du jour.
“What are you doing here, assface?” I whisper-hissed at Jason as I stomped over to the kitchen table.
“Assface?” He snorted. “Are you twelve?”
“Shut up, assface,” Oma answered for me. “What are you doing here? He ain’t told me shit since he showed up here.”
“That dinosaur was here.” Jason shrugged and gestured vaguely at the living room. “Not like I could talk much with her around now, could I?”
“She’s Oma’s age.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Are you implying my grandmother is ancient?”
“Assface.” Oma gave a firm nod in his direction.
Jason rolled his eyes. “We have unfinished business from last night, Rob. So, don’t act surprised to see me.”
“I thought you was with Lucas last night?” Oma’s attention was suddenly on me.
“I was.” I waved her off. “We ran into assface here while we were out.”
“Oh.” Oma nodded, then frowned. “Where the hell did you run into assface? It’s not like any establishments around here let him inside.”
“Can we all stop calling me assface?” Jason seethed.
“Dicklick?” I offered.
Jason sighed.
“Do you prefer ‘dicklick,’ assface?” Oma leaned in. “I can call ya’ ‘dicklick’ if ya’ like.”
He just ignored her. Oma and I could be like cats and dogs, but we knew how to gang up on someone we mutually hated.
“What unfinished business y’all got anyway?” Oma sat back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest to match my body language. “Ya’ gave him Katie’s funeral money, didn’t ya’?”
“Yes,” I answered. “It’s complicated.”
“Mm.” Oma hummed.
“You want a fancy new nickname, too, old woman?” I grumbled.
“Bet,” Oma warned me.
“Where the fuck are you learning these things?” I threw my hands up. “Who’s fucking grandmother talks like this?”
“The T.V.” She jabbed a finger in the direction of the living room, which actually made Jason smile. “I got a life outside of putting up with your uppity ass, ya’ know.”
“T.V. is a life?” I asked.
“It’s one of my hobbies.” She was picking at a fingernail.
“Right.” I shook my head, then turned my attention back to Jason. “Look, assface—”
“I’m not leaving until I talk to you.” He said firmly, then glanced towards the living room. “As well.”
“Fine.” I snapped. “Oma, keep assface in line while I go get rid of Nelda.”
“But—” She started to stand.
“Please.” I snapped once more before whipping around like I was trying to twirl a capelet myself.
Nelda was still sitting in the living room, looking around the room as though she had never seen what looked like the inside of an L.L. Bean catalog. Frowning to myself, I walked over, pulling her attention from the interior design around her, and sat down a reasonable distance from her on the couch. My manager, though I hadn’t seen her in over a month, looked and smelled the same. Flowery, gaudy, and clueless to the things that happen in the real world outside of Hollywood and the entertainment machine.
“Did you fly out here alone, Nelda?” I asked, genuinely concerned for her well-being. “That’s a long flight for…you.”
“Of course not, Jacob.” A laugh that sounded like tinkling bells emanated from that red gash on her face. “Randy came with me. He’s waiting in the car.”
A delicate hand waved towards the front door.
Randy was Nelda Hammersmith’s personal assistant. He was also her much younger husband. He had tried to get in my pants once. It’s a long story.
“You made Randy wait in the car?” I frowned, though I was glad Randy had not been invited into the house.
“He’s fine.” She gave a dismissive wave again. “He has his games on his phone and the radio, I suppose. Now, dear—”
“I’m not coming back to Los Angeles right now, Nelda.” I shook my head. “I have…family stuff…I have to deal with and making movies or new music right now is just—”
“We just got an offer, Jacob.” She indicated that she did not want to hear my excuses. “That movie you made…what’s it called…the one with the terrorists who are trying to blow up…the White House…or…something?”
“The Statue of Liberty.” I shrugged. “What about that piece of shit?”
“Well,” Nelda reached into a pocket to withdraw an actual cigarette case, “they want to make a piece of shit sequel.”
She opened the case, which made my mouth water, but I reached out and took the case from her, snapping it shut gently.
“No smoking in the house,” I said evenly as I held onto the case.
“Of course, of course.” She sa
id as though this was perfectly reasonable, though her facial expression said otherwise. “Anyway, they want to pay you double what they did for the first one. Piece of shit, eh?”
“You can add a sunroom to a shack, but it’s still a shack, Nelda.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to go on a special diet, work out six days a week for four months of my life, then go to Toronto, pretend it’s New York City or D.C., and fight imaginary terrorists just because the price was right. The first movie was shit, this one will be shit, too.”
“They don’t make these movies for the Rotten Tomatoes scores, Jacob.” She laughed as though everything I had said was ridiculous. “They make these movies so everyone gets rich. Including yours truly. So, do us all a favor and get your ass on the next plane to Los Angeles and get ready to swallow your pride.”
“Nelda.” I sighed, trying to control myself. “You came all the way to Bum Fuck Ohio for no good reason. I’m not coming back to Los Angeles. So, go out there, get in the car, and let Randy drive you back to the airport.”
“Jacob—”
“Just call me Rob, Nelda.” I sighed, my body deflating. “Jacob Michaels is long gone at this point.”
“You can’t mean that!” She brought a hand to her chest. “If you walk away now, who knows if you will ever work again, Jacob?”
“Who cares?” I shrugged. “It’s not like I have to have the money. I mean, not to be a snob, but it’s not like I need any more money at this point.”
“You’re not even thirty yet, Jacob—”
“Rob.”
“—why would you even think about quitting now?” She squealed, the gash of red on her face flapping wildly. “You have decades of work ahead of you! Millions! You could be richer than a Middle Eastern Crown Prince!”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not offensive. Look, Nelda, I’m done. There are a million generically good-looking guys with good features and palatable acting skills waiting in line behind me. Sign a new Jacob. You’re acting like you’re watching Jack Nicholson walk away when I’m more like a Kellan Lutz.”
“Well, you were never that buff.” She replied earnestly.
“Fair enough.” I had no other way to respond to that.
“But none of that matters, Jacob.”
