Twist of Fate

by Louise, Tia

  Exhaustion hits me again—just like yesterday. I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train, and I just want to curl up on the couch and sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to Spencer.

  Still barfing. Going to the doc today. Sorry.

  It doesn’t take long for him to reply, in typical Spencer fashion. Do not bring the plague to this office. Stay home until you’re well.

  I’m not sure if I’m relieved or annoyed by his response, but I’ll take the pass. Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.

  I pull my robe tighter around my waist as I walk to my bedroom Googling the number for urgent care. I’m just touching it when my finger freezes over the screen, and a wash of fear floods my veins.

  “No.” It’s the only word I get out before I run to my laptop and pull up the calendar function.

  Not that I keep track of these things on my calendar, but I rack my brain trying to remember. When was the last time? What was I doing?

  My eyes scan the calendar, and I swallow the knot in my throat, remembering a saying I heard or read somewhere.

  It’s a truth universally acknowledged, when one part of your life takes off, it’s only a matter of time before Fate takes notice and kicks you in the shins.

  Fourteen

  Scout

  “I’m more afraid of this crime than I am of never winning again.” I’m standing behind a chain-link fence on the perimeter of a fake racetrack in a fake NASCAR uniform.

  Anticipation buzzes in my chest, and I have a great feeling about this audition. I’m up against two other guys for the part, and this show is going to hit. I can feel it. Mixing NASCAR with fighting crime seems as obvious as Miami Vice.

  “There’s nothing I can’t do with a race car.” I flex my arms and tilt my chin, doing my best version of a hotshot gear head.

  “Dunne and Carrier. You’re up!” A female casting assistant reads our names off her iPad and heads to the small room where the casting directors wait.

  Energy surges in my veins, and I am Callus McMasters, race car driver by day, private detective by night. Chuck Carrier is an extra I recognize from other shows. He’s playing the crusty old pit boss Rooster Fishburne. He’s experienced and steady, and when we take our places, he gives me a kindly wink.

  “Begin when you’re ready.” The girl steps to the side.

  I flex my muscles and square off facing Chuck. “I’m more afraid of this crime than I am of never winning again.” I’m passionate, quiet fervor.

  “That’s the difference between you and me, kid.” Chuck nods his head as if he’s tipping a cap. “I’d leave this one alone. It’s out of our league.”

  “It’s not out of my league.” Lowering my chin, I arch an eyebrow. “There’s nothing I can’t do with a race car.”

  We hold three seconds.

  “And, cut.” iPad girl steps into our space and motions to us, seeming bored. “Thank you. If you’ll just come this way.”

  She calls the last pair. We were told they’d decide today, and a lot of us are waiting around to see if they might give us the good news now.

  “They’ll contact our agents. I’m taking off.” Chuck pats my arm. “Hope to see you on set, kid.”

  He saunters away like he’s done this a hundred times, which I’m pretty sure he has, and a guy from one of the previous pairs sidles up to me. “It’s lucky you got to go with Chuck. Word is he’s already been offered the role of Rooster.”

  My chest flashes. “I didn’t know that.” I look after Chuck and back to the guy. “If he’s got the part, do you think that means…”

  “I don’t know what it means other than that bodes pretty well for you.” He scans me up and down, and I can’t tell if he’s pissed at me or trying to make friends.

  The last pair comes out, and the younger of the two walks over to where we’re waiting. My informant crosses his arms. “How’d it go?”

  “As if it matters. They’ve already decided from what I hear.” He curls a lip at me, and I give him a friendly smile.

  His eyes widen, and he makes a freaky, mock-smile in return as if to say back off.

  And here I thought only girls were that catty.

  Looking around, I see it’s just the younger members of the group still waiting. All the experienced guys have jetted, which tells me nothing more is going to happen here tonight.

  “Well, good luck, guys.” I hold out my hand in a little wave before starting for the door. “See you around.”

  “I’m sorry…” The guy who just came out from his audition steps forward. He waves his hand as if he’s stirring the air in front of me. “Don’t I know you?”

  I pause and study him a minute. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty new in town, and I don’t recognize—”

  “New in town?” The guy looks over his shoulder at the informant and they both exhale a laugh. “Did you say you’re new? I don’t think so. I’ve seen your…” His eyes flicker to my crotch and back to my face. “Body of work.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you just do print media? Wasn’t that you in Howard’s Other End?”

  “Sorry, bro. I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.” I hold out a hand and smile. “No harm done.”

  The girl with the iPad steps out into the waiting room and smiles at us. “We’ll be contacting your agents, so you’re free to leave. Thanks for coming.”

  She turns on her heel, but before she goes back inside, Catty pipes up. “Excuse me, but I might be withdrawing my name from consideration.”

  The girl’s chin pulls back, and she frowns at him as if he’s nuts. “You know this is a Mining Diamonds joint. It’s basically guaranteed to air.”

  “If you say so… I’m not sure how I feel about them allowing porn stars to be in the cast.”

  The girl laughs and her voice rises. “Porn stars? Who the hell is a porn star in this cast?”

  Catty and Informant both glare at me, and my throat constricts. What the fuck? A weight drops in my stomach, and I turn to the girl.

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m no porn star.”

  “I’m sorry. Rammin Rod? Dreamboys?” Catty holds up a hand as he turns on his heel and starts for the door with Informant right behind him. “It’s easily verified. A quick Google search will turn it up. In the future, you might want to do your research before making any callbacks.”

  I’m left alone with the girl, who’s lips are parted. She looks like she’s just seen a ghost—or a male porn star. “You know, you are required to list all previous acting jobs on your résumé. It’s a good-faith gesture.”

  “I honestly don’t know what they’re talking about.” I hold up both hands, shaking my head. “I’ve never done porn in my life, I swear.”

  “Well, if you swear, I’ll just do a quick Google search, and we’ll be done with it.” She tucks a stylus behind her ear and smiles. “You didn’t hear this from me, but it’s looking pretty good for you at this point.”

  “Seriously?” The weight vanishes, and I feel like I’m floating on air.

  “Chuck likes you, and he has a lot of pull with this casting director.” She gives me a wink before returning to the small room. “He says you remind him of his late friend Paul Newman.”

  “Holy shit,” I whisper then quickly add louder, “Thank you!”

  She does a little nod before going back to the audition room. I lean back against the wall, trying to wrap my head around this. Paul Newman? That’s like the most amazing fucking compliment of all time.

  I practically sprint out of the casting office. I can’t believe it. I’m in! A lead role in a new streaming show by a major production company… or at least a lead role in the pilot for a new streaming show… this could launch my career!

  I want to run all the way back to my apartment, but I hop in my car and drive instead. My mind is in the clouds thinking of where this could lead. I think about John Krasinski on The Office or Chris Pratt on Parks & Recreatio
n or all those other shows that led to big-time movie careers. Hell, even Brad Pitt was on Dallas when he was just getting started.

  Dashing up the stairs, I think of texting Daisy with the news. It’s been a while since we’ve chatted. The last time was when she sent me that photograph of her with the thousand-dollar teddy bear. Man, so much has happened since then. I’m not sure why we lost touch. I texted her a few times, but she never replied…

  “Hello, Scout.” Crenshaw’s level greeting from the kitchen stops me. His arms are crossed, and he’s leaning against the counter. “I’ve been waiting for you. We need to talk.”

  “Hey, man! You can say that again. I’ve got some great news—news that means I won’t be late on the rent anymore. I was all but guaranteed a job with this—”

  “It’s about that.” My roommate doesn’t smile, and I couldn’t be more confused. “I think you know I’m far from a prude, and I don’t care what you do on your own time. It’s more a matter of safety and the type of people I want in the apartment. How I want my name spread around town, my future brand…”

  I look around the room, but we appear to be alone. “I’m not following you. Who are you worried about?”

  With a flourish, he pulls out a glossy magazine, and a cold flash hits the back of my neck when I see the word Dreamboys emblazoned across the front in bright red. “Look familiar?”

  He passes it to me, and I study the cover. It’s like an old-school Playgirl, except the muscle-bound dude on the front is totally naked. My guess is this publication can only be purchased online or in stores wrapped in brown paper.

  “Sorry, man. I’m not really into this kind of thing.” My stomach is tight, and I haven’t forgotten the words Catty said to the casting director.

  Now I’m worried.

  “I didn’t think you were either, until I got my annual calendar boys issue. It’s their bestseller…” He takes the magazine from my hands and flips to the center. “Mr. December looks like someone we know, don’t you think?”

  My throat grows tighter, and I’m not sure I want to look. “Who?”

  “How about I show you.” He turns the magazine to face me, and all the strength leaves my body.

  It’s me.

  I’m the fucking centerfold.

  I lower to sit on the couch staring at the photo of me, fully nude, dick erect, with a football elevated over my head. A cheesy caption is stamped across the top. Get your hard on this bowl season with Rammin Rod. He’ll put the spice in…

  Closing the cover, I can’t read anymore.

  My blood races hot then cold. Something between horror and rage floods my veins, and I’m on my feet. “I’m going to kill that guy.”

  Crenshaw calls something after me, but I’m moving too fast to hear, headed to my car.

  The bells jangle wildly, and Franco goes behind the counter when I slam through the glass door of Ultimate Sensations photography studio. “My buddy Scout. Back for another session? I can give you a better price this time. My distributor is begging for more—”

  “What the fuck did you do?” Heat blazes in my throat, and I close the space between us like a raging bull. “You motherfucker, what the fuck did you do with my pictures?”

  “Hang on a minute…” His smile melts to a frown, and he quickly whips out an enormous shotgun from the back corner and levels it on me. “Stop right there.”

  I do stop, holding my hands in the air, still breathing hard. “What the fuck have you done to me?”

  “Done to you? I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I didn’t do anything to you.”

  “You sold me out to a fucking porn magazine?”

  “I got a great price for those pictures. I told you you’re a natural at this.”

  Red blazes behind my eyes, and I squeeze them shut as my hands clench into fists. “I’m not a gay porn star!”

  “You are now.”

  My eyes fly open, and I’m ready to vault the counter and slam him against the wall. The only thing stopping me is the double-barrels aimed at my face.

  “I’m hiring a lawyer, and I’m going to sue the fuck out of this place. You’ll never take another photo—”

  “Think again, dickweed. This is all on you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You signed the contract giving me license to use those images however I saw fit. It was part of the deal for the headshots. I can’t help it if you can’t read.”

  “I can read.” My jaw clenches so hard I’m afraid I’ll crack my teeth.

  “You willingly stood for every photo I took and even suggested some poses.”

  Fisting my hands, I glance at the ceiling as I exhale a hot growl. “You said casting directors needed nudes to decide between cut and uncut actors.”

  He shrugs tilting his head to the side. “It’s easier than going in and dropping your pants like some guys do.”

  “You took advantage of me. You lied to me.”

  The trigger on the gun cocks, and he takes a step closer. “I did no such thing. You’re the dumbass who didn’t read the fine print. Now get out of my shop and don’t come around here making trouble. You threaten me again, and I’ll call the cops. I’ll get a restraining order.”

  I’m furious and shaking and not sure what to do. Turning on my heel, I leave the studio. Fiery rage burns my chest the whole way back to my apartment.

  Luis is outside tossing the ball in the air, but I don’t even smile. I give him a dismissive wave as I take the stairs two at a time before bursting through our door.

  “Did you commit murder?” Crenshaw is sitting on the couch smoking a blunt, and I go straight to my room.

  “Not yet.” My voice is quiet as I dig out the brown envelope containing the photographs and paperwork from my session with Franco.

  Returning to the living room, I slide the papers apart as I scan the multiple paragraphs of information I signed.

  “What’s that?” My roommate’s voice is strained as he exhales the smoke.

  “He says I signed this agreement saying he could use my pictures without my permission.”

  “You gave him the license to your images.” He nods as if he knows all about this.

  My eyes flash to his. “What the fuck does that mean? I’ve never heard of that.”

  “It means he takes the pictures. They’re yours, but he can still make money off them if he wants. Looks like that’s what he did.”

  Dropping to a seat on the recliner, I fist my hands in the paper as I raise it to my face, growling. “NO! He can’t do that without my permission!”

  “Give it to me.” Tuck scoots forward, lowering the joint to the ashtray and holding out a hand.

  I pass the crumpled and torn pages to him, and he smooths them out, squinting as he reads. “Yep, this part right here. Franco Romano retains ownership of all images and is granted the right to sell them…”

  He keeps going, but a roar is in my ears. My eyes close, and I scrub my fingers across my brow. Catty told the casting assistant to do a Google search. She said she would.

  “She’s going to find this.” My voice is quiet, and my chest constricts as I see my career slipping away. “I’m not getting the job.”

  Sympathy lines Crenshaw’s brow, and he picks up the blunt. “Take a hit, my friend. You’ve had a hard day.”

  I’m too shaken to get high. I’m still in the zone of trying to fix this, even though I know it’s a lost cause. “It’s all over before it even began.”

  Crenshaw takes a hit and leans back on the couch. “Come on, now. It’s never as black as you think.”

  “I’ll never get a legit acting job with this hanging over me. Nobody wants that kind of publicity.”

  “Never is a long time, my friend.” Crenshaw places a hand on my shoulder. “Anyway, didn’t a sex tape make Paris Hilton a star? It made Kim Kardashian a billionaire.”

  Squinting my eyes at him, I shake my head. “That’s not the kind of career I want.”

  “
This’ll be over in a week. You’ll see. Lay low for a little while.”

  “Right. Lay low.” I’m about as low as I can get.

  Fifteen

  Daisy

  “You’re pregnant.” Sly’s navy eyes are wide as she surveys me from the bed in our old bedroom at Aunt Regina’s BnB.

  “Yes.” My voice is quiet.

  I’m sitting in that yellow chair I loved, the one Scout helped me move all over this house, and I ache for him.

  “It’s his?”

  “Yes.”

  “Phew.” She swings her feet off the bed and stands. “I need a drink. You want something? Ginger ale?”

  “Please.” My morning sickness has subsided, but my stomach still churns. I’m convinced it’s the stress.

  She jogs down the stairs, and my eyes drift to the oversized flowers on the wallpaper. They look like they’re moving towards me, and I wonder if I could fall into them and disappear. I miss him so badly. I want him here so much, but I know that’s impossible.

  “What are you going to do?” Sly’s back with a glass of white wine and a can of Vernor’s. She hands me the green can and sits across from me on the foot of the bed. “I’ll support you no matter what, of course.”

  “I’ve got to tell him. I guess.” A knot is in my throat, and I’m not sure how I’ll accomplish that little feat.

  He’s three thousand miles across the country in Los Angeles. I’m here with no intention of relocating to a city where I know no one, have no job prospects, pregnant…

  “You guess?”

  Shaking my head, I shift in the chair. “I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of it all. I’m not moving to L.A. and leaving my work. He can’t move here and continue pursuing his dream.”

  “So you’re going to keep it?”

  “Of course. It’s Scout’s and my baby.” Warmth bubbles in my aching chest, and I feel sick again. My insides are a shook-up mess of happiness and anxiety and excitement and despair. “I want to keep it. It’s just really bad timing.”