by James Frey
The waitress brings the food back to Amberton and Casey. Casey picks up one of the chicken fingers, which does indeed look like a human finger. She smiles, speaks.
Creepy.
Amberton speaks.
I think it’s hot.
Oh yeah?
Love fingers in my mouth.
She laughs, holds it up.
You want it?
He smiles.
Not those.
She laughs again, takes a bite, chews. She nods, says—it’s good—with a mouth full of it, takes another bite. Amberton takes a sip of his drink, scans the room, he can’t see much, the room is too crowded and there’s too much going on, all seven cities are packed with revelers filling their gullets with free food and drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the guards step out of the way, he turns to see who it is, his agent Gordon waves to him, following directly behind Gordon is Kevin, they are both wearing black suits. Amberton smiles, waves them over. When they arrive, he shakes each of their hands, invites them to sit down. Gordon sits next to him, Kevin sits next to Casey. Amberton speaks.
We were looking for you guys.
Gordon speaks.
We were making the rounds.
Casey speaks.
See anyone interesting?
Gordon speaks.
Same people that are always at these things. Kevin doesn’t know them all yet, so I was making some introductions.
Amberton speaks.
How did it go?
Kevin speaks.
Well, I guess. It was just shaking hands and saying hello.
Casey speaks.
And collecting business cards.
Kevin pats the pocket of his coat, speaks.
Got a few of those.
Gordon speaks.
Because of his exploits on the football field. Kevin has the advantage of being well known outside of the business. Most people, men at least, already know who he is and are anxious to talk to him.
Amberton smiles, speaks.
Most straight men.
Gordon speaks.
You’d be surprised.
He and Gordon both laugh, Kevin appears embarrassed. Casey speaks. What’d you think of the movie?
Kevin speaks.
It was great. Gonna be a huge hit.
Gordon speaks.
Kevin actually represents one of the aliens.
Casey speaks.
One of the hybrids, or one of the true aliens?
Kevin speaks.
The lead female true alien. The one with the big appetite.
Amberton speaks.
She was great.
Kevin speaks.
I’ll tell her you said so, it’ll mean a lot to her.
Casey speaks.
How’d you find her?
Kevin speaks.
I knew her in college. She was a cheerleader.
Amberton speaks.
And did you ever once think that someday you’d be her agent? Kevin speaks.
No, but a lot of things have happened that I never thought would have or could have. Amberton smiles. Casey takes a bite of a chicken finger. Gordon, who does not know what is going on between Amberton and Kevin, nods, and speaks.
And plenty more is going to happen. You have a huge career in front of you.
Kevin speaks.
Thank you.
Gordon sees another client, stands and excuses himself. Amberton looks at Kevin, smiles, speaks.
Just so you know, you don’t have to feel weird. Casey knows everything. Kevin speaks.
What?
Casey speaks.
I know all about the two of you. Amberton and I share everything with each other. You don’t need to feel weird around me. I think it’s great that you’re sleeping with my husband.
Kevin speaks.
I’m not sure what to say.
Amberton speaks.
You could tell me you love me.
Casey speaks.
Or you could say—Thanks Casey, that’s pretty cool.
Kevin speaks.
Or I could say I think I made a mistake and I think this conversation is incredibly inappropriate.
Amberton laughs.
Don’t say that. That’s no fun.
Casey speaks.
And even if that is what you think, it’s too late now. The train is running down the tracks, and it isn’t stopping.
Kevin speaks.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Amberton, who is sitting across from Kevin, slides his foot up the side of Kevin’s leg, speaks.
Let’s just enjoy the evening, Kevin.
Casey speaks.
We have food, champagne, each other’s company, our own waitress, a couple hundred of our best friends and worst enemies, and a car is waiting for us when we’re ready to leave.
Kevin looks at Amberton, speaks.
Could you move your foot, please?
Amberton smiles, speaks.
Higher up?
Away.
You sure?
Yes, I’m sure.
Amberton smiles, moves his foot slightly higher. Kevin reaches below the table, forcibly moves the foot away. Amberton pretends to be hurt, speaks.
Ouch.
Kevin speaks.
That didn’t hurt.
It did.
Kevin stands.
I think it’s time for me to go.
Casey speaks.
That would be a big mistake.
Kevin speaks.
I don’t think so.
Casey smiles.
You don’t understand, do you, Kevin?
Understand what?
Sit down.
As I said, I’m going to leave.
If you leave, by the time you’re out of this section, you’ll be unemployed.
Now sit down.
Kevin looks at Casey she’s smiling, he looks at Amberton he’s smiling. He sits down. She speaks.
My husband is in love with you. You may think that notion is ridiculous, but it’s not to him. His feelings are very real, and are absolutely true to his heart. For whatever reason, because you’re on the down-low, because you’re actually gay, or because you thought it might help your career, you decided to sleep with him. You didn’t have to do it. Eventually, his obsession would have dissipated. But you did do it. You decided to allow the relationship to become physical. Now you have to deal with it. That may mean allowing him to rub your thigh under the table at a premiere. That may mean sleeping with him again. That may mean something else, like going away with him, or visiting him in his trailer on his next film, or closing the door to your office when he stops by to visit. What it doesn’t mean is that you can walk away when you feel like it, or that you can go about your day without returning his phone calls, or that you can hurt him in any way without expecting there to be consequences. We may have an unconventional marriage, but I love my husband. He’s my best friend and my soul mate. We have a beautiful life together and a beautiful family. I will not allow you to hurt him in any way, or endanger his well-being or our family’s well-being. If you do, I will make you pay. Kevin stares at her. She stares back. He speaks.
So you expect me to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants?
Yes, I do. Until he doesn’t want it anymore.
It’s not gonna happen.
Yes, it is.
No fucking way.
She smiles.
You’re new to the business. I understand your ignorance, your naïveté. Let this be a lesson to you. Movie stars get what they want, when they want it, because we’re the reason people pay money to go to the movies. Nobody goes to the theater to see an agent, or a producer, or a writer, or some silly studio executive, they go to see us. Amberton and I are two of the biggest movie stars in the world. You work for the agency that represents us. That agency makes millions of dollars, tens of millions of dollars, off of us. Their job, and your job, is to service us. Your past as some sort of college footb
all superhero, while interesting and sort of cute, is meaningless to people who are as famous as we are. If we want you fired, it can be done with a phone call. If we want to set up a situation where you can never get another job in this business, it can be done with a phone call. If we want you run out of town, it can be done with a phone call. That’s the reality of this situation, and it’s that way because people all over the world will pay money to see us. If you want to test it, be my guest. But I would advise you to shut your mouth and let my husband love you.
Kevin stares at her. She stares back. Gordon walks back to the table, he’s finished with his other clients, his other business, he’s smiling, he speaks.
Everything good here?
Casey looks up, speaks.
We’re having a great time.
Gordon sits, speaks to Casey.
I just heard we’re getting an offer for you tomorrow.
Really, what?
Eight million for a drama about an adulterous housewife in Connecticut.
Have you read the script?
No, but it’s by a really hot writer. I’ll messenger it over tomorrow.
I’ll read it right away.
Casey and Gordon keep talking. Kevin looks at Amberton. Amberton smiles, puts his foot back on Kevin’s thigh, moves it higher.
In 1924, Hollywood film studios produce 960 feature-length films, and for the years between 1920 and 1927, they make somewhere between 700 and 900 films a year. In 1927, Warner Brothers produces and releases The Jazz Singer, starring Al Jolson, which is the first film in history with synchronized dialogue, sound effects, and music.
Dylan and Maddie get a room in a cheap motel on Lincoln Boulevard in Venice. Lincoln is known by locals as Stinkin’ Lincoln. It is lined with cheap motels, thrift shops, fast-food restaurants, discount stores, used-car lots. Along certain areas of it, homes that are a block or two away sell for millions of dollars. In other areas, homes that are a block or two away are used as crackhouses and filled with squatters. Regardless of the neighborhood, Lincoln stays the same. It stinks.
The motel is more or less the same as the last one: two stories, small run-down rooms, tenants who are unemployed and troubled. Dylan and Maddie don’t plan on staying long, because of the money, they don’t have to stay long. They spend their days looking for a house or an apartment. Somewhere to live that won’t make them feel dirty. Maddie wants a house with a white picket fence by the beach. Dylan wants to make Maddie happy. They search real estate listings in the paper, go to an Internet café and look for them online. There are very few houses with white picket fences by the beach. Those that exist are expensive, three or four thousand dollars a month. They have twenty thousand dollars. They know they need to make it last. In other parts of the country it might be considered a sizable sum. Not here.
They move their search inland. The farther from the ocean, the less expensive the rents. They look in Palms, Mar Vista, West Los Angeles, Culver City. They buy an old yellow moped for two hundred dollars. It’s not a car, or a truck, or a Harley, and it only goes twenty-five miles per hour, but it runs, and they can both ride on it, and they laugh about it, and they have fun with it. They take turns driving, and they both wear helmets that look like World War II military helmets. They call the moped “the agent” because it functions as their real estate agent, shuttling them from one appointment to another, and after being overtaken by a bicycle while riding along San Vincente, a busy east/west boulevard with a center divide lined with cypress trees, Dylan paints some bright red flames on the side of it. When they go out for the first time after the flames are done, they notice people laughing at them when they see them. They smile and wave. They’re young and free and have some money in their pockets and they know that this is what they left home for, that this may be their California dream.
After five days they find an apartment. It’s a large one-bedroom with a faux stainless refrigerator and a faux marble bathroom and blue faux-finish blend-and-glaze on the walls and faux berber carpets on the faux pine floors. It’s in a condo development on a street lined with condo developments near the Westside Pavilion (a large shopping mall with two department stores and a food court) in West LA. It has a gym in the basement and a pool in the courtyard. Because there are so many condos like it in the area, the rent is reasonable. Maddie loves the apartment. Dylan initially thinks it might be too fancy, if he gets another job as a mechanic he doesn’t want to get grease and oil on everything. Maddie tells him she’ll do the cleaning, that she did it at the motel, but the place was so dirty it was hard to notice. They agree to try and get it. They don’t have any real credit history, so the property manager requires an extra deposit. They pay for the first month and the last month and the deposit in cash, and they sign the lease. When they walk out of the property manager’s office with the keys, Maddie starts crying.
They sleep there for the first time that night. They sleep on the floor in each other’s arms. The next day they go to a discount furniture store and buy a couch and a table and a floor lamp and a bed and a nightstand and a table lamp. They go to a discount superstore and buy a set of pots and a set of cutlery and a set of plates and dishes and glasses. They go to a discount hardware store and buy a mop and a broom and some lightbulbs and some cleaning supplies. They go back to their apartment and spend the rest of the day and night on each other and inside of each other, in the bedroom, living room, kitchen, on the bathroom floor, in the shower, on each other, inside of each other.
Next day Dylan starts looking for a job Maddie stays home and organizes their new belongings puts them away and waits for the furniture to be delivered. Dylan walks into every garage he sees, every shop where he might be qualified to do something, every gas station. He walks into the parking lot of a large public golf course, looks for the office. When he finds it, the door is slightly open, he knocks. A male voice speaks.
Who is it?
Name’s Dylan.
Do I know you?
No, sir.
What do you want?
A job, sir. Any kind of job.
Dylan hears a chair slide across the floor, the door opens. A bald man with a mustache and giant stomach sits in a battered wooden chair that looks like it might collapse beneath his weight. He looks at Dylan for a moment, speaks.
You’re white.
Yes, sir.
I never get white kids coming in here looking for jobs. I’m not a kid, sir.
How old are you?
Nineteen.
The man laughs.
You’re a fucking baby.
Whatever you say, sir.
What kind of job you looking for?
Anything, sir.
You been to college?
No, sir.
First thing, if we’re going to go any further, you gotta stop fucking calling me sir.
Okay.
My name is Dan.
Okay, Dan.
Most people call me Fat Dan. A few others call me Asshole Dan.
I’ll just call you Dan.
Whatever, I don’t really give a shit, just not sir.
Understood.
You got any skills?
I can fix things.
What kind of things?
Just about anything, but I’m best with engines.
Lawn mower engines?
Sure.
You ever caddied?
No.
You know what it is?
Carrying golf bags for rich dudes.
Rich dudes belong to private clubs. This is a public course. We get dudes who wish they were rich.
Guess they need their bags carried too.
Yeah, and they can be dicks just like the rich dudes.
I can carry bags.
You mind blacks?
No.
You mind Mex?
Nope.
All the other caddies are blacks and Mex.
Fine with me.
They’ll probably give you shit for being a white boy.
&
nbsp; That’s fine too.
You get ten bucks an hour plus tips. Don’t tell anyone out there what I’m paying you. I don’t pay the Mex anything but tips because they’re all illegal, and I pay the blacks minimum wage plus tips.
Thank you.
Go out there and ask for Shaka. He’s the big black who runs the caddie shack. Tell him I said you’re hired.
Okay.
The only other white who works here is the club pro. He thinks he’s fucking Tiger Woods or some shit. If he was really any good he’d be on tour or be working at a real club. They call me Asshole Dan, but he’s more of an asshole than I am.
What’s his name?
Tom. Call him Tommy Boy, though, he hates it.
Dylan laughs. Dan motions towards the course.
It’s busy, so get out there. You might be able to squeeze in a round today.
Okay.
And if you got any problems, come back and tell me, and I’ll whip those fuckers in line.
I’ll be fine.
And I’ll need you to come back at the end of the day and fill out some paperwork for me.
Okay.
Get out there.
Thanks again, Dan.
Don’t sweat it.
Dan closes the door, Dylan hears the chair slide back across the floor. Dylan smiles, can’t believe how easily he just got a job, thinks being a caddie might be cool. He saw a movie about being a caddie on cable a few years ago, and the caddies sat around, got drunk, made fun of the golfers, and occasionally got to sleep with the wives and daughters of the golfers. While he would not indulge in the last of the activities, the rest of it would be great, and he’d definitely enjoy hearing stories about caddies who slept with the wives and daughters of the golfers. In the film, one of the caddies became a great golfer and won a huge bet, big enough so that he and his girlfriend had enough to set themselves up. He wonders how hard it could be: swing the club, hit the ball, ball goes in the hole. Maybe he’ll give it a try, maybe that’s the future.
He turns and walks through the parking lot towards a set of three small buildings clustered around a giant putting green. One of the buildings is a snack bar, another the pro shop, the third is surrounded by golf carts and young men drinking sodas and smoking. He assumes the one with carts and the smokers is the caddie shack he heads towards it. When he arrives he asks one of the young men for Shaka, he motions to an open door at the back of the building. Dylan walks over to it looks inside a tall thick man in his fifties sits at a desk covered with time slips and scorecards. He’s wearing a golf outfit, tan slacks a striped shirt and a hat. He has dark skin and short hair, before Dylan knocks, he looks over his shoulder, speaks.
