Fade to Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1)

by MC Webb

  “Tell me again, why do you work for me?” I asked her this at least once a month.

  “I don’t work for you, and you couldn’t afford me if I did,” she said, with that ice-covered tongue.

  In spite of how annoying she was, I couldn’t do anything without Viola. Twenty minutes later, I scrambled to get out of the car. I turned to look at her.

  “You’re not coming?” I asked, disappointed.

  She smiled sweetly, acid nearly visible on her lips.

  “No, sweetheart. I will fly in tonight. I have to work a real job and can’t babysit you every day.” Then shut the car door in my face.

  God, I loved her. Not in any way sexual, but she was sharp, and the best “handler” there was. She worked for Roger, and was assigned to me. Roger was my manager—Roger Mitchell, a second cousin to Nathan, an Italian-American whose grandfather was from the old country, and who had sailed to the States many years ago. I heard that often, usually after at least three glasses of the finest Scotch.

  His history was important to him that was for certain, although if you asked about his parents, he’d go to great lengths to change the subject. Those of us in his circle, however, were aware of the mob-rich genes that he came from. Combine that with Hollywood roots, a showgirl mother, and you got the rich personality of Roger.

  He was raised in California, by an uncle in the business. Although he had many reasons not to be, the guy was loving and legit to the nth degree.

  I wouldn’t make it without Roger; of this I was perfectly aware. If I needed anything at all, he was a phone call away. I wasn’t sure why he took pity on me. I was just another nobody, looking to make fast money to buy my band their eats and booze as we traveled. At least that was the initial plan.

  I was content for now with my role in life. I hoped to write, and maybe direct, someday, but for now it was another stop, another set, another rehearsal. I made it through security without being recognized. When I climbed aboard the plane, I saw Molly sitting with her legs crossed chewing gum while flipping through a magazine.

  Roger managed us both, but Molly was his pride and joy. He and his ex-wife adopted Molly when she was little, but Molly did not use the Mitchell last name opting to use her grandmother’s maiden name of Rowland. I flopped down in my seat in front of her.

  “It’s way too early. Wait till we are four states away to start talking,” I told her.

  Molly just blew a huge pink bubble and flipped the page. This was our second and last movie together. That much we agreed on. Though I loved her as one of my closest friends, I had to try and find my own identity. The tabloids loved us and made up ridiculous stories about us. A little known fact was Molly was gay, and only her dad, her occasional female lovers, and I knew that. The only reason she did not make this public was that she refused to be a lesbian poster child.

  I tried to sleep on the plane but found it impossible. I drank coffee and read Molly’s magazines.

  Molly moved to the seat beside me.

  “Three months, then you’re off to Louisiana for your big break,” she said, placing her arms around mine, and laid her head on my shoulder.

  “No contract yet,” I said, not wanting to get my hopes up. I looked out the window for something to do. I was nervous I would not get the part. They liked me, but so had many others who had passed on me.

  “You will,” she teased.

  I pulled my face back to look at her.

  “You know something I don’t?” I asked.

  “Well, I heard Viola and Dad saying some paperwork was coming FedEx today, and I heard Viola would be presenting it to you tonight.”

  I held my breath. This part would open many doors for me. My fragile heart couldn’t take the rejection if it fell through. I couldn’t back out of acting now. I was in too deep, but I’d go crazy if I kept filming these sappy dramas forever. This was something Roger and I both were well aware of and were trying desperately to change.

  After we landed, we rode to the set in our waiting limo. A few paps were around, but after a few shots, they left us alone, waiting for someone more famous. Molly and I headed for makeup, and soon were on set. We filmed for seventeen hours and finally got to the house around midnight.

  The next day we would do it all over again, but for now I chain-smoked, and snorted coke with Molly until I heard from Viola.

  Even the coke didn’t take the nervous edge off. I was a wreck. What if this didn’t work? What if I was stuck in this position forever? I’d be some loser actor on a stage in Texas, working for my dinner. Not that the idea was not somewhat appealing, but I highly doubt I would be accepted as a musician now that I’ve been acting. The public seem to find actors amusing when both careers are attempted.

  It was just the images of my dad that crept into mind at the thoughts of failure, his skin yellow from liver damage, from years and years of alcohol. I touched the tips of my fingers and imagined the calluses he had in the same spots from playing guitar.

  I refused to think I was anything like my father. He spent to majority of his time in a recliner smoking and sipping beer day and night. There’s no life there and when he did decide to speak to me it was mostly about how my mother left because I killed me sister. I had to shake the thoughts from my head before they carried me down low.

  It was three in the morning before Viola got to the house, the one Roger allowed us to use when we were on the West Coast. He purchased this specifically for Molly, for safety reasons, he told her. Molly tried to refuse, but often failed at not accepting Roger’s gifts. She wanted a name for herself. Most likely she would always be known as the Mitchell heir.

  Viola lit a cigarette. She thumbed bright red, talon-like nails through a file. Blowing smoke out of the side of her mouth, she placed papers in front of me.

  “It’s yours for the taking. Just don’t screw it up,” she said, without preamble or an ounce of humor.

  My heart hammered in my ribs. I felt Molly rub my shoulders.

  “Ah, Ryan, this is excellent!”

  I thumbed through the contract. The details were unimportant. I could see the important things and lawyers had combed through details such as what I would make. This would be the pivotal point in my career.

  I would either do great, or I would fall on my face in front of millions of fans. Not my fans, but the fans of the novel on which this film would be based. I hugged Viola a little too hard. She did not protest. All business, she showed me where to sign and had to guide me back to the present as I drifted off into my own thoughts.

  “I mean it, Ryan, you screw this up, and we will be sharing a boat paddling down shit creek,” she told me sternly.

  I was starting to get a complex.

  “Don’t you believe in me, Vi?” I asked, a little offended.

  Stuffing papers back into their proper places, she looked into my eyes, piercing me.

  “Ryan, if I didn’t believe you could do this, I’d be in my bed watching reruns of ER right now, but instead I’m here.” She gestured around her in disgust—not at the house, but at the whole West Coast. I understood.

  “It has nothing to do with your ability as an actor, Ryan.” She paused, and for a split second, she looked unsure of what to say. “It has to do with your ability to handle things when the lights go out. If you make the shit mags and kill the film before it’s released, I will cut off your balls, understand?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “I will behave. I swear it. I’ll make you proud, Vi, you’ll see.”

  I hugged her and kissed her cheek. She waved me off, and, after she packed up her papers, she left.

  Viola was never one for many words or affection, but from time to time, I knew she loved me, just because she wasted words on me. Now to party. I did more coke and drank more to celebrate. I didn’t sleep, so needless to say, the next morning I had bags under my eyes that made the makeup artist curse repeatedly.

  Molly and I shared Roger’s five-bedroom house in the hills for the dur
ation of the film. There was much anticipation over our current movie together, a sweeping love story set in the thirties. We both hated it, but it was a stepping-stone to the next big thing.

  Molly had started acting at the age of six. She had a constant flow of scripts and was a decent actress. She was my best friend, most of the time.

  We snorted lines of coke together, popped pills, and often passed out in the same bed. We had a functioning relationship

  We met each other’s needs while together, but it never went further than mutual respect and loving friendship, and love her I did. She was better than most guy friends. We shared hours eating and enjoying old movies. We fought over the best kinds of music and writers. It was as close to normal as I’d ever got.

  Our friendship started when I was in a low budget film as her supporting actor—aka lover. I can’t complain. It got me noticed at least. We had a complex drinking and drug-induced relationship.

  We simply supported each other’s habits. Molly experimented with things I was still nervous about. She loved Demerol and had tried heroin. I favored coke and Jack Daniels which I did a lot of during the days of filming Sunset, which we finished filming in record time.

  chapter Seventeen

  I said good-bye to Molly as I headed south to Louisiana and she, far north to Vancouver. I met up with Sheldon and Nathan at the airport in Dallas. I’d been to Louisiana only once, and briefly.

  I had a rare free week before I had to report for duty, or rather rehearsals, so I planned on hitting the clubs with my buddies. Maybe karaoke if I was lucky. I had a swanky studio provided apartment, and we planned to stay there together.

  Sheldon would come and go, as he was a married man and had responsibilities, like going to Disney World and Florida beaches with his wife, girls. For the most part, their marriage was a match made in heaven. As long as Sheldon and Beatrice stayed faithful, they agreed to continue their careers that had them in separate locations at times.

  Bee, as we called her, was one of the wealthiest women in Europe. She maintained control of her parents’ boutique shops, and successfully so. Choosing to spend most of his time in London, Sheldon traveled to the States every few weeks to direct a video, or cameo a show. The guy was multitalented, to say the least. The funny thing is that he was supposed to be the movie star, and me the musician.

  Life made our choices for us, or at least for me. Sheldon turned down some of the most sought-after major motion picture roles of recent years, choosing instead a life of family, music and travel, while a board of men and women ran his portion of the company.

  We spent the next couple of days in New Orleans. I met some girls and hung out at the local pubs, listening to Sheldon sing while Nathan played guitar. Nathan, I had heard, had a beautiful girlfriend, Lana. I got the impression the movies Lana starred in were of the adult variety. I refrained from asking Nathan too much about it as he did not bring it up himself.

  I do know Lana worked different hours all the time, but would only be in the same place for a week at a time. If I had to guess, the movies she was working on were probably cheesy soft porn. Sheldon never said this for sure, but I would bet on it.

  Sheldon was slightly shorter than me, and was solidly built—not bulky, but strong. He would be an extra in the film with me. I loved it when he took these small roles, as we had more time to goof off and have jam sessions.

  Sheldon and Nathan often called me a toothpick, because they said I was as skinny as one. I was six foot three and lanky. Wardrobe often complained I was too thin. The coke didn’t help with that. They didn’t need to know that detail though.

  I was heavier than I had been before. Sunset had required I put on muscle for the seminude shots. I loved the feeling, but the workouts were pure hell. Add the food I had to eat every two hours, and the result was lean muscle that took me a while to get used to.

  After a few days to relax, it was time to start rehearsals and filming. We were on a pretty tight schedule as the studios pushed for us to be done and the faster the better.

  I had read the script at least ten times and had long since memorized my lines. I was ready for the big time. Hopefully anyway. Our apartment was clean enough and stocked full of booze. We ordered take-out and played music when I wasn’t due on set. Sheldon would leave to meet his girls at Disney, then return to film his scenes.

  This left Nathan and me, roaming the city without our chaperone. Sheldon kept us in line, but I had made a promise to stay out of the tabloids, and I was convinced that Viola would follow through with the castration if I got into any trouble while filming.

  Nathan and I mostly stayed in and played music when he was not with Lana. We would drink and write songs that would never see the light of day—thankfully.

  With only a couple of days left on our filming schedule for Louisiana, I’d given up on meeting interesting people from the South. Every girl I met was doe-eyed and looking to be “found” by Hollywood. None had a clue, and I got tired of trying to explain it to them.

  Sheldon returned tanned and happier after being with Bee and the girls. A new tattoo was still bright pink and healing on his already covered arms. This time it was an angel, and Beatrice was her name. I rolled my eyes at the cheesiness of it, but I had to admit I was jealous he had the love of his life, money, looks, and beautiful little girls.

  When he got back that night, we headed out for a party that Nathan and Sheldon had been booked to play. It was Friday night, and I had the next day off. We were due to wrap, and move on to Mexico to finish filming the following Monday.

  The filming so far had been going great, but there was something in me that was sad, no matter what I did. It was always there—when I woke up and again when I would go to sleep.

  My intentions for the night were to listen to good music, get drunk, and sleep. When I woke the next day, I would do it all over again for my day off. So far, I was more than halfway through my list for the evening, when I walked right into a wall. I smacked it, face first. Seeing lights for a second, I thought it best to have a seat, as Nathan began to play a new set. My head spun, and the ramblings of strangers were beginning to work my nerves.

  I was still blurry-eyed when I caught sight of her. At first glance, I thought I’d imagined her. As my line of vision cleared, I found her again. She was standing off to the side of the room, picking at the label of a beer bottle, looking bored, obviously uninterested in the party.

  She had milky, peach-colored skin, and long strawberry-blonde hair. She wore no makeup and reminded me of a hippy. I guessed she was around twenty. I was used to trying to guess a girl’s age, because I had to be careful not to end up in bed with a minor.

  The girl looked from person to person intensely and, I thought, with a little fear. Someone was talking in my ear about my Oscar-worthy performance from that day. I nodded, but paid him no attention, and kept watching the girl, intrigued by her out-of-place state.

  I found myself drawn to her, and I began making my way to the beautiful stranger. I wasn’t sure of what I would say when I reached her, but I was certain I’d come up with something.

  After years of practice with women, you would think me a pro, but this girl made my insides clench. A dark-haired girl reached her first and handed her a set of keys. I paused and watched as the two giggled and conspired about something.

  Sipping my beer, I watched as the dark-haired girl returned to where Nathan sat playing. The strawberry blonde girl’s eyes flicked toward Nathan. The light in her eyes left as the dark-haired girl walked away. She was the saddest thing I’d ever seen. Not in looks but in the defeated way she appeared. Finally, I gathered myself and walked straight up to her. I said the first thing that came to mind.

  “You’re in Lana’s films?” realizing the dark-haired girl must be Nathan’s girlfriend.

  I could have kicked myself.

  The girl looked affronted, and I couldn’t blame her. Dark, ebony eyes looked back at me. Damn, she had the deepest brown eyes I had ever
seen. I was instantly transfixed. I had momentarily forgotten what I had asked. I realized she had spoken, and I hadn’t heard.

  “Excuse me?” I said, bending my ear to her lips. Her breath brushed my ear, and goose bumps formed on my arms.

  “Go. To. Hell.” She spoke very slowly, as if I couldn’t understand English.

  I pulled back, feeling all interest leave my body. Most girls would recognize me, at least enough to be taken with me. It was one of the downsides of being me sometimes.

  I would have enjoyed a conversation without the girl knowing my face or wanting to make it in Hollywood. Boring and pathetic girls, in other words. I looked at the deep brown eyes squarely to make sure she was serious.

  She was.

  I turned and walked out the door, pissed at myself for being so stupid. I should have just asked if she sucked cock for a living. I didn’t blame her for being offended by my question. It’s not normal, I suppose, to be asked if you do porn.

  I saw Nathan’s car parked in the shadows of the lot. I had used all my coke but had a few pills left. Sick of the party, and hurt by the girl’s rejection of me and my stupidity, I climbed in the backseat. It smelled like Armor All. The guy worshipped the car. Why? I didn’t know. I’d heard him brag about it being a classic, and blah blah blah. I swigged down the pills and the rest of my beer, and hoped I wouldn’t be found till morning.

  Tomorrow, I was off the whole day. I planned on sleeping as much as Sheldon would let me. I covered myself with my jacket and fell asleep. I could have walked back to the apartment, but in my drunken state, the car seemed a good place to be left alone.

  I had only been out for a few minutes, or so I thought, when I woke to the sound of crying. I realized that I was moving, but momentarily forgot where I was. Opening my eyes, I saw lights passing overhead. I sat up, trying to get a grip on my situation. How much had I had to drink? The girl behind the wheel screamed and nearly did a donut in the middle of the road.