Bright Shiny Morning

by James Frey

  He dials the agency. A young woman answers.

  Creative Talent Management.

  Kevin Jackson please.

  One moment please.

  He smiles. Kevin Jackson. The thought of him. Oh, the thought of him. A deep thick male voice answers.

  Kevin Jackson.

  Is this him?

  Yes it is.

  Why don’t you have an assistant?

  Who is this?

  And you don’t recognize my voice. That hurts.

  Who is this please?

  Should I use my public voice? My talk-show, movie-star voice?

  Amberton’s voice becomes deeper, more masculine.

  Hello, Kevin.

  Mr. Parker. How may I help you?

  He reverts back to his real voice.

  Did you just call me Mr. Parker?

  Yes, sir.

  Oh my God. Did you just call me sir?

  I did.

  My name is Amberton. I have other names, but we don’t know each other well enough for you to know them.

  How may I help you, Amberton?

  I would like to have lunch with you today. We can go anywhere you like.

  I’m sorry, Amberton, but I have lunch plans today.

  Cancel them.

  I can’t do that.

  Amberton laughs.

  I make your agency millions and millions and millions and millions of dollars a year. I have friends all over town, good friends, and some not so good, who do things for me just because. I am an international superstar, as bright as a supernova. I highly doubt whomever your lunch is with is as important as me.

  It’s my mother.

  Really?

  Yes.

  How wonderful. I’m coming.

  Excuse me?

  I’m coming. Where and what time?

  I’m not sure…

  Amberton interrupts him.

  No argument. I am coming.

  Kevin laughs.

  We’re going to Soul by the Pound. It’s on Crenshaw. Amberton giggles.

  Is that really the name?

  Yes.

  Amberton gets the address hangs up the phone goes to his room to get changed. His closet is ridiculously large, 800 square feet of perfectly organized high-end clothing, most of which he gets for free from designers and clothing companies who hope he’s seen in their garments.

  He struggles with what to wear. He wants to be impressive but not too impressive, casual but not too casual, handsome, but in an effortless way.

  He tries to coordinate the outfit with his hair, he has trouble deciding whether he should or should not wear gel. He walks in circles around the closet runs through the options in his head: suit, slacks and a shirt, jeans, shorts (Wow, that’s casual!). It wasn’t like this with his other targets. He decided he wanted them, he pursued them, he got them. It was simple and predatory, there was almost no thinking involved, he relied on instinct and desire. Now, with this football player, this tall, beautiful black football player, he was losing his edge. He sits down, takes several deep yoga breaths, tells himself to focus, focus, focus. When he feels focused, he puts on a pair of black slacks and a black button-down and black loafers. He puts gel in his hair. He looks in the mirror and smiles and says—yes, you are the biggest star in the sky, yes, you are.

  He starts driving towards the Crenshaw district, where Soul by the Pound is located. He drives his Mercedes. It’s a black sedan with darkened windows. The windows are darker than is allowed by law, but Amberton had them done after someone saw him in his car, got excited, drove into a telephone pole, and subsequently blamed Amberton for the accident and sued him. Even though he could have won the suit, Amberton settled it. He decided he’d rather pay the person off, even though their case was baseless and their motives despicable, than deal with going to court for two or three years. The next day, he had the windows in all of his cars (he has seven) darkened.

  He drives through Beverly Hills down the fantasyland of Rodeo Drive to Wilshire Boulevard. He drives east on Wilshire both sides lined with glass towers overflowing with talent agencies, talent management companies, production companies, PR agencies, attorneys. He drives south on Robertson away from the wealth and shine of Beverly Hills into another one of the nameless areas of Los Angeles dominated by fast-food restaurants, gas stations and used car lots. He gets on the 10 heading east it’s a parking lot. He turns on the radio listens to light hits radio sings along to several of his favorite love songs from the ’80s. He hears a song he recorded for a film (it was a big hit!), he sings along at high volume.

  He remembers the boy he slept with during filming, a nineteen-year-old production assistant from Tennessee. He was tall and blond and he had a cute accent. He was nervous and embarrassed. He was a beautiful boy, and Amberton was gentle with him. By the end of the song, there are tears running down Amberton’s face.

  He pulls off the Crenshaw Boulevard exit takes a right starts heading south. Crenshaw is one of the major thoroughfares of South LA. The district surrounding it is one of the largest black neighborhoods in America. In the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s it was largely middle-class, in the ’80s it was overrun with gangs and consumed by crack and became one of the most violent neighborhoods in the country, in the ’90s it was devastated by the LA riots of 1992 and the Northridge earthquake of 1994. Though it has been partially rebuilt, Crenshaw Boulevard itself exists in a state of perpetual decay. It is lined with an inordinate number of fast-food restaurants, liquor markets and discount stores. There are storefront churches in mini-malls and car lots surrounded by razor-wire fences.

  Drivers of most of the cars have their doors locked and their windows up. Pedestrians, of which there are few, glance nervously around as they hurry along the sidewalk. The residential neighborhoods directly behind both sides of Crenshaw consist primarily of Spanish-style stucco houses and two- and three-floor apartment complexes. The streets are clean and the yards generally well kept. Despite its outward appearance, there is an air of menace that hangs over the area. People who do not live there, if they’re willing to go there at all, drive quickly through it.

  Amberton is nervous as he looks for Soul by the Pound. Despite having lived in LA for many years, he’s never been on Crenshaw, or in the neighborhood, and he’s terrified. He tries to summon some of the bravery he displays on-screen as an American action hero, but it’s nowhere to be found. Worst-case scenarios start running through his mind: he’ll get carjacked, he’ll get rammed, he’ll run out of gas and get mugged (it doesn’t matter that he has a full tank), he’ll get shot in a drive-by, he’ll be dragged from his car and scalped, he’ll get kidnapped and fed to an angry pack of malnourished pit bulls. When he sees the restaurant, in the back of a decrepit mini-mall, he whoops with joy and cuts across traffic in a rush to park.

  He finds a spot in front of the restaurant he gets out of the car turns on the alarm though he knows it won’t make a difference if someone wants to steal it. He turns towards the door takes a deep breath the smell is magnificent some combination of fried roasted and baked food, doubtlessly and wonderfully full of grease and fat. He walks to the door, opens it, steps inside.

  The restaurant is small and crowded. There are about twenty tables, simple card tables with white paper spread across them folding chairs at each side of each table, all of them are full. The walls are covered with signed headshots of athletes, rappers, jazz musicians, politicians and actors who have visited, all of them are black. Amberton looks for Kevin, everyone in the restaurant turns and stares at him. Aside from being who he is, his is the only white face in the establishment. He hears someone say—Goddamn, it’s a white boy—he hears someone else say—Look, man, it’s that actor motherfucker. He looks for Kevin nothing. He looks for someone that might be Kevin’s mother nothing. He thinks about leaving getting in his car and driving home as fast as he can when he hears his name.

  Mr. Parker?

  He looks around, can’t tell who’s speaking to him. A little loud
er.

  Mr. Parker?

  He looks but can’t see, is someone going to shoot him, hit him, should he run, oh my.

  I’m right here Mr. Parker.

  He sees an attractive dark-skinned African-American woman in her mid-to-late thirties sitting alone at a table about ten feet away. She’s wearing a black business suit and glasses, looks like she’s a lawyer or a banker.

  She motions for Amberton to come over he walks towards her she’s about ten feet away. He’s nervous, almost shaking, he has to steady himself. He knows he has to be in character as the public image of Amberton, and leave the real one, the gay one, hidden.

  I have a table for us. Kevin isn’t here yet.

  In his deep voice.

  Great.

  She offers her hand.

  Tonya Jackson.

  He shakes it.

  Amberton Parker.

  Nice to meet you.

  You too.

  They sit.

  Are you Kevin’s sister?

  She laughs.

  No, I’m not.

  Cousin?

  No, I’m not his cousin, Mr. Parker.

  I assume you’re related?

  She laughs.

  Yes, we’re related. I’m Kevin’s mother.

  Amberton looks shocked.

  No.

  She laughs again.

  Yes.

  You look so young.

  I’m not old.

  Did you have Kevin when you were five?

  Laughs again.

  You’re very charming, Mr. Parker.

  Seriously. You’re younger than I am.

  I might be. I was a very young mother.

  Don’t mind saying how young?

  I do if you’re planning on judging me.

  I’m just curious.

  I was fifteen.

  However old you were, you did a great job. Kevin is an incredibly impressive young man.

  She smiles.

  Thank you. I’m very proud of him.

  A waiter arrives they order drinks diet soda for both of them. Without bothering to consult Amberton, which actually impresses him, Tonya orders lunch, fried chicken fatback and chitterlings, mac and cheese red beans and collard greens, corn bread cooked in bacon fat. As she finishes the order, Kevin arrives, he’s wearing a crisp black suit and a blue shirt and a conservative red tie. He leans over, gives his mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek, she smiles and says hello. He sits down, looks at Amberton, speaks.

  You found it alright?

  Amberton smiles.

  I did.

  And you found my mom.

  She found me.

  She smiles, speaks.

  He was hard to miss in this place.

  They laugh, start talking, Amberton starts asking questions about their life together, about how they survived. Tonya answers most of them, we lived with my parents until I was twenty-one and they watched Kevin while I worked and went to school, we moved into our own place when I could afford it it was across the street from my parents, I went to college at night and graduated when I was twenty-five, I got a job as a credit analyst at a bank. He asks about Kevin’s football career, he was always gifted we could tell when he was seven that he was going to be great, he set high school passing records and got recruited by every college in the nation, we were thrilled when he was drafted #1 we were crushed when he got hurt. Amberton glances at Kevin when he can, tries to control himself. He wants to be closer to him, to touch him, to hold his hand. He stays in character, tries not to be obvious about how he feels, is extremely aware of the fact that everyone in the restaurant is staring at their table.

  When the food arrives, Amberton is relieved to have a distraction from Kevin his lovely Kevin, and although he usually adheres to a strict nonfat, low-carb, raw-food diet prepared for him by his personal chef, he digs in.

  The food is heavy, rich, incredibly good. As they eat, Tonya starts asking Amberton about his life, he gives her his pre-prepared spiel, I’m married I love my wife we have three beautiful children together (all conceived in petri dishes). She asks about his work he says he’s taking a break he wants to enjoy life for a few months, that his next film will be about a rogue chemist who develops a supervirus, it is Amberton’s job, against impossible odds, to stop him.

  They finish eating Amberton tries to pay Tonya tells him to put his money away. The manager comes over with Tonya’s change asks Amberton for a picture to put on the wall, he will be the first white man to make it, Amberton says of course that he’s honored. They get up leave Amberton walks behind Kevin watches him walk to the door Amberton is still hungry, still hungry. Once they’re outside, he kisses Tonya on the cheek tells her it was a pleasure to meet her she echoes the sentiment. Amberton says goodbye to Kevin he shakes his hand it is the best part of his day a simple handshake. They get in their respective cars and drive away. Amberton turns on the radio station that plays love songs. As he drives down Crenshaw towards the 10 he feels no fear. He hears a song about love, true love he sings along at the top of his lungs. He is still hungry.

  Between 1880 and 1890 the population grows from 30,000 residents to 100,000 residents. Land prices skyrocket until the market collapses in 1887, creating the first real-estate depression in southern California.

  With the population boom also came the first inklings of the entertainment industry as musical theater companies from the East began migrating to the city and opening their own venues.

  Esperanza didn’t leave her room for almost a year. She didn’t let anyone, aside from her mother and father, come in to see her. All of her relatives tried to comfort her it didn’t do any good. Her father and her cousins tracked down all of the men at the party who laughed at her and forced them to come to the house to apologize for their behavior, it didn’t do any good. For the first two months after the party she stayed in bed and cried. Every time she tried to stop crying, or tried to get out of bed, she remembered lying on the ground, on what was supposed to be the best day of her life, her skirt at her waist, fifty men standing around laughing at her. Her mother finally convinced her to get out of bed, told her that they would try to deal with her thighs together. Even though money was extremely tight, they bought a number of exercise machines specifically designed for the thighs, the Thighmaster, the Thighrocker, the Thighshaper, the Thighsculptor and the Thigh dominator, but none of them helped. Esperanza tried all sorts of exercises, the inner-thigh press, hack squats, safety squats, rear lunges, walking lunges, hamstring curls and all manner of leg lifts, including the vaunted outer-thigh leg lift they were all useless. Once she gave up on the exercises she tried running in place it didn’t work running in small circles around her room it didn’t work jumping on a mini-trampoline it didn’t work. They consulted a trainer he said that genetics were the main factor and no one could change their genetics, they consulted a doctor he said sometimes God gives us things we don’t like and we just have to learn to deal with them.

  Esperanza was distraught. She went back to bed, crying all day long, cursing her thighs, cursing her life.

  She came out of her room when one of her cousins died. He was a sixteen-year-old named Manuel who had dreamed of being a doctor. He came across the border with his parents at twelve, learned to speak perfect English in a year, was the best student in his class, stayed away from the gangs that dominated the neighborhood. He was a kind, gentle boy, one who had been taught to be a gentleman, to hold doors, give compliments, to help those who needed it. He was killed as he walked home from school. A stray bullet from a drive-by hit him in the back of the head. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Esperanza was crushed, felt guilty for not having seen her cousin during the previous year, was embarrassed to admit she had acted in such a ridiculous manner. She pulled out her nicest dress, did her hair and put on some makeup and left her room to mourn with the rest of her family. After the funeral, she helped her mother prepare food in the kitchen for guests coming to the house to offer their c
ondolences, she served them, filled their glasses, cleared their plates. That night, she stayed up late with her surviving cousins, sharing their favorite stories about Manuel, laughing about his bookish ways, cursing the gangs whose culture killed him.

  The next day, Esperanza found everyone in the house, all seventeen of them, took them aside and individually apologized to them. They all told her not to worry about it, that they were just happy to see her again.

  She went to church in the afternoon and prayed for guidance, gave her confession, lit a candle for her cousin. When she went home, she resolved to start living again, living outside of her room and her house, outside of her low self-esteem and self-hatred, outside of the image she had of her body. It was a slow start. For the first week she went out once a day, usually to church. Second week a couple times a day she went grocery shopping, went to a discount clothing store. Third week she started making phone calls and attempting to get back on the path she had left a year earlier. The scholarship she had was gone she was told she could reapply. The spot at school was gone she was told she could reapply.

  Her family didn’t have any money she didn’t have any money if she was going to go to school she knew she needed a job. She asked her mother if she knew of anything she asked her father if he knew of anything. They both asked their friends. Esperanza started going through the classifieds, walking through her neighborhood and talking to local business owners, she started filling out applications and doing interviews. Because she was still self-conscious about her thighs, she always wore oversized skirts that hid them. While she was looking for work, she occasionally went on cleaning jobs with her mother. Her mother usually did two houses a day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. On Friday, she did one large home in Pasadena that took all day. The woman who lived in the home was in her seventies, extremely wealthy, had been born in and spent her entire life in Pasadena. Streets, parks and schools were named after various members of her family. She had a live-in staff for most of her life, but as she got older, she didn’t like having people around all the time. When her children moved out, she had three daughters, all of whom married well and lived nearby, and her husband passed away, he was ten years older and died at seventy-three of a heart attack while playing tennis, she let the live-ins go and hired Graciella. After her third week working at the house with her mother, the woman asked Esperanza if she was interested in a full-time job. Esperanza said yes, the woman said her sister was looking for someone to cook and clean. Esperanza said she would like to meet her.