by Adam Cesare
Her hunger successfully tamped down by lowered expectations, Clarissa once again turned her mind to that all-important question: Where the hell am I?
She and Toby had been given a brief tour yesterday, which mostly consisted of Kimberly pointing at buildings and saying things that Clarissa only half-listened to. Kimberly was more concerned with camp history and anecdotes of her time at Rockwogh as a kid than she was at explaining the actual geography or amenities. This morning, it would be good to get an actual lay of the land and meet the rest of the ‘professionals’ she’d be spending the next two nights and three days with.
She couldn’t help to wonder who else the organizers of Blood Camp Con had been able to rope into this shit.
*
Kimberly was able to match Toby Givens’—surprisingly feminine—style of text messaging fairly well when typing her cover story into the dead man’s Blackberry.
Most of the manager’s texts started with some kind of apology, so Kimberly made sure that hers did too.
Composing the message was fun, kind of like a creative writing assignment, but the phone’s small directional pad gave her trouble and she ended up splitting the text into two separate messages. A Blackberry? Who still used these things? Was his Palm Pilot in the shop?
Creating the paper trail was easy, but crawling around Ms. Lee’s cabin while she was sleeping and gathering up all of her manager’s belongings had proved slightly more difficult. It was a challenge, to be sure, but a thrilling one.
There was no way of telling if Clarissa Lee was a heavy sleeper. That was not something a fan could look up on an IMDB page. But Kimberly was pleased to find that Clarissa was sleeping soundly enough after a day of travel.
Sneaking up behind the arm of the chair and cinching Toby’s pant pockets closed so his keys and change didn’t jingle as she removed them was maybe the riskiest part. She folded the pants and laid them over top of Toby’s computer bag, easier to locate in the dark since Kimberly had handled it earlier in the day.
When Kimberly was finished, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she scanned the room, making sure there was nothing left. When she’d left him, Toby’s corpse had been wearing his glasses, but she found the case for them on Ms. Lee’s bedside table.
In order to retrieve the glasses case she had to get very close to the bed. She could hear the gentle whoosh of Ms. Lee’s breath against the blanket. Ms. Lee had brought the sheets up around her face, cocooning her head. It was warm in the room, but it must have been even warmer inside those sheets with Clarissa Lee.
It was as close as she dared get, but Kimberly chanced an extra second in the room to hold the back of her hand over the chimney in the sheet. She kept the hand there, curling her fingers around the warm air caused by her favorite movie star’s respiration.
In, out.
She cupped her hand and scooped it up to her nose, the way she’d seen some snobs drinking in the smell of wine in movies. Wafting. That was the word, she was wafting in Clarissa Lee’s exhalation and finding the experience intoxicatingly sweet and sour, toothpaste that’d warn off and begun to succumb to the mouth’s baseline bacteria.
It was a pleasure to be this close, to feel and smell this sweetness.
It was going to be a great weekend.
“Wow,” someone said behind Kimberly, breaking her from her remembrance of last night. The voice nearly echoed against the high ceilings of the empty cafeteria.
Kimberly turned to see a young woman around her own age.
It took a certain kind of fuzzy vision to place her, the way familiar faces don’t look familiar when they’re in a different setting and with different makeup. The first guest to arrive in the cafeteria was Tamara Reyes, current Indie horror darling. She’d only done one film, and she wasn’t the star, but afterwards she’d hit the con scene in a big way. Kimberly had never seen her in action, but supposedly she was very good to fans. Maybe that was because she was compensating for something.
“Is all of this for us?” Tamara asked, motioning to the hotplates arrayed along one side of the lunch room.
“All you can eat,” Kimberly said, then tilted her head to watch more guests walk through the main building’s double doors. Not that Tamara Reyes wasn’t exciting, but Kimberly was not a fifteen year old boy. No, her hero worship was reserved for…
Marcus f’ing Lang!
Mr. Lang shouldered into the room looking groggy. The early morning stupor lasted only a moment, though, because his nostrils flared and his expression changed as he caught scent of the food.
Mr. Lang’s immortal turn as Roger Powers, a southern police chief who stayed Barry White-cool in the midst of a demon invasion of his town, had been one of Kimberly’s first screen crushes. These days there was a little salt mixed in with the pepper of Mr. Lang’s thick mustache, but he kept his head shaved so that was about the extent of the changes he’d gone through. His was a timeless handsomeness.
Either that or he kept a better self-care regimen than the rest of the guests.
His eyes met Kimberly’s and he smiled at her. He actually smiled at her. Her day was already made. It was hard to imagine that things could get any better, even though she knew they were going to.
“So, we, ahhh, can just go for it?” he asked in that trademark deep voice. It was just north of Isaac Hayes in register and Kimberly found herself suddenly wondering if Marcus Lang had ever done any singing, himself. Or was that racist to think? Or, if not racist, was it problematic? Mr. Lang had a plate already in his hand and was preparing to spoon himself out some scrambled eggs, but asked his question again when he got no answer, before digging in.
“Yes, sure,” Kimberly nodded and blushed, waving the attention away from herself, like his stare would melt her if he held it too long.
Next to stumble in—literally—was Gina Bright. Ironically, Bright held the arm of Margery Clampton, someone twice her age who seemed to have no trouble navigating the door’s threshold.
“Come in, come in, please take a plate and enjoy,” Kimberly said, taking up a position by the door, getting clear of the most direct path to the food.
Everything was still warm and fresh, but it hadn’t been made on sight. The kitchen would have needed a full staff to pump out this much food.
Daddy Teeks had driven the pancakes, bacon, and eggs in this morning and Rory had helped set up, his size making quick work of carrying the aluminum trays. Whatever was left after the guests had eaten would become the attendees’ lunch. Although it looked good and there was plenty of it, Kimberly understood that this was for their guests. She was fine with the peanut butter and jelly she’d stashed in the control room’s office.
“Thanks,” Gina Bright said. Kimberly was hit with the astringent smell of alcohol rolling off of the woman, which explained the stumbling.
Ivan Butinelli and Ms. Lee were the last to arrive. Mr. Butinelli surged in front of her to the top of the steps in order to make a big show of holding the door.
“After you, Bella,” Butinelli said, his accent all over the place, even inside of just three words. Kimberly giggled at this, also at the thought that it was Gina Bright whose name sounded like a porn star’s. The actual porn star in attendance had a hard-to-pronounce name more suited to a plumber or deli worker than someone who frequently played plumbers and deli workers, however unconvincingly. Extra meat on that foot-long, ma’am?
Yes, she’d seen his most widely known “straight film” Amphibian Hell and enjoyed it just fine, for what it was, a sub-Full Moon puppet and tit fest. But she’d also perused a few of Butinelli’s other works, the films he’d made outside of the horror genre.
Oh, she’d done it for research purposes. Of course.
It was surreal to now be seeing a man she’d seen so much of on screen, in the flesh.
From her vantage at the corner of the big room, Kimberly watched the guests walk down the buffet line and then take their seats. Unprompted, the guests congregated at one of the middle tables by the
room’s largest window. Kimberly kept her arms folded behind her waist trying to keep a professional, quasi-military attention. This wasn’t because she thought of herself as some kind of shock trooper, but because otherwise she wouldn’t have known what to do with her hands.
The lunch tables and attached benches were big enough that all six guests could sit comfortably at one. Kimberly turned her chin up and looked to the small bubble that housed the surveillance camera. Yes, this first breakfast, with all of the guests together was being preserved for posterity, but there was no record of it at ground-level. Not in the color or high resolution that she would be able to capture with her camera phone.
She reached for her phone, her heart pumping. She realized both the social and professional indiscretion she was about to commit.
“Everyone,” she said. Her voice cracked and she spoke too low to be heard over the polite conversation that had begun to blossom among them. She cleared her throat and tried again: “Excuse, me, everyone!”
They all turned to her and she held out her phone. And why not preserve this? It was the last time they’d all be together, right?
“Just a quick photo, if you don’t mind. Please lean in.”
At the table, Tamara Reyes daintily covered her mouth to finish chewing, Gina Bright rolled her eyes, and the rest of the stars leaned in and smiled, offering no resistance. It was just one little picture, after all, and the guests seemed to be in good spirits. Oh the wonders of breakfast sausage.
“Kimberly!” a familiar voice sounded from behind her, causing her finger to falter on the shutter. She took the photo, but the shock of being caught had caused her to shift the focal point to the floor instead of the table. The picture turned out blurry and under exposed as a result of her fumbling hands.
What a perfect time for Daddy Teeks to walk in on her. She glanced back up to the surveillance camera. Or had it been a coincidence?
“Sorry about that everyone, we know you just want to eat in peace, but it’s difficult for us to hold back our impulses,” he said. “We are all fans, of course, Kimberly included. But we did make a promise to you that Blood Camp Con would be different.”
“I’m sorry,” Kimberly said, almost finishing by saying ‘Daddy,’ but knowing that that was their private word. Others wouldn’t understand and it was best to keep their relationship strictly professional. At least while in public.
Simultaneously, the majority of the guests all said variations on “it’s no trouble at all.” Excepting Ms. Clampton, but that could be forgiven because the old woman now looked unaware that anything had transpired at all.
That was nice that they were so quick to forgive Kimberly. The guests were nice. They were almost her friends.
“I just wanted to stop in and give you an update. When you’re finished with breakfast, there will be about two hours for you to get ready, shower, enjoy the campus, etcetera before we ask that you gather near the stage for the opening ceremonies,” Daddy Teeks said, adjusting the waistband of his pants in a way that seemed to indicate he didn’t really need to adjust, but was somehow getting into character with the gesture. “Most of the campers will have arrived by then and there will be a short presentation on what the weekend entails and the schedule of events.”
The guests all watched Daddy Teeks as he spoke, but they did not entirely pause their breakfast, the occasional slice of bacon still consumed with hushed crunches.
“Before you go your separate ways, I do need to ask Ms. Reyes to stay behind,” Daddy Teeks met the young woman’s eyes. She was the room’s other young woman and as he spoke to her a strong wave of jealousy hit Kimberly, unsettling her stomach. “In order to discuss the issue that I’d emailed you about last week?”
Tamera Reyes nodded and Butinelli faux-whispered to her. “Ooooo, staying after class,” Butinelli said and the young starlet became red in the face, causing everyone else at the table to chuckle. There was a sour note in the sound, though, the immediately jovial nature of the breakfast beginning to ring false for Kimberly. Were they really all such good friends from seeing each other once a year (if that) at fan conventions or were all actors adept at assuming the look and feel of happiness, of companionship?
“Kimberly, let’s let our guests eat,” Daddy Teeks said, the command wiping away the doubt that was beginning to cloud her thoughts and turning her mind back to the fact that she’d just taken an unsanctioned picture. “They’re going to need the energy,” he added.
Kimberly smiled, but couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in trouble, or, at the very least, that Daddy Teeks had lost some trust in her.
Chapter Thirteen
The campgrounds were—Clarissa had to admit—beautiful. The land featured tall, almost primordial trees and rolling wooded hills wherever the horizon was visible.
Every summer camp she’d ever seen on-set or on-screen had always been a chintzy New Jersey suburb affair. The kids in the middle of the country didn’t know how great they had it.
She was beginning to turn the corner on this whole weekend, to feel like she could treat it like a mini-vacation, but that was before the first group of attendees arrived and spoiled everything.
Clarissa had meant to shower, she really had. After breakfast in the warm mess hall, her armpits were moist and her legs had gone a day or two more than they usually did without a shave.
But she’d gotten caught up at the lake.
Most of them had. Ivan Butinelli seemed to have no problem stripping off his shirt and laying out on the beach. Not the way an exhibitionist might, but more the way a dumb animal will sun itself on a rock, regardless to whether the warmth will expose it to predators.
Gina Bright also shed some of her clothing, but through some mishap she’d lain face down on the sand, one and only one bra cup still attached to her chest.
Clarissa caught Ivan looking, but noticed that he didn’t let his gaze linger. Then she remembered back to that convention several months ago, to the way she’d seen the two acting, and figured that Ivan had seen the whole show at least once or twice.
Margery... Margery …shit. Clarissa couldn’t remember the old woman’s full name. And she was the only one of the group Clarissa ever had any professional interaction with, but their time on set together hadn’t been pleasant. Also not particularly memorable for the other woman, it would seem. They’d spent half a summer in Vancouver three years ago and still Margery hadn’t shown the faintest glimpse of recognition when Clarissa had re-introduced herself to her fellow actor. If Clarissa weren’t sure the woman hadn’t become so indifferent to work, she would have taken the insult as a sign of a deteriorating memory instead of just an insult.
The old woman had moved herself into the shade of the stacked and covered tower of canoes, dusting off a rickety lawn chair and lowering herself down, ignoring Clarissa’s offer of help.
“Old woman,” jeez, Clarissa shouldn’t be thinking of the other actress in those terms. If Margery weren’t here, then she’d be the old woman. Gina Bright may have looked a similar age, but that was because of the hard mileage she’d drank onto her body, Clarissa knew the woman was only a couple of years over forty.
Of the group, only Marcus Lang and Tamara Reyes hadn’t lingered at the lake and attached beach. Marcus had excused himself to make some calls while Tammy was busy receiving some kind of lecture from management.
Reyes seemed nice enough, if a little over-eager, but Clarissa caught the distinct vibe from Marcus that he thought he was above all of this. And he may have been right. All of them may have been above this. Clarissa certainly considered herself slumming, even if she did have less than five grand in her bank account. At least she was pretending otherwise.
Clarissa had her phone, but without any texts from Toby—she assumed he would soon touchdown in L.A. and the torrent would recommence—she was able to sit on the end of the lake’s small dock, put her feet in the water, and bliss out.
An hour or so got away from her and by the time she look
ed back toward the beach and the center of camp, all of her new friends were gone.
Gone and replaced with a few fresh arrivals.
Three men, one with a large camper’s backpack complete with rolled sleeping bag and metal back brace, stood on the beach. The men were not grouped together like friends, but staggered.
It was involuntary, but Clarissa recoiled upon seeing them. Not simply because they’d surprised her, creeping up and replacing her fellow guests on the beach, but because they were all dressed the same. Dressed the same down to the fact that all three wore simple plastic masks.
They were masquerade masks without the sparkles or color, just white plastic with holes for eyes, nostrils and a small rectangular slit over the mouth.
The masks were the kind of Halloween costume preferred by teenagers who wanted to go door-to-door for candy and pranks, but didn’t want to spend more than $1.50 at CVS to acquire their outfit.
“Hello,” Clarissa said to the three.
She didn’t get any response from the men outside of a slight head tilt from the kid wearing the pack. At least, she assumed he was a kid. He could have been anything south of 35. But he had the under-nourished body of a teenage horror nerd, so mask or no mask she would have always thought of him as a kid.
“You’re all here for the con? What time is it?” she asked the boys.
Still no answer, but one of them turned and looked to the next closest one and shrugged.
Clarissa stooped and dusted off her ass with one hand while picking up her sneakers and socks with the other. The wood of the pier had been mostly clean, but she must have rolled over onto some dried bird shit. Considering this, she kneeled and dipped her hand into the water to rinse. When she was done with that, she looked up again, their masks still impassive, their postures full of what they must have considered horror-movie menace.
