by Rowe, Brian
“No!”
And then, with a look of terrifying menace on her face, Vivien charged into the living room and kicked open Gavin’s door. He was kissing Kendyll on her neck.
“I want you to go home,” Vivien said to Kendyll, walking up to the bed. “I want you to leave right now. I mean it.”
Kendyll looked speechless. Gavin stood up, his mouth agape.
“Mom! Don’t talk to my girlfriend that way! Take that back!”
“I don’t feel comfortable with her here, Gavin. I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again now. I don’t care if you’re a teenager. I don’t care if your hormones are running wild. You are still my son, you live under my roof, and you have to do what I tell you to do.”
“But what about Dad? He said she could come over!”
“Do I look like I give a shit?”
Kendyll grabbed for her bag. “I should just go,” she said.
“No!” Gavin yelled.
“It’s OK,” she said. “I can call my dad and he can come pick me up. It’s totally fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. This is fucked!”
Vivien never heard him use the f-word before. “Gavin Hess! You are in big trouble, mister!”
Then, without warning, Gavin grabbed his backpack and threw it across the room. It slammed into the wall, barely missing his framed poster of The Hangover. He grabbed Kendyll’s hand and escaped through his back door that led into the backyard.
Vivien tried to process what had taken place. Her mind was racing. Her heart was pounding. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were shaking.
Back in the kitchen, the turkey burgers had become charcoal, and the pan they were on was smoking.
“Damn it,” Vivien said.
Patrick was reading a magazine. “You should’ve played it cool, honey. Should’ve played it cool.”
Vivien started sliding the patties onto the paper plates, but the third patty missed and fell toward the floor. She tried to catch it but her uncoordinated movement caused the entire pan to fall over and crash against the hardwood floor.
“Oh shit!”
Patrick got out of his chair and walked up to the icky mess of white meat and black grease. “Jesus Christ, let me handle this.”
Vivien tossed the pan back up on the counter and charged out of the room.
---
“Honey?” Patrick asked, digging his fork into a bowl of watery spaghetti, nearly an hour since the turkey burger disaster.
“Yes?”
“What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”
Vivien looked up from her salad bowl with confusion. He rarely asked her about her schedule. “Why? What, do you want to grab lunch or something?”
“No, nothing like that,” he quickly responded. “I was just wondering if you were going to pick Gavin up from school? I thought I’d pick him up for once. I hate that he walks home every day.”
Vivien shook her head. “Are you kidding me? His ass is walking home every day from now until eternity! After the stunt he pulled tonight? It’s the least we can do.”
“OK, yeah.” He pursed his lips and played with the noodles with his fork. “I guess you’re right. I just thought it’d be nice.”
“Let’s try not being nice to him for a change. Maybe he’ll learn something.”
“My day’s kind of swamped tomorrow, anyway,” Patrick said. “My new secretary is packing my schedule so tight, I barely have time to breathe.”
“Yeah? My associate would prefer there to never be any work. I give him a task to do and he scoffs at me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
Vivien managed a smile and started feeding some of the black turkey meat to the dog.
“Too bad for him, though,” she continued. “Tomorrow’s a crazy day for me, too. We have an all day session. Eleven to four.”
“Wow. Do you even get a lunch break?”
“No. Not tomorrow.”
“So you’ll be at your office most of the day?”
“That’s correct.” She put her right hand on Patrick’s. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home in time to make you a nice, healthy supper, my dear.”
She got up from the table and tossed out the rest of her salad.
“And then Friday I have another session,” she said. “That’s all afternoon, too.”
“But you love it, don’t you?”
She walked over to Patrick and gave him a hug from behind. “Not as much as I love you.”
Vivien kissed him on his left cheek. Patrick looked to be searching for a response when Gavin stormed into the house, alone. He raced to his room and slammed the door behind him, not once making eye contact with his parents.
Patrick chuckled. “I guess he came to his senses.”
“Do you think I should—”
Patrick shook his head with assurance. “No. You sit this one out. Let me talk to him.”
“Yeah, well, he’s got a lot of apologizing to do, that’s all I have to say.” Vivien started making her way toward her bedroom. “I’m gonna hit the sack. Will I see you in the morning?”
“Probably not,” he said. “I have a patient at seven. I’ll be out of here bright and early.”
“OK. Well, have a good day at work.”
Almost forgot.
“Oh! And Patrick?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for your text today. That was really sweet.”
He stared at her with a blank expression. But then he nodded, and smiled. “Yes. Of course.”
Vivien didn’t bother washing her face or urinating, even though she felt like both were required before she could fall asleep. She just jumped onto the bed, got under the covers, and turned out the light. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow’s gonna be a good day.
-8-
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”
The tall, attractive man, who sported a six-pack of perfection and a clean-shaven face, shook the door a second time. It wouldn’t budge.
He turned around and shivered. He looked at his watch. 4:42 A.M. It was dark inside the gym, and there didn’t appear to be anyone reporting to work yet.
“Come on. This is such bullshit.”
He started doing lunges back and forth between the entrance of the gym and the winding staircase that led down to the empty parking lot.
Ten minutes later he saw movement. He pounded on the doors again and waved.
A young girl, who looked to be yawning for as long as he had been standing outside in the cold, stumbled up to the door. She cracked it open and stuck her head out.
“Sorry. We don’t open for another ten minutes.”
He smiled at her. “I’d just like to start stretching. Can you let me in?”
“I can’t let you in before five. That’s the rule.”
“Who’s to know? Honestly?”
Tyler Stiletto knew that this girl would probably have sex with him here and now if he asked, despite how tired she looked. And she’d like it, too. He’d invited a girl home the weekend before whom he met at the gym. They hadn’t hit it off, but they still fucked a few times.
“What’s your name?”
“Helen.”
“Hi Helen. I’m Tyler. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
He put his hand out. Instead of shaking it, she looked at her watch. 4:53.
“All right, come in. I still need to turn some lights on in the back.”
“Thank you.”
He thought about giving her a peck on the cheek but deemed it too risky. He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression and get sued later that day for sexual harassment. He had enough on his plate as it was.
Tyler started with the elliptical machines, and then made his way to the free weights. He finished his workout with push-ups and crunches.
When he arrived home, he took a quick shower. He was already behind schedule.
His closet housed eight different black suits. He
had more than thirty different ties. Six pairs of black slacks hung on the rack.
He checked his cell phone. Zero messages.
Let’s change that.
---
He was at his office at seven. He managed to grab a cinnamon dolce latte on the way, skinny, of course, with no whipped cream. He checked his messages and started making calls.
7:20. “Good morning, Karen. Tyler here. Listen, I understand your director wants to set up Vincent for a meeting. I’m sorry to say that Vincent is being very choosy right now, and he’s not really looking to work with first-time directors. I think your best course of action would be to shoot over an offer. Then we’ll talk. Otherwise, it’s a pass.”
7:49. “Ludwig, it’s Tyler. Good morning to you. It’s nearly eight o’clock on August 16. I am sitting in my office, staring at my inbox, not seeing an offer from you. I think I made myself clear yesterday that Nicole would be offer only, and that there is no way in hell that Mitch would read. He’s done recurring guest stars. He’s been in some big movies. That you want to set him up to read for a director who’s done next to nothing is embarrassing, to tell you the truth.”
8:03. “Joseph. Tyler speaking. I got your offer yesterday for Nicole and sent her the script for interest. I don’t think she’s gonna go for it. She’s kind of sick of horror at the moment, and for her to play the second lead in a slasher flick whose budget is lower than the last one she headlined last year is a bad sign. The money is decent, so I sent it on to her for interest. But most likely she will pass. You will need to up the price to really get her attention. But I should let you know by Monday at the latest.”
8:25. “Flower Gypsy, hey, it’s your buddy Stiletto. Give me a call. I wanted to follow up with you on your new projects. According to my database, the last film you cast was last January. What are you working on now? Anything happening? Flower Gypsy, it’s getting closer to the holidays, and we need to start making some money. You hear me? I want you to make money. I want me to make money. Let’s all help each other make each other filthy fuckin’ rich. You get me? Call me!”
The second person to arrive on his floor walked in around 8:30. She held a large coffee in her left hand and a pink cell phone in her right. She was talking to a friend about an upcoming weekend party. She took a seat and gave Tyler a look of pity.
Turn away from me you filthy whore. I will have my day. Just you wait.
For the first time since he had arrived at work, he put the phone down and started checking his e-mails. It was mostly spam, but the e-mails that did matter were getting replies with a rapid response. He used all five fingers on his left hand, but only his index finger on his right. He had hoped one day he would learn how to use all ten of his fingers so he could move at an even faster pace. But now was not the time. He had work to do.
From the outside observer, Tyler Stiletto didn’t look close to his real age. Thirty-two years old, with short black hair and dimples, he looked ten years younger. He took care of his face and body, and it showed. He had graduated from USC School of Theater almost nine years ago, and he immediately segued into an Agent Trainee program at International Creative Management. He spent two grueling years in the mailroom, and then worked his way up to being an assistant to a junior agent. Then, for four years, he worked eighteen-hour days assisting the most demanding, bullying, heinous agent in all of Hollywood named Artie Fassbender, until the day finally arrived when the man died of a much expected heart attack. A week later Tyler received a gracious offer to join a smaller agency called Paragon. The clientele was limited, and he would be just one of four talent agents at the company. But the future looked bright. He had already signed fifteen fresh-faced new clients. Fourteen were actors, and one was a director.
Tyler looked across the floor to see a few more people trickling in, talking on their cell phones, laughing with one another. Tyler knew that few of these people had the kind of ambitions that he did. He had just spent the last decade of his life slaving for what he was about to accomplish. He had no wife, no girlfriend, no kids, and no commitments. His only two goals right now were money and power. And he was going to do everything he could to secure them.
He took another sip of his latte and started scrolling through the morning’s project breakdowns. He had at least thirty more to call on. He decided to start with the project listed at the bottom.
Christmas in Quebec? Gag.
He dialed the number listed and waited for an answering machine. He looked at the clock. It was 9:05. He had been awake for five hours. And this office he was calling didn’t even have a lowly intern answering the phones yet.
“Good morning, Mr. Tommy Boy at Slate Casting,” he said on the voicemail. “This is Tyler. I got your e-mail about the appointments for next Thursday for Christmas in Quebec. Look, I need more info about this project before I send it out to my girls. Do you have a script? And what’s the budget on this? Have Vivien call me. I need to talk to her about this.”
He hung up before giving his number. He never gave his number.
They should know. I’m Tyler fucking Stiletto.
Call number two was next.
He still had another thirteen hours ahead of him.
-9-
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Gavin said.
“Honey. Please.”
Vivien sat at the edge of Gavin’s bed and started straightening out his sheets. He wasn’t looking at her.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Please go away.”
“Gavin. This is ridiculous.”
She grabbed his arm. He sat up, almost robotically, and pushed her away. She had to put her hand out against the floor to keep herself from falling.
“That’s it!” she shouted. “That does it! You’re grounded!”
Gavin pulled the covers up over his body. Only the top of his dark brown hair could be seen. “Fine.”
“Fine!”
“Mom?”
“What!” She was still yelling.
Gavin’s voice turned into nothing more audible than a whimper. “I don’t feel so good.”
It was moments like this when Vivien tried to imagine a reality where she didn’t have a kid. The first hour of her morning had been headache-free, but now she felt a migraine coming on.
She walked to the other side of the bed and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Get up, damn it!”
“Mom… I feel sick…”
“Yeah? Unless you throw up all over me, right this second, you’re going to school.”
“I’m not that kind of sick. I just have a headache.”
“Yeah, well you know what? I get headaches every day, Gavin. All the time, in fact. Do you see me lying around the house? No. I work. I kill myself from morning to night providing for you.”
“Doesn’t Dad make most of the money?”
Vivien started throwing clothes at him.
“In the shower! Move!”
She pushed him all the way to his bathroom. He looked up at her with his big, sad eyes.
“OK,” he said. “I’m going.”
“Thirty minutes.”
She was happy to hear the water start running, finally, about ten minutes later, but then she found herself wondering what he had been doing for those ten minutes.
---
“You’re late,” Vivien said, pulling up to the middle school.
They had spent most of the car ride looking away from each other, not saying a word. She wasn’t finding things as awkward as he was, but she never liked it when Gavin felt weird around her. In a perfect world, they would be happy and joyful all the time, with him loving her more and more with each passing day. But she knew where puberty showed its mean, ugly face would be the place of her son’s increasingly hostile viewpoint toward her and his father. There was nothing she could do.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I said the f-word last night.” He bit his bottom lip and looke
d up at her, again with those innocent, puppy-dog eyes. “I promise I won’t do that anymore.”
Well here’s a nice surprise to start off the day. “Oh, Gavin.” She kissed him on his forehead and hugged him tight. Her earlier thoughts of Gavin’s non-existence escaped her. She didn’t want to let him go. “You sure you feel OK?”
“I feel fine,” he said, trying to wrangle out of her grasp.
“OK. Well, have a good day at school. I love you.”
“You too. Bye Mom.”
Gavin grabbed his backpack and slammed the passenger side door shut. He sprinted to the front of the school and disappeared into the darkness of the empty halls.
Vivien smiled and took out her cell phone. She knew it was time, finally, to reply to her husband’s text. She didn’t want to seem like it had been something she was thinking a lot about, but she ended up sitting in that middle school parking lot for at least five minutes trying to come up with something short and witty to say.
GOOD MORNING HONEY was all she could think of.
She sighed, disappointed with her black hole of creativity, and hit ‘send.’
---
Patrick’s forty-ninth birthday was coming up on Sunday, and Vivien still had no idea what to get him. Patrick was one of those guys who had everything he wanted, and all he seemed to have desired lately was that damn Jacuzzi, which he had gone out and purchased without her consent.
She tried to remember back to their first few dates. What had he talked about? What had he wanted out of life? Maybe a nostalgic gift, paired with a night of overdue lovemaking, would bring back the spice to their relationship. She thought long and hard.
Vivien found herself walking around the Northridge Mall, aimlessly browsing from store to store with the knowledge that she had at least another hour to kill before the day’s big casting session for Christmas in Quebec.
She remembered their first date way back in July of 1992. They had gone to catch a movie but had trouble deciding what to see. Patrick was dying to check out Universal Soldier, while she hadn’t yet gotten around to seeing Whoopi Goldberg ham it up in Sister Act. When they arrived to the theater, Patrick was the first to acquiesce to her demands, but there was a problem. Sister Act had recently been pulled from the theater. Trying not to panic, they went through their other options.
