by Kenya Wright
Alvarez pointed at me. “I’m going to need to verify this with Michael. If you’re under contract with him, then it will keep any works produced by Hex with you in them from being revealed until we have Michael’s permission to use you.”
“I assure you I’m not working for him anymore.”
“Nevertheless, if you don’t have a contract, then I want Michael saying that in writing. I’ll call him.”
“Why?” I forced myself not to bite my lip or show any of my nervous habits. “I have the official documents where he releases me from working with him. I just have to get my mother to send them. I don’t want Michael contacted.”
“Why not?”
“We didn’t end on good terms.”
And Michael would do everything in his power to stop me from working with Hex or anyone else.
Hex clapped. “Good, that bastard Michael never deserved you anyway. He didn’t have any idea how to truly display your beauty. We don’t need any official documents.”
“Yes. We do.” Alvarez formed his lips into a frown. “Until then, I don’t want you working with her.”
“Her name’s Elle and I’ll do what I like.” Hex headed over to me and hooked his skinny arm under mine. “Now back to round two. What’s your biggest talent outside of modeling?”
“Excuse me?” I struggled to keep up with Hex’s fast pace. For a small guy, he had speed. The lilies around us blurred into a palette of morphed spring colors. Alvarez speed-walked behind us and spouted out more legal terms before finally giving up and blurting out a few Spanish words. I recognized them as popular curse words used in many films.
“What’s something you’re good at?” Hex bumped my hip with his. Instead of dragging me to the front double doors carved in mahogany, he guided me around the huge castle. I would’ve loved a slower pace, to take in the intricate details in gray stone or ask how they’d managed to build a castle in the southern part of Miami. But I couldn’t. Hex was too fast and I was too desperate to get this job.
What is my talent?
I burned ninety percent of the things I cooked, had many pets and plants die on me from my own neglect, and failed most of the classes I took years ago in high school, which is why I didn’t have my diploma. Once Michael’s first painting of me surged to national success while we were only in our senior year, we decided to drop out and use his royalties to live in California. What the hell is my talent? All of my art sucked. My paintings were abstract blobs of colors. My photographs held blurry images. I’d dreamed of sculpting, but never did it. My singing caused most to escape the room. My dancing triggered the same. The only thing I knew and loved was movies.
“I’m a movie buff.”
“That’s not a talent.” Hex snorted and increased his pace. If we went any faster, we would be jogging.
“Knowing movies is definitely a talent.” Right? “If you say a movie line from a reasonably popular movie, no matter how obscure the line is, I can tell you where it came from.”
That slowed Hex down. I caught my breath while I could, checked over my shoulder, and spotted Alvarez’s gaze planted directly on my behind. His face reddened when he looked back up at me, and the unguarded part of me heated, but I shook that sensation away. This position was about many things. Starting up something new with a man so soon after the breaking of my heart was not on my goals’ list.
“How obscure of a line can it be?” Hex stopped us right in front of a small structure done in the same stone as the castle, but barely the size of a two bedroom house. Huge glass windows flanked the front door. A brown sign hung on the center of the opening that read, “Only authorized personnel.”
“Well, the lines can’t be something so vague like ‘Hi.’ Almost every movie has that. The line should be more than seven words and actually be from a movie.”
He grinned. “And if I say a few lines, you can tell me the movie?”
“Most likely.”
“This is your talent?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Here’s the deal. I say five movie lines. You get at least three correct and I’ll pass you to the next round.”
This is so stupid, but what other choice do I have, but to play his childish games?
“Okay.” Hex rubbed his hands together. “Let’s begin. Alvarez, can you think of a movie line? Nothing’s coming to my head.”
“I’m not going to be a part of this silly interview process.” Alvarez crossed his big arms over his chest. The movement stretched the material of his shirt as his biceps bulged. “And as I said before, even if you do decide to hire her, we need—”
“We don’t need anything but my approval.” Hex lowered himself to the ground and folded his legs into the Indian style sitting pose. “Oh! I’ve got one. ‘With your blood, I’ll paint a clown.’”
Alvarez shifted his weight from side to side. I wasn’t sure if he was nervous about the game or my possible violation of the contract. Either way, he fidgeted with his fingers and dabbed at a tiny bead of sweat forming on his forehead.
“Did I stump you already?” Hex asked me.
Not even close.
What made a movie buff different from others was the amount of freakish details they chose to fill their heads with. The typical movie-goer remembered the big lines, the ones that you could find on the film’s shirts and posters, just a bunch of tag-lines used for promotion. A true movie buff memorized the odd ones that said more about the story’s theme or characters as well as reading up on the history and interesting tidbits in creating the film. From that line alone, I realized that Hex didn’t go to the movies much. He’d picked a classic gore film that had inspired almost all horror directors of our generation. Scary movies now either redid similar blood splatter scenes or attempted to revisit those with new concepts.
“No. You didn’t stump me. The line is from the horror movie The Bedtime Killer. The murderer said it each time he killed a child.” I should’ve left it there, but once I started with movies, I couldn’t stop. “The main actor actually quit The Bedtime Killer in the middle of the movie because his wife was pregnant and he couldn’t deal with all of the gory scenes with kids. Another actor finished the scenes in the last thirty minutes of the movie. In order to fix the fact that the actors playing the killer no longer looked the same, the director had the new actor wearing a ridiculous mask that’s supposed to be made out of his victims’ flesh, but really appeared like a bad kindergarten craft project.”
Alvarez raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
“You’re good.” Hex nodded his head. “That movie did so badly I didn’t think more than fifty people throughout the US saw it.”
“I love bad horror and action films.”
“Don’t we all?” He grinned and then gestured to Alvarez. “Well, except my brother. He hates horror movies and is scared of clowns, so he wouldn’t have remembered the line.”
“I remembered and I’m not afraid of clowns. I just don’t appreciate them around me.” Alvarez ceased his fidgeting. “Get on with the rest of the questions.”
“Fine. You never like to have fun.” Hex brushed away a bug that landed on his leg. “Since you love horror and action, I’ll say a movie in another genre. ‘Your love is like a tower—’”
“‘Arching high above everyone around you and showering them in forgiveness.’ That’s Finley’s line in After One Goodbye. FYI, the actor who played Finley wrote and directed the film.” I exhausted all of my energy in maintaining a neutral expression. A mocking smile begged to burst from my face, but I remained calm. I still needed to get another quote correct. Now that he knew I was good with movies, he would make the lines more difficult.
Hex stared at the ground and tapped his finger on his knee the whole time. It must’ve been five minutes before he finally looked up with a wicked grin. “Okay. There’s no way you’re going to get this one. ‘I’m sorry, mister. We can’t get you no help.’”
Hundreds of titles raced through my head. I’d seen the
movie and heard the line, but which one was it? The fact that the person said mister made me think that the character who said it was young. My speculation didn’t guarantee it, but it was worth a guess. The bad use of language with can’t get no help symbolized that a decent amount of dialect was used in the movie, most likely southern dialect.
I thought about all of the southern movies I’d watched and something hit me. “You’re not saying the line correctly.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I can’t think of the line, but it sounds like another one. Those aren’t the words.”
“Then you have the wrong movie.”
“Or you don’t know the actual quote.”
Hex huffed and glanced at Alvarez.
“Don’t look at me.” Alvarez shook his head. “You’re the one who wanted to do this. Maybe you should stop playing so many games.”
“But do you know what line I’m talking about?” Hex asked.
“I have no idea.” Alvarez checked his watch. “Let’s make this quick. I have an appointment in an hour about getting your works in the Metropolitan Art Museum.”
“Then go.” Hex waved him away.
“I’m not going to let you do any major business moves, like hiring, without my being around.”
“Maybe you should stop trying to be so controlling.”
“Just finish your game.” Alvarez directed his attention to me. “And additionally, if she can prove that you’ve said the movie quote wrong and say the film’s title, then you get rid of the next round and hire her.”
I formed my lips into a huge smile. “I love that idea.”
“But that’s boring. I have a whole obstacle course behind the gallery.” Hex rose from the ground. “What am I going to do with all of that stuff?”
“Let the kids from your art class this afternoon play on it.” Alvarez checked his watch again. “Come on. She proves you wrong, she’s hired. However, I still need those official documents.”
“Of course.” I’ll just have to forge some.
“Okay, fine.” Hex shook the grass and dirt off his overalls. “Prove that I’m wrong.”
“Well. The movie is The Things We Can’t Forget.” I knew I was right when Hex sucked his teeth. “The person who said the line was a kid, played by the child actor Dale Cataway, who—”
“Just get on with it. How am I wrong?”
I giggled. “Well, when he says the line, he’s surrounded by his other friends who are also kids. They’re looking down a deep well where this man had climbed into it, to get the kids’ baseball. Earlier, all of the kids’ parents told them to not play baseball in this far off field, but they did it anyway. So their only ball falls into the well. This wandering homeless guy climbs an old ladder to get the ball. It broke under him as he tries to climb back up and he falls deep into the well. He’s trapped down there. After a while he screams and screams for them to get help, but the kids refuse because they know their parents will punish them for playing in that field. So the line is actually, ‘Sorry, mister. We ain’t gonna get you no help.’ In the end, they leave him there to die.”
“Let’s go. I would like to get a look at all of you.” Hex spun around and stomped off to the door with the Only Authorized Personnel sign. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it wore a frown. Had he even wanted me to be his model or did he just really enjoy playing games? I hoped for the latter as I followed him into his art studio as Alvarez trailed behind me.
Chapter 2
Alvarez
Can anything ever go right when I’m gone?
I returned to my family’s castle after a two-day business trip to discover a dead girl slumped between the rows of cabbage and carrots in the back of the vegetable garden. Gray tinted her skin. Rot radiated from her dirt-smudged flesh. Those green eyes stared off in the distance. I didn’t know how long she’d been gone, but it must’ve been a day at least. All of my breakfast spilled out from my mouth and my appetite for the rest of the week left with it. Thank God I’d volunteered myself to pick a few basil leaves for the soup my grandma was making. I made Grandma sit down to take a rest while I went to grab the herbs.
If not, she would’ve found the body and God only knows what she would’ve done.
Probably strip the body for parts.
Lots of her spells required organs. The darker incantations involved human ones. It’s not that she practiced dark arts, but something motivated grandma in these last years to do stronger enchantments that apparently needed human remains. I’d appeased her with weekly deliveries from the morgue that carried boxes of hearts, livers, and lungs to her cottage beyond the vegetables. Those visits made her happy, yet still she complained once a month, explaining that she needed the organs as fresh as possible. For all I knew, she would’ve gone to the garden, spotted the girl, rushed off to her cottage for an ax, and been hacking at body limbs by the time I had the good sense to go looking for her.
It was stupid of me to think I could leave for two days with nothing major happening.
I called the police immediately and begged for them to give my family some discretion due to our status in the community as well as reminded them of the large sums I’d given to their charities. Several cop cars and official vehicles came through the back entrance where Hex and our other guests never went. Our property was massive. Not many people would have known anything if not for the idiot ambulance driver that drove up to the front. Grandma had said the girl’s name was Brenda. My grandma made an effort to introduce herself to all of Hex’s models and artist friends who stayed on the property with us. We gave any information we had to the police. Once the cops took pictures, interviewed me, and grabbed fingerprints and whatever their crew of men did with plastic gloves and bags, they instructed the EMT to take the body and then they left.
I told that fat bastard to get his vehicle and drive to the back. Did he listen to me? No. He just puts the girl on a cart and pushed her from the far back of the property all the way to the entrance. What an idiot. How many people saw? Surely, the servants and guests are gossiping by now.
Currently a police detective named Mr. White sat in my office, waiting for me to discuss God only knows what. I shoved those thoughts away and battled with focusing on the present problem, Hex and his hiring of yet another new model. I followed them as we entered his art studio.
“Elle, this is where I do my work, which means this is where you’ll be working for most of the summer.” Hex switched on the light.
A blue glow bathed the space. Elle took her time entering the room. Her head moved from side to side as she drank in all of the wonders of my brother’s imagination—transparent funeral caskets full of torn condom wrappers, painted hypodermic needles dangling from a statue of Mary mother of Jesus, bedazzled lighters stuck on paintings of child nurseries on fire, mountainous sculptures of bodies rotting to the bone, holy crosses dipped in blood, haunting murals done in oil that captivated most viewers’ eyes while taunting their ideas of immortality. Half of his works got him locked up in jail for obscenity, banned from art galleries in certain countries, and verbally brutalized by every art critic with more love for religion than skill.
My brother’s curse was not that he said so many crude things with art. It was that he had too many vulgar things to say, and most of it no one longed to hear. Nevertheless, his stuff sold all over the world. In the end, no one else could do what he did, and do it so well that you had to love it, even though the deep crevices of your heart yearned to hate it so much.
Grandma always said, “Your brother and you carry curses. Each is different. I know yours, Al, but I just can’t figure out what his is.”
Whereas Hex replied, “My penis is the curse I carry.”
And though a shadow fell across the kitchen that night, we laughed at his joke and sipped our glasses of wine. Those were the good days, when we lived in a tiny shack in the center of Key West with grandma’s garden, Hex’s dreamy goal of ruling the world with his art, and my sweet memories
of being out to sea on US Naval ships as thousands of brilliant stars painted the sky. If I knew what I realized now, would we ever have left? The more we bought and spent, the harder my life became.
Who killed this girl and why did they do it on our property? Should I even consider my family? No. I can’t. I . . . just can’t.
“Your art is amazing.” Elle stopped at a face that was the size of her whole body and carved in black glass with dips of gray and white spots near the eyes and nose. She extended her hand out to it but didn’t touch the smooth surface, as if brushing the few inches of air in front of the piece was enough to satisfy her need. “Why did you choose to carve such a dark-shaded surface instead of forming it from a clear block of glass?”
“Because life isn’t clear.” Hex tied his black-and-white strands into a big ponytail. “It’s polluted and murky.”
She rolled her eyes, but kept her face slanted enough so Hex didn’t catch it. “How can someone who lives in a castle with a huge moat full of koi surrounding it see life in such a sad way?”
“Life is not how I see it. Life simply is what it is. I just represent it the best way I can.”
“I respectfully disagree.” Elle moved on to a watercolor of a gray woman with bushy red hair like our mother. The woman yanked at those bright crimson strands with her fingers and screamed at a pile of dead bodies in front of her. Grandma and I hated this one, so for once Hex didn’t reveal it to the world, yet hung the piece in his studio for only a select few to see.
“Why do you disagree?” Hex leaned his head to the side.
“I don’t see life as so dark. There’s good and bad times. It’s what we choose to see that determines our life.”
“That’s a shocker.”
“Why?” She turned to him.
“What about your very public, dysfunctional relationship with Michael, Mr. Bright Light himself?”
She returned her attention to the works in front of her. Tension creased the edges of her eyes. Her lips transformed from a sweet grin to a straight line that wrapped tightly across her face. “I don’t see how my relationship with Michael reflects on our conversation.”
