From The Dead

by John Herrick

  The houses were enormous so far, yet he continued to ascend the hill. He could only imagine what lay ahead. If he paid more attention, he was confident he would hear his ears pop due to the change in altitude. Technically, film directors were not full-time employees. Like Jesse, these people were part-timers, but compared to his job at LensPerfection, he preferred the media-mogul interpretation of part-time. Then again, many of these people had been in his shoes eons ago.

  With the directions Adam Lewis had given him over the phone, Jesse reached his destination. As he inched closer, past an electronic security gate, the home emerged into view in slow motion, like a whale that bobbed through the surface of Alaskan waters. Cream-colored, the house’s architecture, like neighboring mansions far below, encompassed a unique design but exuded eloquence worthy of Hollywood’s golden era. He could picture this home occupied by Mary Pickford, or better yet, Bogart and Bacall. Given alternative circumstances, he would have been thrilled to have access for a tour.

  The sensation of having wandered out of his element exacerbated his nerves. He had been nauseous since last night in anticipation of today, a quiver at his loss of self-respect. As he drove through the security gates to the top of Adam’s driveway and shut off the engine, he wanted to turn around and return home.

  Once he stepped out of his car, he gazed out toward the rear of the house and couldn’t believe his eyes as he surveyed the view below: Matchbox cars rolled along the Pacific Coast Highway against an artist’s breathless rendition of the Pacific. Now early April, the air prickled warmer against his skin and amplified his nervous goose bumps.

  While he scanned the greenery and Spanish patio décor, Adam greeted him.

  “You made it. The directions were clear?”

  “It’s quite a drive. Nowhere to go but up,” Jesse stuttered. He tried to relax but failed.

  “Come on in.” Adam smiled and waved him through a side door, as if he were an out-of-town guest or a friend who’d stopped by after classes.

  Weak in the knees, Jesse followed him into the house, which opened into a spacious living room, two-stories high with lofty, vaulted ceilings and a glass-windowed wall. On one end of the room hung a flat-screen television that seemed ample enough to satisfy a small auditorium at a movie theater. Plush, white-leather furniture donned the room, complemented by thick Oriental rugs on polished hardwood floors. The place smelled of pine. Jesse would have savored the ambience if his legs didn’t resemble the flimsiness of thin aluminum sheeting.

  “Glass of wine?” Adam offered.

  Maybe the alcohol would help Jesse forget why he was here. “Thanks.”

  “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Adam left to fetch the drinks. Not a sound could be heard in the house, save the trickle of a waterfall which came from an unseen source. Jesse examined the banister that crossed overhead and seemed to lead to a bedroom; although he heard no voices in the house, out of paranoia he expected to find an onlooker peek from around the corner. Watch him. Survey him.

  No voyeurs in the house, though. He and Adam were alone.

  It’s not sex if it’s oral—that’s what Jada always said. According to her rules, Jesse wouldn’t cheat on her. Besides, all he’d do is stand there; aside from his own physical presence, he could remain passive as the act unfolded.

  Jesse attempted to sit down but bolted upright again, fearful he would vomit if he sat still. Instead, he leaned against the sectional sofa and feigned comfort as Adam handed him a glass of red wine. Against the natural light of the windows, the liquid reminded Jesse of a stained-glass-window plate from his father’s church back home.

  “To dreams,” said Adam.

  Jesse lifted his glass, the contents of which sloshed around from the shudder of his hand. He wondered how many others had walked into this particular room with the same purpose as his. Unable to discard a mental picture of a naked person on the expensive rug under his feet, he wanted to search for evidence of similar activity. Had he gotten dizzy in the last few minutes?

  Don’t think about it. Just get it over with.

  “Bette Davis adored this room.” Adam gestured upward with his glass.

  “She used to visit?”

  “She owned it. Decades ago, long before she died. She lived here briefly, before she moved to a place with more privacy.”

  Privacy? From down below, the public would need a pair of binoculars to spot a human being through the windowed wall up here. And Jesse found that a relief.

  “You’re nervous,” Adam observed.

  “Yeah,” Jesse said, his voice hushed—it was all he could muster.

  “You don’t like secrets.”

  “I already have secrets.”

  Jesse pretended to take a sip but swallowed a gulp of his wine. Adam continued to watch him, but Jesse couldn’t look him in the eyes. Instead Jesse opted to memorize the tiny bubbles around the perimeter of his wine as he swished the glass. In the awkwardness of the moment, the room grew hollow. What did Adam see? What traveled through his mind? His eyes weren’t harsh; rather, they appeared soft and pensive. This brought no comfort to Jesse, however, who felt like a cheap porn video alone on a shelf.

  Adam drained his last sip of wine. “Well, are you ready?”

  Jesse’s glass remained half full. He shrugged with supposed indifference, then knocked back the liquid in one gulp. Hesitant, he forced himself to take a step toward the influential person in front of him.

  “Music?” Adam asked.

  “No thanks.” Jesse didn’t want to introduce any songs that would taunt him at random moments in an elevator. He closed his eyes and tried to escape to a crevice in the back of his mind, an attempt interrupted by Adam’s hands against his biceps. Jesse opened his eyes, already glossed over with suppressed tears, and focused on the banister again. He felt so vulnerable as this unfamiliar person swept his hands along his arms.

  Jesse flinched.

  “Relax,” Adam whispered, then sank down beneath Jesse’s range of vision.

  Jesse thought of Jada and their last time of intimacy together. He shut his eyes once more and clenched his jaw. By instinct, he recoiled when Adam’s hand made contact below the belly to reach for the button on Jesse’s jeans.

  Jesse cringed inside. He felt filthy. Mixing business with pleasure, or whatever this was.

  All this to help his career. This wasn’t who he really was.

  The last sound Jesse could recall was the purr of his zipper as it lowered.

  * * *

  His body tense, his stomach the consistency of melted butter, Jesse burst into the apartment but found himself alone. He didn’t want to stand; he didn’t want to sit. Restless, he ran into the bathroom and scrubbed his face with soap and water until it grew chapped. He rinsed with mouthwash even though his mouth hadn’t been involved. He applied rubbing alcohol all below his waistline. Whatever measure of disinfectant that occurred to him, he tried it.

  But he couldn’t reach the point where he felt clean. Jesse couldn’t escape the sense of guilt that chafed against his conscience: He had betrayed himself, allowed himself to be treated like raw meat by a stranger for the sake of a job. And the more he focused on it, the closer he felt to hyperventilation.

  He craved a second chance but his options had vanished. He’d made his choice.

  Even if this resulted in the opportunity of a lifetime, the memory of today would linger in the cavities of his mind. He was too honest to deny its existence and fearful of its discovery.

  The pungent scent of rubbing alcohol loosened his stomach further. With a splash of cologne, he managed to find relief.

  Jesse needed to relax. In the kitchen, he opened a can of beer and leaned against the sink. Within a minute of the first swallow, the wooziness of the drink settled in and started to medicate his brain. An image of the afternoon flashed in his memory—of Adam on his knees in the longest minute of Jesse’s life.

  No, Jesse thought to himself in defiance of the me
mory that taunted him. Stop!

  Though Jesse had kept silent back in Malibu, those were the words he had wanted to shout.

  No! Stop!

  Now it was too late.

  Jesse took another swig of beer. He tried to calm himself but failed. His stomach somersaulted. Then its contents climbed.

  He darted back into the bathroom, just in time to kneel on the floor and vomit into the toilet. While he maneuvered into a crossed-leg position, he rested his elbows against the cold porcelain. Then he vomited again.

  If only he could purge the dark shadows that way.

  CHAPTER 17

  Two weeks passed after the incident with Adam. Jesse had climbed out of the depths of that afternoon and had become optimistic that things might turn around. Perhaps he could move on. He hoped the rumor of his mistake would never reach Jada’s ears. The industry was large, but grapevine networks, he’d discovered, could rival a subway system in both complexity and speed.

  Mick had scheduled casting for last week. Adam had promised to call him with an update, but the week came and went without acknowledgment. Now Jesse felt agitated. Sure, waiting was part of the game, but then again, he and Adam hadn’t played by the traditional rules.

  With the store void of customers, Jesse decided to give Adam a call. He fished the phone number out of his wallet—the same piece of paper that had instigated the mess. He hadn’t programmed the number into his phone’s address book. He didn’t want a reminder of how he’d obtained it.

  When he flipped open his phone, he dialed the number and waited until Adam answered.

  “Hey there, it’s Jesse.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten in touch. It’s been busy.”

  Where? At the sushi counter?

  “Not a big deal,” Jesse lied. “I wanted to follow up on your dad’s film, though—our arrangement.”

  Adam hesitated with a response, and Jesse’s shoulders went limp.

  “Yeah, about that. Listen, we ran into a snag,” Adam said.

  “A snag?”

  “I owed a friend, and he called it in.” Adam paused. “He got the role.”

  Jesse bit his lip.

  “I had no idea he would call in the favor,” Adam continued, “but he got wind of the part and phoned me the night before Dad scheduled the auditions. I couldn’t get you involved at that point.”

  “What other roles are coming down the pike?”

  “Nothing. Sorry about that; I wish I had something for ya.”

  “What’s the next step? Where do we go from here?”

  “I wasn’t looking for a relationship.”

  “Not that. I mean, what happens next with your dad?”

  “Um … nothing. There’s nothing else available.”

  “So I wait and call in the favor like your friend. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, that other guy was a part-time lawyer. We go way back, and I owed him after he got me out of a DUI charge. You can’t expect me to keep a running tally, can you?”

  “Then you’re saying I’m screwed?”

  “Look, how long have you been in the entertainment business?”

  “Eleven years.”

  “Then you know there aren’t any guarantees.”

  “I’d say a guarantee was implied when you had your mouth on me.”

  Jesse flipped the phone shut and banged it on the counter.

  He should have known. He’d crossed a line. Now he wanted to climb into a sinkhole.

  Who have I become?

  He could sense the guilt eat away at the back of his mind. In his heart, Jesse felt he deserved the treatment Adam had handed him.

  CHAPTER 18

  How long was he supposed to hang on to this cliff? How much longer did he plan to claw his way toward nothing?

  Jesse wanted to give up.

  Engrossed by the Pacific water ahead, he hoped Adam Lewis wouldn’t wander by. Alone, Jesse sat cross-legged in the sand. His eyes, once vibrant with ambition and dreams, now felt hollow. He couldn’t do this much longer. This wasn’t a matter of missed opportunity or being played for a fool. This was a fight for his destiny, his soul’s desire. He’d invested everything he had in anticipation of future success. And the ominous notion that he’d reached the final tool in his arsenal sent shivers through him.

  What do you do when your spirit is broken?

  He heard the waves call to him. What he wouldn’t give to disappear.

  Camera by his side, he had planned to take some therapeutic shots but didn’t feel motivated. So he sat.

  Jesse pondered his past, from where he had come. He hadn’t appreciated his Ohio home until now. Though he’d come to California to discover himself, he had discovered a stranger instead. The people who knew him dwelt in Ohio.

  And here? Welcome to the charade. He had fooled himself.

  He wished he could return home and make amends. But by now he was too ashamed.

  Jesse’s cell phone chirped in his pocket. He didn’t care who called and didn’t want to talk, but out of habit, he grabbed the phone anyway. When he checked the caller ID, he discovered the first positive development in weeks: his sister Eden’s name on the display. Despite his efforts to forget his past, Eden represented its final, albeit welcome, thread.

  “How’s my little sister?”

  “Where are you? I hear waves.”

  Today, he would’ve paid in diamonds to hear the sound of her voice. “Malibu. Are you at work?”

  “Heading home,” she replied. “How’d the audition go? That Mick Lewis part you mentioned.”

  “It didn’t work out.” He’d forgotten that in his former certainty, he had mentioned that role to her. And he didn’t want to go into further detail—not with anyone. In an attempt to change the subject, he asked, “How’s Dad?”

  “He’s the same—you know Dad.” Eden paused. “Why don’t you come visit him?”

  Jesse just shook his head and snickered, minus the humor. “I don’t see that happening. After eleven years?”

  “He’d want to see you.”

  “I call him every once in a while.”

  “But it’s not the same as seeing you in person. He misses you.”

  “Can we change the subject?”

  “How’s Jada?”

  “She’s … Jada.” He fingered circles in the sand and said little. Eyes heavy, he closed them beneath the weight of his inner shroud.

  Throughout the years, whenever he’d talked to Eden, he had dominated their conversation with the latest news about his projects, his girlfriend and acquaintances, the clubs he’d frequented. From the way he’d spoken, Jesse had painted pictures of warm, glistening sunshine and a lifestyle of perpetual motion. But in recent weeks, even he could sense the vibrant detail had vanished. By now Eden must have wondered if something was wrong.

  On the other end of the line, Eden waited. Jesse offered only wind and water in response.

  “Are you okay?” Eden asked.

  Jesse palmed the sand to erase the concentric circles he had engraved there.

  Now you see it, now you don’t.

  In a moment. Gone.

  He lifted his head again.

  “No,” he replied. “No, I’m just not.”

  CHAPTER 19

  After Jada veered off of Interstate 405 in her crimson BMW, she sped onto Ronald Reagan Freeway that Saturday night. The swerve snapped Jesse’s head backward and pinned it against the headrest.

  “I could’ve driven and avoided breaking my neck,” he quipped.

  Humorless, Jada didn’t break her concentration. She shook her head but didn’t need to say a word.

  No, they wouldn’t dare take his car to where they headed tonight. After all, someone might see Jada climb out of a car worth a mere half of its original—and affordable— retail value.

  She extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray, where she left it to smolder in ferocious defeat.

  By day, Jesse marveled at the high hills of foliage and ba
re, clay-colored land that sat in royal loftiness overhead. Even now, under the cover of night, he caught their silhouettes, which surrounded the freeway. He and Jada whizzed through Simi Valley on their way to Heights, a nightclub located on the bluffs above. When she’d heard a rumor that a group of trendy young actors frequented the venue on Saturday nights, Jada had jumped to follow suit and network with them. From Jesse’s perspective, her actions had to be considered borderline stalking, but he had grown accustomed to her erratic behavior by now. Beyond the connections, she craved the air of importance that accompanied her mental Rolodex.

  “Do me a favor,” she said. “If we catch them there, let me do the talking. Go refresh my drink, okay?”

  Jesse continued to stare out the window into the night.

  “And don’t stick with beer like you usually do,” Jada continued. “If you see what they’re drinking from a distance, try to mimic it.” She smacked the steering wheel. “Oh, whatever you do, don’t mention to anyone here that you’re an extra who works part-time in a camera shop, okay? I don’t need to look like a loser tonight.”

  “Do you ever listen to the way your words sound when you—“

  “I think Dale’s going to be there, by the way.”

  Jesse drummed his fingers against his leg. “Why is that guy a sudden fixture in our lives?”

  “Come on, we went through this already,” Jada sighed. “He’s a friend from work. Why are you so touchy about it?”

  “You didn’t mention why he keeps showing up in odd places. I ran into him at the apartment when he picked up a script the other day.”

  “He enjoys advising films rather than practicing medicine.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  He wasn’t in the mood to argue. Unknown to Jada, he hadn’t gotten out of bed after she left the apartment that morning. He didn’t want to. As sunlight poured into the room, he buried himself under the sheets. The hours passed, and when he checked the clock, it was four in the afternoon. That scared the hell out of him and urged him out of bed before Jada could find out.

  Jada checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “And try to act like you haven’t been fucked up in the head the past few weeks, okay?”