by Andrew Grey
“Did she have anything for you?” Jamie asked.
“She said she might have in a few weeks, so I need to get Dad better so I can get home again,” Arty explained. “Just knock her socks off and smile. For God’s sake, let her see that smile.” Arty made him feel so good.
“Ryan said he wasn’t working and would show me around tomorrow.”
“Then tell him where her office is, and he’ll make sure you get to the right place. I’m glad you made it okay. Enjoy your first days in New York. I wish I could be there to take you around, but have fun.”
“I will. And you tell your dad that I’ll miss my basketball buddy.” Jamie smiled, and they talked for a few minutes more before hanging up. Jamie was already missing the quiet times he and Arty had shared, like their evening walks or their time on the water.
A knock pulled him out of his wishful thoughts. “Are you hungry? I have some eggs, if you’d like.”
He lifted his gaze and left the room, joining Ryan in the kitchen/dining area. “Thank you.” He looked around what seemed like a miniature living space. “Are apartments this small all over?”
“Yes. Some people live in a single room that’s no bigger than this one. This apartment is rent-controlled, at least to a degree, and I was lucky to get it. Really lucky. It belonged to a friend who left the city, and he put in a good word for me. Then Arty came to live with me, and he took that space. It might have been a closet at one time, but it’s a bedroom now.”
“I don’t want to sound like I’m being picky or anything. It’s just very different.”
Ryan nodded, added onions and some vegetables to a pan on the stove, then cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl. “You get used to a very different level of personal space here. Privacy is often simply a matter of not looking. Just mind your business, even when you’re on the street. People sort of keep to their own zone. I don’t know how to describe it. Arty said you were from Iowa. I suppose they have lots of fields and wide-open spaces there? The houses are bigger, and you probably had your own bedroom?”
“Yeah, I did, and we lived in a big old farmhouse that was my grandparents’,” Jamie said.
“Here we live lives of efficiency. We shop several times a week, and only get what we’re going to need for a few days because that’s all the space we have.” Ryan put the eggs in the pan with the vegetables, then got out plates while it cooked. “So… you and Arty.”
Jamie blushed.
“I see,” Ryan continued.
“Is that bad?” Jamie asked.
Ryan shook his head. “Not at all. It’s about time that Arty got back out there again. It’s been two years since he’s dated. I was starting to think he had been revirginized.” Ryan put his hand over his mouth. “I say things like that sometimes. Don’t let it shock you. I forget that I shouldn’t be out in nonqueeny company.” He barely paused before continuing. “Not that I blame him. The last few guys hurt him badly—they didn’t treat him well. A few cheated on him and used him as arm candy to boost their own images. It was disgusting.”
Jamie laughed. It felt good. “I’m not offended. Arty said you work for a clothes designer.”
“Yes. I love it, and someday I want to have my own line. But that will take a miracle and a half. I’m really good at my job, but I think my designs lack a particular spark. Chanel, Gaultier, Lagerfeld—they all had a vision and a way of making a design their own. Each of them could make a little black dress, and yet, you’d know it was theirs.” Ryan put the plates on the table and sat down, then jumped up again. “I forgot drinks. I think I have a beer and some diet soda. Though I should probably just drink water. They say the diet soda is bad for you, but I like the bubbles and don’t want all the sugar.”
Jamie tried not to snicker. “Water is great.”
Ryan got two glasses and returned to the table. “Anyway… I was saying…. Oh yeah. I need a way to freshen up my designs and somehow make them mine.”
“Are you making dresses?” Jamie asked. He knew little about clothing designers, and the names Ryan had mentioned didn’t mean much to him, but they seemed to get Ryan excited.
“Yes, and some people love my stuff, but I don’t think my pieces have that pizzazz yet. I hope it shows up soon or I’m going to be sunk and stuck in the workrooms for the rest of my life doing someone else’s designs.”
Jamie nodded. “Is that your passion? Women’s fashion?” Jamie asked. He didn’t understand it. “I mean, you’re gay… right?”
“Yeah…,” Ryan said.
“So why aren’t you doing stuff for guys? You like guys and you think they’re hot, right?” Jamie asked, and Ryan gave him a “duh” look as he ate. “So make clothes that will make the hottest guy even hotter.” Jamie lowered his gaze. “Back home, there was nothing provocative. One of the stores outside of town had copies of Playboy and magazines like that. I never went in there except to buy a Coke when I was out that way, and I stayed away from that part of the store because I didn’t want anyone telling my dad they saw me. So I used to look at the ads in the regular magazines.”
“You mean like Calvin Klein and things like that?”
Jamie nodded. “They were hot, like on TV, when that guy jumps off the cliff in the white bathing suit to get to the woman down below. At first I thought they were selling swimsuits, not cologne. I mean, please, splash some of that stuff on and not only will you not suddenly look like them, but you’ll probably stink to high heaven too. But if you could make a normal schlub look really good, then that would be worth something.”
“But the money is in women’s fashion.”
Jamie sighed. “Follow your passion and the money will follow.” Jamie scratched his head. “I wish I could remember where I heard that. Lord knows it wasn’t from my dad.”
“Now that sounds like Arty. He’s always telling me to do what makes me happy.” Ryan finished his eggs, and Jamie did the same. He’d been hungry, and they tasted good.
“Great minds think alike,” Jamie quipped and took care of the dishes. It was the least he could do to help. “I talked to Arty earlier. He said that I have an appointment with his agent at three tomorrow. Can you tell me how to get there?”
“I can take you there when we’re out. Don’t worry.” Ryan pushed his chair back. “You’re an actor?”
“I want to be. I was decent in high school and got some really good parts. I think she’s doing it for Arty.”
Ryan scoffed. “I swear that woman does nothing for anyone except herself. In the beginning she got Arty some good jobs, but she hasn’t done crap for him since. Who knows, maybe the old broad feels guilty… that is, if she can feel anything at all.” Ryan clearly didn’t like her.
“Have you met his agent?”
“No. But I don’t like her on principle because she isn’t helping Arty all that much.” Jamie had to give Ryan credit. He must be a good friend if he could hate someone he had never met on someone else’s behalf. “Still, if she’s willing to see you this way, then maybe….”
“He said I’d get five minutes.”
“Then make the most of it. Do you know what you’re going to do?”
“I have to think about it. Last year I did a community production of Streetcar and I played Stanley. I could do something from that. There are some very powerful scenes,” Jamie said. “Though I suspect she has heard them all.” He sighed. “How do I blow her away?”
“Do your best. In this town, the trick is to fake it till you make it. So walk into that office like a star. Act as though you’re on top of the world. Then deliver whatever you’re going to do with your whole being, and see what she has to say.”
“Fake it till you make it. Does that really work?”
“As long as there’s something to back it up, why not? Someone like Margaret can spot a no-talent hack a mile away. But if you have talent… and confidence, along with drive, you might just get a chance.”
Jamie hoped he was right. And he really wished he was having this conversation with Arty.
“THAT’S THE office,” Ryan said the following afternoon, and Jamie nodded. The building looked like something out of a movie, and he was trying to figure out which kind. Horror came to mind, but that was probably just the way his stomach was still contemplating giving up the lunch he’d had earlier. “You have a few minutes. Call Arty.”
The wind blew off the water, chilling everything, so he stepped closer to the building and pulled out his phone. “I’m here, right outside the building.”
“Then take a deep breath. You can do this,” Arty said.
Jamie swallowed, wanting to curl into himself. “How do you know? You never saw me act. I could be a no-talent hack, like Ryan said.”
“You aren’t. Remember, I saw you on the boat, and you can dance and sing. You have talent. Just give it everything you have. No one can ask for anything more than that. Don’t be cocky. Just be confident, and don’t suck up to her. Just be respectful, like you are, and knock her dead. I wish I could be there with you.”
“I wish you were here too.” It felt as though his big break was more of a baptism by fire. Jamie closed his eyes and let Arty’s voice wrap around him and give him strength. The butterflies quieted and he stood up straighter.
Ryan tapped his wrist, probably to tell him that he had to go. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“You do that.” Arty paused, and Jamie waited because he seemed to want to say more. “Just be yourself,” he said after a moment. “Remember the day on the boat when you danced for me? Be happy and as carefree as you were then.” The warmth in Arty’s tone took away the wind and the cold from the air.
“I will.” Jamie said goodbye and motioned to Ryan, who led him into the building and up to the second-floor office. Jamie told the lady at the desk, whose phone was ringing off the hook, who he was, and she motioned to a chair with one hand, holding the phone with her chin. Ryan sat next to him, and Jamie sighed as he waited for the woman to get off the phone.
“She’ll be with you in a minute,” the woman said and went back to talking, shuffling through things on her desk to find what she wanted. Jamie could imagine her as one of those octopus-dinosaurs on the Flintstones. Finally the phone stopped ringing, and she looked up from her desk. “You can go in now. Margaret will see you.”
Jamie stood, walked over to where she pointed, knocked on the closed door, and stepped into a meticulously neat office to find a woman in her fifties, wearing a plain gray suit, her hair in a bun, with eyes that seemed to see into his soul, staring up at him. “I’m Jamie Wilson.”
“Yes. What do you have for me?” She sat back in her chair. “I don’t have all day. Just do what you’re going to do for me, and we’ll see what we have to work with.” At least she wasn’t rude or bitchy.
Jamie hurriedly took off his coat and tossed it into the chair in the corner, remembered that time was ticking, and went into his song and dance from Oklahoma! Jamie could hear the music in his head and let his feet tap out the beat as he moved. There was limited space, but he did his best to show that he could do both. He only did a short piece before quieting and presenting a scene with Stanley from Streetcar, pretending the agent was Blanche. Margaret blinked at him, but said nothing, and Jamie filled in Blanche’s lines in his head and continued. He had no idea if she liked or hated what he did. She gave no reaction at all. Jamie supposed he should be grateful she didn’t look at her watch or tell him to get the hell out of the office.
Out of desperation, he ended the scene, took three deep breaths, and collapsed to the wood floor, lifting himself as though he were being held by two invisible people, holding himself as though he were a small woman rather than the guy he was. He knew he must have looked out of his mind, but he held her gaze, which was a feat in itself, and gave his single line. “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” He hung his head demurely and stayed still, waiting as his character was carried off to the asylum.
Slowly he moved out of position to stand back up again. He hadn’t narrated what he had been doing; he’d just done it and hoped that Margaret would understand the characters he was portraying. Jamie felt like he’d just run a sprint, and when she said nothing more, he turned to the chair to gather up his coat. He’d tried, and he was grateful to Arty for setting it up. He’d just have to do better next time.
But when he turned back around, Margaret finally reacted. “Holy shit.”
Chapter 11
“MARGARET SAID what exactly?” Arty asked as he stood on the edge of the dock, looking out at the water.
“She said that she thinks I have something special, and she’s going to take me on as a client. I’m supposed to get pictures taken, and she wants me to get a haircut and all kinds of things. She gave me a list.” Jamie sounded overwhelmed. “I don’t know where to get all this done here. Heck, I couldn’t get some of this done in Iowa at all.”
“Did she offer to help you?” Arty asked. He should have known that if things worked out, Margaret would move quickly. But he hadn’t really expected Jamie to have this kind of initial success.
“I don’t know. Everything was said so fast, and the receptionist never got off the phone, so I couldn’t ask questions. I can’t afford to have all this done. It’s going to take all the money I have to be able to eat until I can get a job and get paid for it.”
“Okay. You should have gotten a card from her. Call the office, you’ll get the receptionist, and tell her what’s going on. She can probably help you. Anne is pretty nice once you get to know her, and she knows everything about who does what. I also suggest that you ask if Margaret is going to help with the initial setup. She does that sometimes.” It could be a lot. Lord, he remembered how Margaret had peppered him with questions when she’d first taken him on.
“Okay.” Jamie seemed so unsure. “I got another call, so I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later.” Jamie hung up, and Arty put his phone away, wishing he was there. He sighed as the sun beat on his back.
“Is everything ready?” Katherine asked. “We leave on Monday.”
“Yes. I have the boat fueled and the tanks are full of water. I have some systems that I want to check, but we’ll be ready to go.” His head was thousands of miles away, and he wished he was home.
“How is your dad?” she questioned.
“Better. The pain seems to be less, and the infection has cleared up. The doctor said Dad pulled some muscles when he fell, but he didn’t do any damage to the bone, so that was good. But he’ll be laid up for another four weeks.” He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice and probably failed. His time in Florida just kept getting longer and longer, and Arty wanted to get to Jamie in the worst way. His feet tingled just thinking about it. He turned as Gerald strode over to where they were talking. “Morning,” Arty said.
“Another run?” Gerald came to a stop a few feet away, his face as red as a snapper.
“We’re getting ready to go next week. Is there a problem?”
Katherine excused herself and walked down the dock and out toward the parking lot.
“You and your dad are going to need to find another place to dock.” He looked as smug as shit. “You know I just manage the plant. It’s my father who owns the land, and this is written notice that you can no longer use our land to access your dock.” He thrust the sheet of paper forward, and Arty stared at it, shaking his head. “I know your dad has been accessing your dock across our land for years, but that is going to end. See, you only own the piece of land your dock connects to the shore. You don’t own any of the land around it.” He grinned.
Arty sighed, and damned if he didn’t need a cup of coffee. It was too early in the morning for this shit, and he had been up late equipping the boat. Arty turned away, headed for the Pelican, took one of the empty seats, and asked Milton if he could get a coffee. He motioned, and Gerald sat down.
“Do you really think we’re that stupid? If you look at the deed to the land our dock occupies, you’ll see that your grandfa
ther, who sold the land to my dad years ago, added a clause to the deed that states that we get access to the land across your property… in perpetuity. So, your sheet of paper doesn’t mean squat. See, our deed and the provision in it is recognized and registered by the state.” He turned to Milton and thanked him. “I appreciate this so much.”
“No problem,” Milton said and sent a glare Gerald’s way before leaving the table.
“You know this little stunt is going to be all over in about five minutes,” Arty continued. He was really starting to hate this guy. Not that he’d ever thought much of him to begin with. “And I dare say that this will get back to your father.” He stared hard at Gerald and saw him flinch. Just as Arty thought, Gerald’s father probably knew nothing about this. God, this guy was stupid. He leaned over the table, lowering his voice. “You’d better drop this whole thing, or I will start telling stories about high school… and some of the things you used to like back then.”
Gerald paled. “No one would believe you,” he growled, soft enough to make sure no one heard. But there was fear in his eyes as he glanced from side to side. “And so help me, once you leave….”
“You sure about that? I have no reason to lie, and you aren’t very popular right now. I suggest you drop whatever move you think you have cooked up, be nice, and walk away, or else I’ll find a way to call on your wife and tell her some of the things I know that happen to turn you on.” Of course, Arty had no intention of doing that, but the fear in Gerald’s eyes was enough to assure Arty that he held the upper hand. “All I’ve ever asked is that you treat the people around here fairly. Nothing more. And this sort of thing….” He took the piece of paper and tore it to shreds, then put the pieces back in Gerald’s shirt pocket. He definitely knew how to make a point.
“And after you go back to New York?”
The ass figured he could bide his time. “Information can be delivered in a lot of different ways. I can make sure my father knows….” That seemed to send another shot of fear through Gerald. “I can write letters, tell all my friends here, put it on Facebook. You let your imagination run wild.” He was tired of playing this game. “I’m not asking for anything from you other than to treat the people here well. Be a part of the community instead of an asshat. This is a good place, with wonderful people who pull together when things get rough. And believe it or not, things will get tough for you eventually, and you’re going to want them to have your back.” He sipped his coffee and tried not to think how spread thin he felt. He was trying to hold on to a budding relationship at a distance, keep the wolves at bay for his dad, and protect the community from going under if the plant closed. Jamie needed him in New York, and Arty wanted to go home. But he had a run to make for his father and probably another one after that, so he wasn’t going to get to New York as soon as he had hoped. On top of it all, he just plain missed Jamie.
