Call the Shots

by Don Calame

  Nessa was the one who insisted on changing Rogart and Nashira back into lovers. She said she always felt that the brother-sister angle was weak and that a romantic connection upped the stakes. Hey, I wasn’t gonna argue. It gave me an excuse to make out with Nessa all week. And make out we did. Some of those kisses. Man, oh man. They felt really real. Especially as the days went on.

  I know it’s probably way more likely that she and Cathy are still trying to orchestrate some sort of epic plot to humiliate me but . . . I don’t know. Haven’t they already had plenty of opportunities to pull the rug out from under me? And even though Nessa is a pretty decent actress, is she really good enough to fake the kind of passion she’s been putting into her kisses?

  “All right!” I shout. “Let’s get this rolling. With any luck, we can get this in one or two takes and get the heck out of here.”

  Two hours, fifteen takes, and countless screwups later, we finally make it all the way through the scene.

  “He’s dead,” Mr. Nestman emotes as he wrenches the jar of Gatorade from the “deceased” hand of Uncle Doug. “We’ve done it. We’ve saved the human race!” He stands and raises the jar into the air. “Our future is secured!”

  Goddamn it. He changed the line anyway. And now there’s nothing to segue to my final kiss with Nessa. Crap. I’d slap him upside the head if we weren’t so pressed for time.

  “Aaaaand cut!” I shout, on my knees beside Nessa and Uncle Doug. “That’s good enough. Get your phones up to Val and Matt and have them slap it on the ending.”

  “You got it, dawg,” Coop says.

  He and Helen take off and bolt upstairs.

  Nessa helps me to my feet and gives me a big hug. “Congratulations.” She pulls back and smiles at me. “Did I tell you or did I tell you?”

  “You told me.” I smile at her. “Thanks for helping out. You didn’t have to.”

  “Are you kidding me? It was a blast. I can’t wait to see it up on the big screen.”

  I should be just as excited as she is. I mean, I really do think we have a solid chance at TerrorFest — maybe not winning, but at least not totally embarrassing ourselves, either. But as I look into Nessa’s deep brown eyes, I feel . . . sad.

  This whole week, working so closely with her, has been great. Really great. She’s so easy to be around. But now that the film is wrapping up, I no longer have an excuse to hang out with her.

  Unless . . .

  “Hi,” Nessa says, her cheeks flushing. We’ve just been staring at each other awkwardly for the last minute or so.

  “Hi.” I’m blushing now too. But she hasn’t moved away. And a ray of hope shoots through me. I step a little closer. Lean in. Her lips curl up in the tiniest of smiles.

  I close my eyes and —

  “Well, Seanie.” Uncle Doug claps me on the back and Nessa and I jump apart. “I have to admit that I doubted you could pull this off. But I am duly impressed. You showed muchos testículos, mi amigo. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, turning toward him. “You did a great job. Even with the animals.”

  “Thank you kindly, and I do concur.” He cackles loudly. “And now I believe it is time for Uncle Doug to raise a nice big Fatty Boombalatty in celebration.” He squeezes my neck a little too hard and then takes off.

  Nessa turns to go too.

  “Nessa, wait,” I start to say. But just then Mr. Nestman accosts me.

  “Sorry about that last line,” he says, taking a slug from the jar of antidote. “It just came out, you know. I think I changed it in my head and then I changed it back to your line and, I don’t know, I got them mixed up, I guess. Anyway, I think it works okay, don’t you?”

  “Sure.” I force a smile. “It’s fine. Thanks for your help with everything.”

  He winks at me. “My pleasure. Oh, one more thing. I don’t know if we have time to shoot this little extra bit, but I was thinking —”

  “Hey, Sean,” Nessa says, suddenly across the room and waving at me. “I’ve got to get home. But I’ll see you here tomorrow, right? One o’clock.”

  “Yeah,” I say, my heart sinking. “Tomorrow. See you then.”

  CATHY ISN’T SNORING TONIGHT. It figures. The one night I know I’m never going to get any shut-eye and she’s lying on the other side of the curtain quiet as a clam.

  My sheets feel like they’re strangling me. Clinging to my neck and my shoulders. Swallowing my feet.

  Ugh. I yank all my covers off.

  My mind spins a million miles an hour. My thoughts on full volume. Thinking about the movie. And the film festival. And how we managed to get the whole thing finished just in time. It was almost miraculous, the way it all came together.

  I wonder if we have one more miracle coming to us. If we might actually have a shot at winning this thing. I think of all of Coop’s other harebrained ideas over the years, and how they sort of ended up working out even though they didn’t seem like they would at the time: sneaking onto a nude beach to try to see a naked girl, sabotaging Tony “the Gorilla” Grillo’s Speedo to give Matt a fighting shot at winning the fly, transforming us from the lamer-than-lame Arnold Murphy’s Bologna Dare into a semidecent rock band with Helen’s amazing lead vocals and The Doctor, Coop Daddy, and El Mariachi backing her up.

  I remember all of the adventures we’ve been through together ever since kindergarten, and how those days may be coming to an end. I mean, both Matt and Coop are paired off, and while they’re all pretty great about including me, they’re not going to want to put up with Fifth Wheel Sean forever.

  For some reason, this makes me think of Nessa. And that look in her eyes this afternoon. The one I could swear was drawing me in for a kiss right before we got interrupted. I wonder what would have happened if we’d had just a couple seconds longer. Would we have —?

  “Hey.” Cathy’s sleepy voice is low and raspy. “You awake?”

  “Yeah,” I say impatiently. “I’m awake. Why?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Me neither.”

  “What are you thinking about?” Cathy asks.

  “I don’t know. Nothing. Everything.” Certainly not kissing your best friend. Not pushing Uncle Doug aside and sweeping Nessa into my arms and giving her a finale kiss she wouldn’t soon forget. “Uh, how about you?”

  “The baby,” she says. “I keep wondering what it’s going to be like. You know. When it’s finally here.”

  “Different. That’s for sure.” I feel kind of guilty for how little I’ve actually thought about this baby. Aside from brooding over how much it sucks that I’ve had to give up my room. And how much worse it sucks that I have to share Cathy’s room. But beyond that, I haven’t really given the actual baby baby much thought at all.

  “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?” she asks.

  “A boy, definitely,” I say, surprised at my own answer, given that I haven’t really considered it much before now. But it’s like the answer was there all along. “I don’t know if I can deal with two sisters.”

  Cathy laughs, then she’s quiet for a minute. “You think Mom and Dad’ll love it more than us?”

  My instinct is to say, “No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” But then it hits me how focused they’ve been on the baby. How they didn’t even know that me and my friends were making a movie until I invited them to the festival, let alone that I’m trying to win enough money for the extension on the house. And how they don’t seem to have a clue just how miserable Cathy has been lately — even more miserable than her usual miserable self.

  “They say that the youngest child is usually the most adored,” Cathy continues. “That’s why Mom loves you more than me.”

  “Right. Because I’m nine minutes younger. Makes total sense.”

  “I can’t think of any other reason,” Cathy says. “I mean, I’m the smart one. And the talented one. And the good-looking one. And the one with all the cool friends.”

  “You forgot that you’re also the cre
epy weird freaky one,” I reply. “Besides, Mom doesn’t love me more than you. I just don’t argue with her as much.”

  She laughs again. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  A still silence infuses the room. It lasts so long that I think Cathy might have fallen asleep. I listen for the first signs of snoring, but I can’t hear anything.

  “Can I ask you something?” Cathy finally says, startling me a little.

  “Sure. I guess. I might not answer, but you can ask.”

  “Fair enough.” I hear her shifting on her bed. “Would you . . . ? Would you like me any less if you found out I was gay?”

  “Pfff,” I say. “I don’t like you now. How could I like you any less?”

  “You know what I mean. As your sister. Would you look at me differently?”

  I should have known there was a reason she wanted to get me talking. “Listen,” I say. “If you think lulling me in to some pseudo-cozy brother-and-sister late-night chat is going to get me to say that I’m gay, you’re out of your mind. It’s not going to happen, Cathy. Good night. It was great talking with you.” I huff and pull my covers back on. Fluff up my pillow and drop my head down into it.

  “I know you’re not gay, Sean,” Cathy says.

  “You do?” I don’t trust this. There’s got to be a catch.

  “Yes, little brother. Regrettable as it may be, I now believe you are not of the homosexual persuasion.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why all of a sudden do you think I’m not gay?”

  Cathy laughs. “You sound disappointed.”

  “No. Just suspicious.”

  “Some things have come to my attention lately that lead me to believe that you are not as cool and interesting as I’d hoped you were. Okay? Let’s leave it at that.”

  “Well. Good,” I say, snuggling down into bed. “Now maybe you can convince Mom and Dad I’m not gay.”

  “Sure,” Cathy offers. “Just as soon as I tell them that I am.”

  I sit bolt upright. “Excuse me? Tell them you’re what?”

  “Gay. Although, technically,” she explains, “I guess I’d be considered a lesbian.”

  Okay, so what the hell am I supposed to say to that? This could easily be another trick. If I start being all sympathetic and understanding, she might crack up and make fun of me for being so gullible — and gay.

  “Hell-oooo?” Cathy says. “Did you hear what I just said? I’m trying to tell you something important here, turdlet. I’m confiding in you. Are you just going to sit there and not say anything?”

  “No,” I croak out. “I just . . . It’s not . . . I mean, I don’t even know if I should believe you.”

  “What possible motive could I have for telling you I’m a lesbian if I’m not?”

  “How should I know? You screw with me all the time. I mean, for months you’ve been insisting it was me who was gay. Now all of a sudden, it’s you.”

  “I did think you were gay, Sean. Or at least I wanted you to be. I mean, we’re twins, you know. Not identical, but still. And they say lots of times when one twin is gay, the other one is too. I guess I was hoping that if I could get you to tell Mom and Dad first, then I could see how they’d react. Since you’re the golden child, I figured they’d accept it and then, when they found out about me, they’d already be used to the idea and it wouldn’t be such a shocker.”

  I ignore the parts about her basically wanting to use me as a guinea pig, because that’s pretty much textbook Cathy, and go right to the important part: “So . . . It’s really true, then?”

  “Yup. Your big sister’s a girl’s girl. Through and through.”

  “So, then,” I say. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad? You know, about you being a lesbian?”

  “Eventually. I suppose. But after the baby’s born. That way they’ll be so preoccupied that they won’t have time to worry much about it. So don’t go blabbing to them. Or anyone else, for that matter. If I find out you’ve told your dweeb friends, I’ll break every one of your appendages. Including the appendage you shake hands with every night before you go to bed. Are we clear?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, deciding to take it easy on her and not point out her hypocrisy where privacy is concerned because again, it’s typical Cath. “How did you . . . ? I mean . . . When did you —?”

  “Figure it out? I guess I kind of always knew. If I really think about it. Even though I’ve had boyfriends. But I was absolutely positive about it last year. When I met this really hot Israeli girl at a party.” She laughs. If Cathy’s lying, then she’s an even better actress than Leyna.

  “And what about Nessa?” I ask, bracing myself. “Is she . . . ?”

  Cathy howls with laughter. “Nessa? Uhh, no. She tried. I mean, Nessa will try anything once. But she likes guys.”

  “Oh, good,” I blurt, and clap my hand over my mouth. Crap. Maybe Cathy didn’t pick up on that.

  A painfully awkward silence swallows up the room.

  Or maybe she did. . . .

  “Okay, Sean,” Cathy finally says. “I need to tell you something else.”

  The way-too-serious confessional tone of her voice makes my belly grip up.

  “Tell me something about what?”

  “I feel sort of bad about it.” She coughs awkwardly. “I asked Nessa to do a little . . . investigating for me. You know, to find out if you really liked girls or not.”

  “You what?” My skin flushes hot and cold.

  “I’m sorry! I had to know for sure, okay? I just asked her to flirt with you a little, see how you responded. We figured out you weren’t gay once she caught you staring down her shirt. So there it is. My confession.”

  “Goddamn it, I knew it.” I’m chewing the hell out of my tongue. “You’re sick, you know that? You need help. Seriously. Both of you. God.” I shake my head. “And just so you know, I wasn’t ever interested in Nessa, and I certainly never looked down her shirt.” I should probably have limited myself to just the one lie, but I’m practically vibrating with righteous indignation here. “I only let her hang around with me so she’d help me with my movie.”

  “You were definitely interested,” Cathy says. “At least, according to Nessa.”

  “Screw you, Cathy.” I slam my head back into my pillow. “Lesbian or not, you’re still an asshole.”

  “I said I was sorry, okay? Jesus. Chill out. It’s not like you didn’t get anything out of it. I bet your movie’s a million times better because of Nessa.”

  “Yup. You’re right. It is. And when we win the film festival tomorrow — which you’re not invited to, by the way — I’ll be able to build my own room and I’ll never have to see either of your stupid faces ever again.”

  I CAN BARELY KEEP MY EYES open in the backseat of Angela’s car. Normally a ride with Coop’s sister wouldn’t be worth the hassle — taking off your shoes, not being allowed to roll down the windows, having to listen to her sleep-inducing elevator music — but Matt, Coop, and me missed our bus and we’re supposed to be meeting everyone at Uncle Doug’s by one o’clock.

  I’ve got that overtired cotton-headed nauseous feeling going on right now. I was wide awake and steaming over the whole Nessa situation all night long — well, that and Cathy’s snores, which picked up like clockwork once she’d gotten her confessions out. I can’t believe I let myself get suckered in by them. Especially after I’d told myself they were up to something. I’m such an idiot. Of course there was no way that someone like Nessa would have even the slightest interest in a total loser like me. All that stuff about what a great writer I was and how I needed to be more assertive and stand up for myself. Ugh. All of it just to butter me up, to make me think she actually cared. And that stuff with the tarot — a conflict between male and female, needing to be reborn. God, how did I not see right through that? Pathetic.

  Angela has slowed to a crawl as she leans forward and squints out the window. “Where the hell is this place, anyway?” she says.
“I thought you said it was on Genesee.”

  “It is,” Coop insists. “It’s just up here on the right.”

  “Finally.” Angela huffs as she coasts her pristine car up to Uncle Doug’s house. “If I’d known it was all the way down Genesee, I would have charged you twenty bucks. You’re lucky we prenegotiated.”

  “You’re much too kind.” Coop pulls a ten and a five from his jeans pocket, leans over the front seat, and hands the cash to his sister. “Keep the change.”

  Angela flips Coop off before popping the trunk. “And be careful taking your crap out. If I find a single scratch, you’re paying for a whole new paint job.” Just then Angela’s phone rings. She grabs it as I reach for the door handle. “Hello? . . . It’s about time someone from your stupid company called me back. Sally Gregg is a total rip-off, okay? I’m missing, like, half my diet stuff.”

  Coop’s eyes go wide as he quickly shoos Matt and me out of the car. He slams the door shut as the three of us pull on our shoes.

  Matt laughs. “I thought you said you were off your diet.”

  “I was,” Coop says as we move to the rear of the car and take out our suit bags. “But that’s when I thought we weren’t going to get this movie made. Now it’s going to be paparazzi city, dawg.”

  We trudge up the drive, and Coop turns to me. “You okay, dude? You’re awfully quiet.”

  “I didn’t sleep well,” I say, knocking on the front door. “I guess I’m just anxious.”

  And pissed off. And embarrassed. And depressed.

  I called Nessa this morning to tell her how I felt about what she did to me. But I got her machine. So I just left a message. Explaining how Cathy had told me all about their little scheme and how neither one of them was welcome at the screening this afternoon.

  I wanted to sound angry and mean and nasty, but I’m pretty sure I just came across as stammering and nervous and pitiful.

  Anyway, whatever. At least I won’t have to see her today.

  “Hi.”

  I look up to see Nessa standing in my uncle’s doorway. There’s a brief flicker of excitement followed immediately by a tidal wave of anger. “What are you doing here?”