by Sarah Ready
“How’s that boy?” asks Enid. We all know she’s talking about Finick. She always refers to him as that boy.
“Joel caught him sneaking out again. He’s leaving at midnight, not coming home until four in the morning.”
“Terrible,” says Enid.
“He’s running with the wrong crowd,” says Joel. “Next time I get a phone call from the police, I won’t be talking him out of trouble.”
Enid tsks, “Poor boy.” Then she turns back to me, “You need to stay away from that Liam Stone. He’ll bring nothing but misery.”
“The only thing he cares about is drink,” says Heather.
Clark brings out the pie, and everyone forgets conversation. It’s bourbon pecan, and the bourbon bites my tongue.
What do I do? What do I do?
I hear Bean laughing. It’s a good day today, she’s up and moving, laughing and interacting. But not every day is good, and soon there might not be any days at all.
Not one.
I poke at the pie, and the bourbon wafts up again.
What had Liam Stone said? Don’t come back unless you’re bringing Lagavulin?
“Is Lagavulin liquor?” I ask.
Joel guffaws. “That’s a fine Scotch, that. You don’t put it in pie.”
Everyone goes back to their conversation, but my mind seizes onto an idea. I think about it, then decide, yes, it just might work. I’ll go back. Alone this time. And give Liam Stone exactly what he asked for.
4
Liam
The questions plagued me for a long, sleepless night. What am I going to do? Where to from here? Where do you go after you’ve hit bottom?
When the guy-wire snapped and I fell, I experienced the worst terror of my life. My mind was so wrapped in fear that my body shut down. I couldn’t yell, I couldn’t struggle, there was nothing I could do except anticipate my bones shattering as I hit the concrete. And they did. I can still hear the exact crunching noise in my mind when my back broke, and my hip bone crumbled, like a ball of chalk slamming into pavement and crumbling to dust.
It took a long time to come out of that place, where I was lying on the concrete and there was only my breath and the pain. But I did. I did what everyone expected. Had the surgeries, the physical therapy, took the pain medication, did it all. And went back to being Liam Stone, just with a fake hip and a pieced together spine. The only thing I didn’t anticipate was what would happen when I got strapped back into the harness and hung suspended in the air.
Hell happened.
And I was back again, falling, and not able to do anything but…
Well, ask the world, there are plenty of videos of me out there, “losing my shit” on set.
That was two years ago.
But yesterday was the first day anyone’s actually said “it’s over.”
Although, I knew. Why else would I be hiding out in the rural Midwest, living as a hermit? I have to face the facts. I got asked to be a clown, for crying out loud. A clown. And a celebrity pusher of hemorrhoid cures.
When night came, it was dark and lonely. I cleaned up the trailer, threw out a dozen beer bottles, swept up months of dirt, washed the sheets, took a shower, shaved, found clean clothes. All the while I thought, and thought.
After twelve hours of insomniac pacing I decided that the only place I can go is up. I’ve had two years to sink to this level. Look at me, for crying out loud. But now that I’m here, I can kick off the bottom and use the momentum to swim even higher than before. That’s the benefit of hitting bottom, if it doesn’t kill you, you can spring back up. That’s what I’ll do.
I’m going to get fit, get my head straight, beat my fear, I’m going to do something heroic, something great that will make the world love me again. Because if I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life pimping out to birthday parties and adult diaper commercials. And that future is scarier than facing the harness and the guy-wire again.
I lie down in the hammock outside in the shade and close my eyes. Now that I’ve come to a decision I’m ready to sleep. It seems like I just closed my eyes when cold liquid splashes over my face.
“Get up,” a sharp voice snaps. “Get up. Don’t you have any pride left? Get up.”
I gasp and shoot straight up. My arms wave and I try to catch myself, but the hammock spins and I fall to the dirt.
“Jeez Louise,” a woman says.
I shake my head and fling the drops of liquid off my face. I’m on all fours in the dirt. I take a moment to draw in a deep breath. That’s whiskey I smell. I wipe my face. The coarse dirt mixes with the sticky liquor and sticks to my skin. My T-shirt is soaked through and my hair’s dripping. I shake off again, then, “What’s wrong with you?” I stand up and turn to the woman.
“You,” I say. Because it’s that short, pushy brunette from yesterday morning.
“Me,” she says. Then she holds up a bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey. “They didn’t have any Lagavulin so I brought you this instead.”
“Are you insane?” I ask. I wipe at my face again, but it only rubs the dirt and liquor around even more.
“You said I shouldn’t come back unless I brought your Lagavulin. Well, sorry, mister, but they don’t have fancy schmancy drink in Centreville. So I brought you second best.”
“More like hundredth best,” I say. I turn from her so that she doesn’t see the smile aching to rise up at the corner of my mouth.
I’m starting to get my bearings now that the groggy confusion of being woken up by whiskey has passed. “You were here yesterday,” I say.
“That’s right,” she says. “I have something important to ask. But you seemed to be…”—she pauses and considers her words—“indisposed.”
“Well.” I climb back into the hammock and close my eyes. “Consider me indisposed for the rest of forever.”
She makes a little angry sound under her breath and my ears perk up like they like what they hear.
“Sorry I dunked you in liquor. I lost my temper…I got a bad call this morning. About…”
My ears twitch. It’s funny, I haven’t had company in years, and now I sort of don’t want her to go away. She has a low voice, sweet and husky at the same time. It sort of strums over me and makes me want to hear more. It mixes with the scent of the whiskey on my skin and makes me feel drunk with the sound of her.
My body tenses, waiting for more of her strumming voice to roll over me. But she stays quiet. I guess she’s going to leave. Too bad.
“You going already?” I ask. I don’t open my eyes to check. It sort of seems like it would be hard to watch her walk away.
But then, she lets out another angry noise. Suddenly, she shoves at the hammock. Hard. It tilts and I’m dumped to the ground. I hit with a thud, and pain shoots through my back. I tense and clutch the grass until the pain subsides.
“Dang it all, woman. Are you insane?”
I roll over and lay there, waiting for the pain to completely clear.
She stands over me, her hands on her hips. How doesn’t she have any fear? I’m an unknown man, a crazy drunk as far as she’s concerned, and she’s here like some avenging angel, no fear whatsoever. I know movies, and the only time someone acts like that is when they’ve got nothing to lose. She’s not crazy. I squint and look at her eyes.
No. She’s not crazy. She’s desperate.
I let out a long sigh and rub my hand down my face.
“Sorry,” she says again. But I don’t think she is. I stare up at the leaves of the oak trees, and the light filtering through. She’s backlit like a superhero on a cover, and I’m the chump she’s toppled. “I need to talk with you,” she says.
“Gathered that,” I say. I keep progressively relaxing the muscles in my back to stop the spasms. “Give me a second.”
She nods and then leans against the trunk of the big oak tree. I feel her eyes on me as I finish the sequence. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the heat of a woman’s gaze, and while my back is relaxing, another
part of me gets a lot tenser.
I try to quell the reaction, but it’s a losing battle. The second she started talking my body started reacting. Except, maybe it’s more than that, because she’s quiet now and I’m still feeling her effect. Finally, I’m able to sit up. I scoot back and lean against the tree. The trunk is thick and wide enough for the both of us to relax against. I pat the grass next to me.
“Have a seat,” I say.
She hesitates, then slowly sits down as far from me as possible while still leaning against the bark.
“What can I do you for?” I ask, opting to ditch the Hollywood and go for good ol’ boy.
She clears her throat. “Right…” She stops, folds her hands, looks away.
It’s funny, now that the whiskey dumping and the hammock dumping are done, she seems almost shy.
“You want something? Tell me it’s not a birthday party request,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t do balloon animals.”
She lets out a little huff, an almost laugh, and then looks at me. I’m struck by the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. The carefree and youthful feature seems so out of place on a woman with such a serious demeanor.
“I came looking for help,” she says. Studying her face, I’d never know that she was anything but calm and determined. But I’m an actor, and I look beyond expressions. I watch her hands. They twist in her lap, and she clasps them together to try and keep in the emotion. Nerves. Worry. Fear.
I should tell her to go away. To not bother me again. I’ve got enough troubles of my own without letting her dump whatever’s wrong in her life on me. I’m not a fixer. But…there’s something about her, about the way she looks at me. Not like I’m a has-been, but like I’m a could-be.
“Alright,” I say. “I’m listening.”
She closes her eyes and her shoulders fall an inch. “My daughter,” she says. “You’re her hero. I mean, Liam Stone is.”
She opens her eyes and turns to me. I nod to show my understanding. My character has the same name as I do, it was an executive decision to make me a brand.
“She wants to be a superhero too. The only way she knows how is to train under a real superhero. Just like in the comic books. And you’re the only superhero in the world. I want…I mean…I’m asking if you would train my daughter.”
I lean away from the woman. So, I was wrong, she’s not desperate, she actually is insane. A crazed fan. I saw enough of them in the past. They can’t tell the difference between me and the character I play. It’s resulted in some bad scenes in the past.
I’m disappointed. I didn’t realize how much I wanted her to be something more, until I realized she wasn’t.
“Sure thing,” I say in a voice that I hope is impersonal. “I’ll get you an autograph. Sign some comics for you.” I go to stand up, let the woman leave with some memorabilia.
“No,” she says. She grabs my arm. “Please.”
I look down at her hand. She blushes and pulls back.
“I’m sorry. You just…you don’t understand.”
“Okay,” I say. But I think I do. “What’s your name?”
“Ginny,” she says. “Ginny Weaver.”
“Alright, Ginny Weaver. I’m Liam Stone. But I’m not a superhero. I’m an actor. I played a superhero. You understand? It’s pretend.” You have to be careful when explaining these things. Sometimes, it gets a little hairy.
She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. Then, “I know that. I’m asking for my daughter. She’s sick.”
On the word “sick,” her voice catches. And I realize that I misread the situation.
Ginny looks at me and I nod my understanding. “Go on.”
“I got a call this morning.”
“You said that.”
“The doctors.” She wipes at her eyes, even though I don’t see any tears. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I haven’t told anyone yet.”
I wait until she pushes down whatever she’s wrestling with.
“The leukemia went into remission, then it came back almost right away. It’s a really rare type. Aggressive. It’s not getting better. Bean, my daughter, she needs a bone marrow donor. They told me it’s her best chance.”
I see a little white clover flower and I pluck it. I need to keep my hands busy, I can’t sit still while she tells me about this little girl. I pull another flower head up and drop it next to the first.
“They called this morning,” she whispers. “Still nothing. No matching donors, not in any of the registries. Not anywhere. And soon, she’ll be too sick for a transplant anyway.”
I drop a third flower head. “What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means…don’t make me say it.”
I nod. I don’t know this woman, I don’t know anything about her except she’s kind of crazy and she loves her daughter. But, even with that, I move closer and put my hand on her arm. At my touch she takes in a shaky breath and a small sound escapes her lips.
“She has a letter for you,” she says. She uses her forearm to brush at her eyes, then she pulls an envelope from her pocket. “I don’t know what it says. She’s barely six years old, but she’s precocious.”
I nod and take the folded envelope. I break open the letter and pull out a blue piece of construction paper. There’s a picture of me, in my Liam Stone outfit, black leather and a cape. And there’s a girl next to me in a cape and mask, it says Bean beneath her.
I glance over at Ginny. Her face is turned away. She’s giving me space to read, or she’s giving herself space to collect herself.
I read Bean’s letter. It’s written in crayon. Not all the words are spelled correctly and some of the B’s and P’s are backwards.
Dear Liam Stone,
Everyone says you aren’t real. Except my mom. She believes in you, and so do I.
I want to learn to be a superhero. My dad was a hero. He died saving my mama and me. I want to be a hero too. Like my dad and you. Will you teach me?
Bean
I hold the letter and stare at the words until they blur. My hand shakes and so I take the letter, carefully fold it, and put it in my pocket.
I can’t…I’m not what this girl needs. I’m not really a hero. I’m just an actor, a messed up, has-been actor, with a broken body and a bad reputation. I only just decided that I’m going to climb myself out of this hole I’m in. I can’t carry a woman and her sick daughter up with me too.
“I’m not…” I pause when Ginny jerks in surprise and wipes at her eyes. Her back’s turned to me. After a minute she turns back to me. Her eyes are red, but she’s composed.
“What?” she says.
I drop my eyes, see the clover heads and swipe them away. “I’m not one of those charities that grants wishes,” I say. The words feel dirty in my mouth. But I’m not, I’m not the right person for this.
Ginny’s face is calm, but her hands clench. “You’re saying no?”
I swallow down the flavor of shame. “I’m saying no.”
I can’t help them. I’ve got nothing to give.
“Please,” she says. She drops her eyes. “I’ll do anything.”
I see it in her eyes. She will. Anything I ask, this woman will do it. I feel sick with the shame of it. “I’m not asking,” I say, suddenly angry. “I’m not a hero. I’m not the person you need. Have you looked at me? What can I give her?”
She flinches then takes in my appearance. The still-damp T-shirt, my dirt-covered hands and face. My out-of-shape body and pain-worn face. Finally, Ginny nods. She understands, I can see it.
“Are you an alcoholic?” she asks. Her voice is calm and matter-of-fact.
“No. Yesterday was a once-a-year anomaly. I don’t drink.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Just self-pity then,” she says.
I let out a harsh laugh. I’m on to her brand of crazy and I’m starting to like it. She’s quick with the punches and she doesn’t hold back. Honest and direct.
/> She considers me for a moment, then, “I’ll train you,” she says. She leans toward me and nods. “It’s perfect. I’ll train you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. My eyes are drawn to the top of her breasts, suddenly visible in the dip of her tank top.
“I’m a fitness instructor. I’m taking classes in sports medicine. I can train you, get you in the best shape of your life. You can work with Bean. And I’ll train you. A sort of superhero academy. Everyone will come out on top. Everyone will win.” She stops, swallows whatever she was going to say that has a shadow passing over her face. “When you’re done here. When Bean’s…you can go back to Hollywood. You’ll be in top form.”
I poke at the little ball of hope that forms in my chest. Is it real? Can I trust it? I didn’t like the feeling I got when she mentioned what would happen after her daughter, well, died. Can I really do this? Get involved?
Except, this does seem like the answer I’m seeking. The day I decide I’m going to get my act together, Ginny shows and offers to train me. And if I help them, maybe the world will see me as a hero again.
Maybe the studio execs would scramble to hire me again rather than toss me to the bottom level of actor hell.
I can’t quell the fierce need that arises at the thought. I could be on top of the world again. I will be.
“Deal,” I say.
“Really?” Ginny’s voice is high and surprised.
I give a wry smile and hold out my hand. “It’s a deal. I’ll train your daughter to be a superhero. You train me.”
