Super for You, Bad for Me

by Asta Idonea

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. If I opened my mouth, I knew I’d invite him back to my room, and as much as my body urged the desirability of that scenario, my head said it was too soon. I really liked Kane—even more now that I’d glimpsed the man behind the movie star persona—and I didn’t want to ruin things by jumping, semidrunkenly at that, into bed with him at the first opportunity. Assuming my excessive sexual enthusiasm didn’t scare him off once and for all before we got that far.

  He strode away, hands buried deep in his pockets, and I watched him until he turned a corner, passing out of sight. Then I made my way back to my own lodgings, where I skipped dinner and settled down to a sleep filled with oh-so-pleasant dreams of me and Kane, together.

  Chapter Eight

  PRETENDING TO stretch, I reached behind me to make a surreptitious adjustment to my costume, which had worked its way between my buttcheeks and was currently attempting to force itself into my rectum. Kane was right; this was wedgie hell. I didn’t know how he could film like this, day in day out, but it was possible his wasn’t quite so bad. His outfit was made to measure, whereas the rest of us had to suffer what was clearly a “one size fits all” approach.

  I hadn’t seen Kane yet, despite arriving early in the hope of encountering him before heading to wardrobe. My head bursting with memories of our parting the previous evening, I’d longed for the chance to catch his eye and assure myself, once again, that I hadn’t dreamt it all. But it wasn’t to be.

  Prompt appearance had at least yielded me first pick of the costumes. This was a blessing since, uncomfortable as I was, others had to endure a worse fate. One guy’s outfit was visibly trying to decapitate him, while another’s dug in under his arms, causing him to stand with oddly hunched shoulders. I supposed I should be grateful a mere wedgie was the sum of my caped catastrophe.

  We were back indoors, beside the wirework rigging. Fake buildings surrounded us on all sides to a height of three meters. Above that it was all green screen. Those around me chatted, proposing different scenarios for the scene about to unfold, trying to guess what Barry would ask us to do. I only half listened to the suggestions—some of which were outlandish—as I was too busy watching for Kane. A couple of minutes later, he and Barry arrived together, and crew members strapped Kane into the harness while Barry addressed us.

  “Thank you all for coming. We only have one scene left to shoot, so let’s make it quick and clean so we can get to the after-party on time.”

  A few people cheered at this, and Barry waited for them to quiet before he continued.

  “In this scene, we are recreating the fall we did before, only this time it takes place inside Bobby Bartlett’s head. You all represent different parts of his psyche, so you will all react to the fall in different ways. Some will be upset, others will cheer, and the rest will be neutral. Make sense?”

  It didn’t really. In fact, it sounded like utter nonsense. However, I nodded along with the rest and listened for my name as Barry’s assistant divided us into groups. I got “joyful.” Pretending to be happy as Kane’s character fell to his metaphysical death wasn’t exactly high on my list of great acting experiences, but that was show business. I turned to sneak a glance at Kane and blushed when I found his gaze fixed upon me. I experienced a sudden shortness of breath at this proof that last night had happened, but there was only time to exchange a quick smile and an unobtrusive wave before Barry called for us to take our places.

  They hoisted Kane skyward, higher and higher, as far as the rigging and the space’s ceiling allowed. He assumed the same horizontal, loose-limbed position as before, looking like a broken puppet, and we were ready to commence.

  My stomach turned as Kane fell, the sensation all the more bizarre being coupled, as it was, with my forced, broad grin and whoops of delight. As before, however, he made a safe landing and we quickly reset for another attempt.

  It was moments before the clapper came down on the third take that I noticed something amiss. While everyone else joked and nattered amongst themselves as the crew winched Kane skyward once again, I watched Kane’s every move. It looked different this time. The angle was off. Kane tilted more to the right than he had before, as if the lines holding the harness were no longer of equal length, and in my heart, I knew something was wrong.

  I shoved through the crowd and made my way toward the nearest crew member. When he quirked an eyebrow in silent question, I pointed to Kane.

  “I think there’s a problem with the harness.”

  The guy squinted upward. “Looks fine to me.”

  “But he’s obviously on the tilt.” I couldn’t hide the note of exasperation in my voice. Was that all the checking they were going to do? Shouldn’t they bring Kane down and make absolutely certain there was nothing amiss?

  “He’s probably just holding himself differently, shifting his weight distribution.” He appeared to register my agitation at last and offered a reassuring smile. “We checked the harness and lines when he last came down. He’s fine up there, I promise.”

  With a nod of thanks, I turned and fought my way back to my former position. I was overreacting and making a fool of myself. They would hardly risk the safety of someone as important as Kane Teague. If the guy said the harness was secure, then, of course, all was well. I glanced up again. Kane still looked cockeyed to me, but maybe that was simply a trick of the light.

  Barry called for order. The scene commenced. And then horror struck.

  One of the lines snapped off the harness, sending Kane into a disorganized spin. He flailed. Screams and shouts filled the air. Barry yelled for them to stop Kane’s descent. But he kept falling. Meanwhile, shock and terror pinned me in place, unable to move, unable to breathe.

  “Something’s jammed. We can’t stop it!”

  The anguished cry snapped me out of my stupor and the truth struck me. I could stop him. I could save him.

  I reached out with my mind. I’d been practicing all week and no longer had any trouble grasping an object’s invisible particles and strands. Or at least I hadn’t had any trouble. Now, when I sought Kane, I couldn’t touch him. Was it panic? Did fear block me? He tumbled downward, impact mere seconds away. Kane was going to die! God, he was going to die, and his death would be on my head since I’d had the power to save him but had failed.

  Desperate, I tried again. I still couldn’t feel Kane, but I encountered something else: the harness. Its fibers responded to my call and I latched on to them with everything I had, willing the vest to still. I sought the lines too, holding them in place, stretching the remainder taut, all the while praying it would be enough.

  Kane jerked to a stop a meter from the ground, and crew members rushed toward him, shoving everyone else out of the way. Only when I was certain they had him secure did I let go of my own hold.

  I stumbled back, treading on someone’s toes. At their curse, I mumbled an apology, but I wasn’t fully aware of whom I’d injured or what was happening around me. My head pounded. It was like the worst headache I’ve ever had magnified one hundredfold. The room spun, and I had to close my eyes until the dizzy spell passed. Although, in that moment, it felt never-ending, the episode can’t have lasted more than a few seconds because when the drumming in my cranium ceased and I looked about me, the crew were still helping Kane out of the harness while Barry hovered nearby, wringing his hands.

  Kane!

  I pressed forward through the crowd until I could see him better. He was on his feet; however, crew members gripped his arms. He looked wan, his eyes wide and unfocused, and I caught the swallowing motion in his throat seconds before he vomited over the crash mat, dry retching when no more would come. He wasn’t well, but he was alive, with nothing obviously broken. Unless he’d ruptured his spleen or something. Shit! He might be bleeding to death internally. He needed a CAT scan, an ultrasound, an MRI….

  Crew members foiled my attempt to move closer and speak to him. Barry had rallied, and he ordered his team to guide t
he rest of us out of the way as two of their number escorted Kane off the set and out of sight. Terri appeared in our midst and ushered us all into the far corner, where she advised us that filming was over and we should proceed to wardrobe to return our costumes before heading home. Someone asked after Kane, but all she would tell us was that he was “going to be fine.”

  Removal of my costume happened on autopilot. All I know is that one moment the stretchy fabric was wedged in my butt crack, the next I was back in jeans and T-shirt, my jacket slung over my arm as I traipsed out behind the others.

  Kane remained foremost in my mind. I could still picture him, deathly pale and puking out his guts. I tried not to remember the sight of him plummeting. If only there was some way to know for certain that he was all right.

  I could have slapped my hand to my forehead at my stupidity. Of course I could contact him—Kane had given me his goddamned private phone number.

  I stepped aside to let the others pass, then reached into my pocket for my mobile. My hand trembled as I scrolled through the contact list. I dialed and pressed the phone to my ear, but the call went straight to voicemail. At the beep, I couldn’t think of what to say and only managed to blurt out some garbled sentences about wanting to know he was okay. Then I hung up.

  When I arrived back at my motel, I considered asking if I could stay on another night. Further reflection changed my mind, though. What could I do here? If Kane was all right, he’d leave for LA in the morning as planned. If he wasn’t, there was little I could do to help him, even if, by some miracle, I convinced them to let me into the hospital (or wherever they took him). Whether I was here or at home would make no difference, and at least the drive would occupy me and prevent any excessive fretting.

  As it happened, the latter consideration proved only partially true. The traffic on the M25 was so backed up, I spent a lot of time sitting and pondering, although, I tried to restrict myself to safe subjects such as what time I’d reach home and what I should do about dinner when I got there. One good thing did come from the traffic jam, though, and that was the fact that since I was stationary, with the handbrake on, I was able to answer when my phone rang.

  “Oswell.” Kane sounded weary, his voice low and gravelly.

  “Kane. My God, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just shaken up.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Sorry I didn’t answer earlier. I was at the hospital, and then I was stuck on the phone to my agent for over an hour. He’s hopping mad and is threatening to sue the production company, even though I wasn’t hurt and don’t want a big hullabaloo.”

  “Sounds like dealing with him is worse than the fall itself,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  It worked; Kane gave a hoarse laugh. “Maybe it is at that. Thanks, Oswell. I knew talking to you would cheer me up.”

  “You are okay, though? Truly?”

  “Yeah. Nothing a stiff drink or two and a good sleep won’t fix. I’ve been thoroughly prodded by paramedics and doctors and sat through two scans, both of which are clear. Minor whiplash is the sum of my injuries.”

  “Did they say what happened?”

  “One of the lines wasn’t secured properly. A slipup. That’s why I fell. What they can’t seem to tell me is how I stopped. Apparently, I should have smashed into the crash mat, and I might have died if the impact from that had broken my neck.”

  “Shit! And no one has a theory about how you stopped?” I hated to push when the event had clearly, and understandably, freaked Kane out, but now that I knew he was fine, the old panic over possible discovery of my secret set in, and I had to make sure there were no suspicions circulating as to the truth.

  “Most called it a miracle. But I think it was you.”

  “What?” My voice came out as a squeak.

  “You’re like my lucky charm.”

  I breathed again. “Oh, uh, thanks.” My gaze moved to the air freshener hanging to my left. “Perhaps you should dangle me from your rearview mirror, like a rabbit’s foot.”

  Kane laughed. The sound wasn’t so harsh now; he seemed to be regaining his spirit. “Damn, I wish I could see you again before I go.”

  I wholeheartedly seconded that sentiment. “Do you want me to drive back? I can, if you want.” For Kane, I’d willingly spend my whole life stuck in traffic on the M25.

  “No, no. Go home and get some sleep. I need to do the same.”

  A car horn gave a long, loud blast and I realized that traffic was moving and I was holding up the lane. I dropped the phone facedown on the passenger seat, slid the gear stick into first, and crept forward a whole five meters before we ground to a halt again.

  “What was that? Oswell?” Kane’s voice was muffled where the speaker pressed against the seat cover, but he sounded concerned.

  After engaging the hand break, I took the car out of gear and scooped up the phone, fumbling and nearly dropping it before I pressed it firmly to my ear.

  “Sorry about that. I’m in a jam on the motorway, and we finally inched forward.”

  “I should go. I don’t want to distract you while you’re driving.”

  Although I wanted to claim otherwise, to keep him with me for a few precious extra moments, I knew he was right. “Have a safe flight. You’re still going on the press tour?”

  “Yeah. I made a commitment, and it’s not as if I was badly injured, aside from a crick in the neck. Listen, I’ll call you from LA over the weekend. Okay?”

  “That’d be good. Take care.”

  “You too, Oswell.”

  By the time I made it to my exit, it was already dark and my stomach was growling. I swung past the drive-in and picked up takeaway, then headed home. In my absence, some bastard had stolen my designated parking spot, so I had to drive around to the miniscule visitors’ car park at the rear and perform a twenty-point maneuver to get into the sole free space there. My meal was barely lukewarm by then, but I couldn’t be bothered to microwave it and wolfed it down like that. The sugar hit from the soft drink was just what I needed, and I sighed as I sank on the bed.

  What a day! Thank God I’d caught Kane in time. From the sound of things, I’d probably saved his life. In a way, I was just like a superhero.

  I sat up and ruminated on that. A superhero. Me? Was it true? Did I want it to be?

  Although I’d considered my telekinetic abilities to be “superpowers,” I’d not taken the next logical step to think of myself as a superhero. Superheroes, such as Kane played in this new film, didn’t exist outside the realms of movies, video games, and comic books. There was no one actually out there patrolling the city, keeping its citizens safe and defeating bad guys. Not least because there were no such things as supervillains either. Yet here I was with these powers.

  Using my new skills for my own amusement or to carry out mundane tasks like fetching my drink from across the room suddenly felt frivolous. Was it not a waste, a sacrilege even? Who was I to employ these talents solely for selfish trivialities when I could use them to do good? It wasn’t as if I had a busy schedule. In my free time, I should be helping people. I’d rescued Kane, so surely I could save others too.

  This decision had the aura of one of those turning points in life. I found myself filled with a sense of purpose the likes of which I’d never experienced. In that moment, it truly felt as if I’d uncovered my calling. Acting wasn’t my raison d’être; this was what I was born to do. And I only needed to address three things before I embarked on this new venture.

  First up, I had to find a way to methodically test the limits of my powers, to know what I could and couldn’t accomplish. Secondly, I required a suitable costume to conceal my identity. And finally, I ought to choose a pseudonym for the same reasons. This latter task looked set to prove the hardest since the name needed to be both memorable and heroic sounding. I racked my brains, but I soon realized that comic book creators had already snagged the best of the suitable monikers, and I didn’t want to commence
my crime-fighting career with a copyright lawsuit hanging over my head.

  At last, I hit upon it: something noble, something awe-inspiring, something to strike fear into the hearts of London’s criminals.

  I would be Telekineticusrex!

  Chapter Nine

  IN COMIC books and movies, becoming a superhero is easy. The leading man (or lady) discovers their powers, often by accident, and in the next scene they’re out there fighting crime. Tracking down the villains never poses a problem because they have either superhearing or a close (and often gullible) friend in the police force. Or else they possess the technical know-how to tap into police radio, to learn when and where they’re needed.

  Unfortunately, I had none of those things. Nor did London play host to any real-life supervillains, whose terrorizing of the city took place live on TV to give me the heads-up. I had to make do with wandering the streets, hoping to stumble across a mugging or a burglary in progress. So far, I’d failed to spot so much as an attempted grope or an illegally parked vehicle. Maybe London had a lower crime rate than I’d supposed. Or perhaps the city’s criminals were all on sabbatical. It was slap-bang in the middle of the summer-holiday period, after all. Although, I would have presumed the August tourism boost to be a draw—all those extra pockets to pick.

  In actual fact, I wasn’t overly concerned about the lack of heroic action at present since my costume was still a work in progress. Unable to so much as sew a button by myself, I’d left the work in the capable hands of a local seamstress I’d found on the Internet. Ellen’s bio had stated that she had extensive experience in theatrical costumes, so when I’d emailed my initial inquiry, I’d told her that this one was for an avant-garde London fringe production. I’d sunk all my remaining savings (slim to begin with) into the purchase of the top-of-the-range, high-tech material Ellen had suggested would be the most suitable, if I wanted to blend realism with practicality, leaving only enough to cover her fee and pay my rent until the end of the month. I was on the lookout for a new job to replenish my funds, but in the meantime, I’d had to get inventive when it came to finding sustenance. Luckily, this need also gave me the opportunity to hone my telekinetic skills.