20
I GET SOMEONE TO COVER my shift at the bar, ask my neighbor to look in on Monty, and hop a morning flight. Paiger emailed me a three page scene from the first draft of the screenplay to use as an audition piece, and of course it's the birthday party scene, where we get hammered drunk and make out in front of everyone and hash it out in that plaza, where I wind up telling her all my love turns to hate and make her cry. All I emailed back is, Really? Ha.
It's well adapted, but that's no shock – any good writer should be able to adapt their own work. The dialog flows smoothly and the screenplay form does it justice, as every painful, hurtful thing I said to Kara is preserved brilliantly.
Bravo, Paiger.
It takes no time to fly from SeaTac to LAX and she's waiting for me at the terminal, wearing a ridiculously oversized sun hat and dark glasses that cover her whole face. She waves.
“Jim!”
I saunter over. “Hey, Paiger. I barely recognized you.”
“That's the whole point. I'm incognito.”
“Fame trying your will a little, is it?”
“I just can't sign any more autographs. I think I have carpal tunnel.”
“Well, my heart goes out to you.”
“Come on, let's go.”
We get outside and hop in a cab. Paiger takes off the disguise and pulls her hair back, and the combination of its scent and her sexily tanned skin nearly floors me.
Damn, she looks good.
“So no limo? I thought you were a high roller now.”
“A limo would just attract more attention. Besides, this is quicker, parking's a bitch here.” She sizes me up. “It's good to see you. You're looking well.”
“I'm feeling well.”
“Seattle suits you?”
“I love it.”
“Good.”
“You're a busy bee.”
“It's been nonstop. I'm going a little crazy.”
“Well, it suits you.”
“Very funny. So look, here's the deal...”
She goes on to explain how the book got optioned. Apparently Centennial wanted to buy the rights since day one, but because of some contractual waiting period they couldn't make an offer until last week. It was big – her agent said no first time author had ever received an option offer so quickly, or for so much money. He wanted to accept immediately and Paige was going to, until she found out the studio wanted their own people to adapt it. She knew if some Hollywood everyman writers took hold of her baby it would be changed and mangled and tossed around like pizza dough. She said the only way she'd do it is if she got to write the script and could have a hand in the casting process. They said no, so she did too.
They came at her with more money. She said no again, and that she was considering taking it to another studio because they were willing to submit to her terms. Which wasn't true.
But it worked.
Centennial cracked, and she got full control over the script and the rewrites, and permission to sit in on all auditions. Which is huge.
“Now I can keep it true. I can tell it like it should be told.” She sighs. “I really do feel bad for what I did to you, Jim. I didn't realize it at the time because I was so caught up in everything, but I want you to know that I'm sorry. I used you and exploited you and embarrassed you and humiliated you and ---”
“Okay, yeah, I remember.”
She smiles. “I just want to make it up to you. Let me?”
I take in her glow, and as I try to reach back into the well for some hate or disgust for this woman, all I get are handfuls of air. It's empty.
I shrug.
“That time's over, Paige. I'm over it. I'm so much happier now. I mean, you actually did me a favor. My relationship with Kara had run its course. I can't believe she was cheating on me.”
Paiger shrugs. “Once a cheater...”
“Yeah, I guess. It still hurt, though.”
“You hurt each other.”
“As always.”
She tilts her head. “Do you still love her?”
I inhale slowly. “I don't think so. I think about her less and less every day. I have to, you know? Otherwise I get distracted and drink and lose my mind. I can't do that anymore. I'm too old. I just, I've always had problems letting go. Just the thought of change is scary. I'm doing better these days. I think... I think I've let it all go.”
Paiger's smiling. “Good.”
I smile too, turn my head, look out the window. Palm trees and clear skies and sunshine and gorgeous hotties.
It's a beautiful planet.
Hello, LA.
We pull into the parking lot of a big shiny building about twenty stories high. Paiger pays the fare and we hop out. I shield my eyes and stare up.
“Where are we?”
“My agent's office. You read the scene, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you like it?”
“The way it was written? Yes. The contents? Well... take a guess.”
“Straight out of your life, Dodger.”
“Don't remind me. So who am I reading for?”
“Me, my agent, and the producer, Sean Patel.”
“Wow, Sean Patel? Really?”
“Yeah. I told you, it's big time, baby.”
“What about the director?”
“There's no director attached yet. We're not doing that, nor auditioning anyone else, until I finish the screenplay. That's why this is such a golden opportunity - if you make a good first impression, this job could be yours before anyone else is even considered.”
“No pressure.”
“No, none. Have you done any acting recently?”
“Nope.”
“Great. You'll kill it.”
We head in.
Her agent's office is on the twentieth floor and the floor to ceiling windows offer a view that leaves me breathless. I've never seen the ocean and still haven't up close but the Pacific is mesmerizing from up here. In the distance among the hills the Hollywood sign looms, rather ominously, beckoning to me. Hmm.
Maybe I'd like it here after all.
“Are you ready, Jim?”
I turn back to the people I'm auditioning for. On the left sits Paiger, the novelist, the one responsible for all this, the antagonist of my life. She holds a copy of the script as well, for she'll be my scene partner, reading the role of Kara. The irony isn't lost on either of us.
On the right sits Ian Armbruster, Paiger's agent. He's a smallish man with black slick backed hair and a huge mole on his chin. I'm reminded of Fred Savage's Mole character from Austin Powers and resist the urge to yell, mole! Probably a dick move. I do it in my head, though.
Finally in the middle is Sean Patel, producer extraordinaire. He was behind two of the top five highest grossing movies last year and also produced the indie darling Hot Seat, which won the top prize at Cannes a few months ago. Big baller. For such an accomplished guy he's quite young, not much older than me, and he has one of the better non trimmed beards I've seen in recent memory.
They all watch me intently. Am I Joe yet, or am I still Jim? Have I accessed the emotions necessary to go back to where I need to? Can I still act after such a long hiatus?
All these burning questions and more.
I close my eyes.
Showtime.
“'I don't care if you're seeing someone else Kara, I don't care, I know how you feel, and this thing between us is more special than anything I've ever encountered. But I can't believe you. I can't believe you did this to me. It's the same thing over and over, I keep getting pushed away, so now all I do is push people away. Subconsciously my whole life, and consciously now, more than ever. All my love turns to hate, and resentment, and now all I can do is hate and resent you. Things will never be the same between us, Kara. Never.'”
The tears flow effortlessly and I turn away, as my character exits at this point. The trio are quiet as mice behind me, which I can only interpret as good.
Finally, there's a sniffle. I
smile.
Scene.
Paiger holds her tongue until we're outside, but as soon as we are her arms are around my neck and she's kissing me, my lips, my face, my forehead. I don't resist and kiss back, with fervor.
“Oh my God, Jim! That was awesome!”
She can probably be heard way back on the twentieth floor but it doesn't matter, not in the least, because I've got it, I know it, I'm playing the Dodger, Joe Babcock, myself. I'm finally going to have some control over what happens with my story. All of the wrongs that have led to this moment will play a pivotal role in the right. It's my time.
I'm going to act the shit out of it.
Paiger and I hop a cab, we go to her hotel, undress each other hungrily, and make wild, passionate, unbridled love. The past aside, the future unwritten, between planes, to hell and back. The earth moves. I lose twenty one grams as part of my soul detaches. It's ecstasy, pure ecstasy, and as I hold her sweetness in my arms the birds on the balcony watch us.
Snooze.
It's a little past midnight when the light offshore breeze stirs me. I sit up. Inches away Paiger sleeps soundly, angelically, her beautiful curvaceous body outlined by the silk sheet. I smile.
What a fortunate turn of events.
I hop out of bed, dress quietly, leave the room. Just one celebratory cigarette. I figure I'll buy a pack, take one, then give the rest away. Some lucky smoker gains nineteen cigs and I satisfy my fleeting craving. Win/win, and good karma for me.
Like I could get any more.
On the way to the hotel Paiger got a call from Sean Patel and he said he didn't need to see anyone else audition. I'm perfect. I might have to lose fifteen pounds but other than that, perfect. The look, the heart, the attitude... all of it. I'm Joe to a T.
I should hope so, I said. He's me.
Paiger also said she could use a hand in the adaptation so a few times a week she's going to fly to Seattle, catch me up on her work, then take my notes and foster the input. I might even write a few scenes, maybe garner a writing credit.
I salivate at the thought.
My only concern is delving back into all that material and stirring up the old emotions, but it's really a minor concern at most. Things have changed. Whatever emotions I had have been spent. I'm done, at least done living in the past. I can make new emotions and learn and draw from those. I'll write about them, in songs and scripts and novels galore. In this new life, this new adventure, I can do anything I want. It's my time indeed, my time to shine.
Okay, so maybe I'm not entirely opposed to being in the spotlight. It's like Paiger said: everyone wants fame and money. Humans are inherently attracted to both. It's what separates us from the animals. We consciously have a desire to be noticed and constantly crave attention, and deep down everyone wants to be right there, Jesus Christ with a bullet, the Excalibur of swords, the Rudolph of reindeer, an icon if just for a day, an idol if just for a moment. The One, and Only, Real Life Neo.
And it's all fallen into my lap.
This is my best day.
I exit the hotel, smiling.
The convenience store up the street doesn't have my old brand so I settle for Parliaments. The first cigarette I ever smoked, and with any luck, my last.
“Thanks,” I tell the clerk, who barely looks old enough to buy tobacco let alone sell it. “Matches?”
He smiles, hands me a book. Once outside I tap the pack twice, my old ritual, unwrap, strike. Again the first drag blues get me but I suffer through them, coughing wildly. The second one, though... oh baby.
What a disgusting, filthy, lovely, wonderful habit.
I'm still giving them away, though.
Suddenly there's a loud boom and a crash from inside the store, and a man in a ski mask exits. Hmm that's weird, I think, it's September but it's not that cold.
Oh, wait.
Oh, shit.
He's got a bag with money sticking out of it in one hand and a smoking gun in the other. He makes dead on solid eye contact with me. I drop my cigarette. He raises the gun.
As it goes off I try my old trick and veer left, but something's different this time and I fall to the ground. The masked man runs away in slow motion as I roll off the sidewalk, into the gutter, back to the street, eyes to the sky. I curl into the fetal position, clutching my chest. Ouch.
An indelible warmth spreads through my shirt down to my guts, and it feels like I've been hit with a water balloon but I know that's not the case. Water balloons don't hurt. Water's not red. Oh God. Why? Why did this happen?
“Why?!”
Of course I'd get shot just when things were set to explode. I should be surprised but I'm not. I should feel bad but I don't. My life has been a comedic tragedy all my life. How fitting I go out like this, the same way I came in, live by the sword die by the sword or in my case, the goddamned bullet. I feel it inside me, grinding with my organs, setting up a nice little home in my chest and redecorating. It's driving my white blood cells crazy. Everyone thought they'd make a cute couple but they were wrong. Dead wrong. I can say that with confidence, as I lay dying.
All the times I wanted death, all the times I would've welcomed it with open arms, it was nowhere to be found. Now all I want to do is live as long as possible but instead I'm here, holding my heart in, cupping my blood, trying oh so hard to stay awake but that light is so damn beautiful I can't help but want to go towards it and I think I should, it feels right. Okay. Here I come, for real this time.
The last thing I see before it all goes black is the sky, and the moon, and Kara, and Paiger, my mom, my dad, Ray, Jake, C-Man, my friends, my family. I was never there for any of them, not in the real sense of the word, not with my heart. I just wasn't cut out for this human condition, these wild connections, and the burning whirlwind of emotion that comes with them. I chose poorly. I led a selfish life and cared about no one but myself, and yes, how fitting it ends like this, dying in a gutter alone, that sticky, bitter end I always envisioned, it's the perfect coup de gras, an unmatchable swan song that only Jim Bailey, the Dodger, could pull off.
But I couldn't dodge this.
Not death.
Free at last.
Mama, I'm coming home.
21
THE FIRST THING I HEAR is the steady beep.
Then my own breathing.
Then my own scream.
My eyes shoot open, and the first thing I see is Paiger.
Standing over me.
“Jim,” she says. “Relax. You're in the hospital. You're... you're okay.”
I gather my bearings and look around. Private room. I look at Paiger. She's been crying. I feel for all my extremities. They seem to be in working order. No iron lungs or respirators or crazy things sticking out of me, just an IV and an EKG and a catheter, oh my.
I breathe. Carefully.
“Paiger... what happened?”
She takes my arm. “Well, honey... you were shot.”
“I remember. Am I... not dead?”
She smiles. “Yes, you're not dead. You're a lucky bastard. The doctor said the bullet missed all of your major arteries and they were able to remove it without leaving any permanent nerve damage.” She holds up her thumb and index finger. “They said it stopped about half an inch from your heart.”
I sit back. I must still be on some drugs because the pain isn't that bad and I just realized I feel kind of high. Bonus.
“Half an inch?” I say. “Really?”
“Yup.”
“That's quite poetic, in retrospect.”
“Very.”
“I'll still be able to star in the movie, right?”
“You should be fully recovered by then.”
“Phew. How long have I been here?”
“All night. It's eight.”
“In the morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus. When can I leave?”
“They still want to hold you for awhile. Plus the police are waiting to question you about the gunman.
He, um... killed that clerk.”
I frown. “That sucks. He was just a kid.”
“Yeah.”
The door opens, and a skinny blonde guy wearing scrubs sticks his head in.
“Um, sorry, Miss Scott? There's a bit of a situation.”
“What is it?”
“Well, the word's out about Mr. Bailey's incident. The parking lot is flooded with news vans and reporters are swarming the lobby. What should I tell them?”
I look at her, she looks at me. I shrug. She answers:
“You tell them I've got the exclusive.”
He nods and leaves. Paiger reaches out her hand and cups my face. I stroke her wrist.
“Thank you, Paige.”
She kisses my lips lightly. “Thank you, Jim.”
“You know, just for the record, I actually tried to dodge this bullet.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It didn't work. I probably should've veered right.”
“Remember that for next time. I'll go make a statement.” She heads for the door, stops, looks back. “Jim, this is all going to get out of control. I mean, the Dodger gets shot the day he's cast as the Dodger? It's too perfect, just so juicy and tender and dripping with irony. You couldn't make this shit up because, well... who could?”
“Certainly not me. It's stupid.”
“It's not stupid, it's news. The media exposure is already through the roof. We're sitting on a gold mine here.”
I lean back, stretch my arms, my legs, my toes.
My smile.
“I know, darling. Full steam ahead. Let's bring them to their knees, what do you say?”
She smiles. “I'm in.” She opens her purse, pulls out her phone, tosses it to me. Oh, it's my phone.
“Hasn't stopped ringing all morning. Your mailbox is probably full. Oh, and uh... check out the date.”
She leaves. I unlock my keypad.
Time: eight eleven. Day: Monday. Date: Ten one.
October one.
October first.
Shit.
Tomorrow is Ray's birthday.
I should call him.
Dodger Page 23
