Eversea
Page 58
Well, it wasn’t a ringing endorsement, but it was more than I’d had when I woke up this morning. I held out my hand. “We’ve never formally been introduced. Keri Ann Butler. Waitress slash soon-to-be art student. I hope. And friend of Jack’s.”
Devon gave a half smile and took my outstretched hand and shook it. “Devon Brown. Producing, for now, while I figure out what I want to be when I grow up. And friend of Jack’s.”
“Nice to meet you, Devon.”
“Likewise, Keri Ann.” He gave a small nod.
“Okay, well, I better go and get Colt. I’m late for my own birthday party.” I grinned sheepishly.
Devon’s eyebrows raised. “It’s today? Well, happy birthday. I hope you get everything you want this year.”
“Me too,” I said. I really did. “And, Devon? Thank you.”
J A C K
I saw that diamond road
And I took it
I made a lot of friends
But they were crooked
A cold hand reached out
And I took it
I made so many mistakes
Now it’s too late
To put ’em right
In the high twilight
- Lyrics from High Twilight by Daniel Isaiah
T H I R T Y – S E V E N
I’m good at compartmentalizing. You have to be in my profession. As long as the cameras are rolling, you are someone else. Living like someone else, thinking like someone else, reacting like someone else. I’ve learned how to convey a thousand conflicting emotions without uttering a single word. I can also hide a thousand conflicting emotions in a lead-lined fortress, while chatting amiably with whoever needs a piece of Jack.
Right now, I’m sitting in a chair in a back room at True Tattoo while Nick Parker uses his needle and ink to pry me open. Nick and I were a two-pack of trouble on the streets of New York before we decided to stop giving our mothers’ short trips to early graves and move to L.A. He was the only one who knew about my father. Now, he is one of two.
And he won’t fucking shut up.
“So Loggerhead Turtles are mostly native to the Georgia and Carolina coasts, did you know that?”
I don’t grace him with an answer as he shades away at the scutes on my foot.
“And you know after they are born there, it doesn’t matter how far and wide they swim and for how many years, they go back to the same freaking beach?”
“What the fuck is your point, Nick?” I say, focusing on his wall display so I don’t see the beach in my mind’s eye.
“Nothing, man. It’s just interesting you’ve chosen to put a tiny sea turtle on your foot. Not a big old Pacific Leatherback either.” He shifts his angle slightly, and I wince as the needle moves over a particularly sensitive tendon.
I breathe out and fold my arms over my chest. I have a ton of shit to do today, including having seventy people over to my house for a final thank you as we wrap up the Erath tour. I must have been crazy to try and slide in and out of Nick’s space without his irritating questions. My head is aching behind my eyes. All I want to do is get shit-faced.
Nick creases his brow in concentration that doesn’t synch up with his leaking opinions. “After they hatch, they can get distracted by bright and artificial lights and instead of meeting their destiny, they are lured to their deaths.”
“Jesus, Nick. What the hell is your problem?” I am pissed off. “Are you done yet?”
He smirks. “Not even close. Do you need her initials on it, or what?”
I grit my teeth. “No, Nick, I don’t,” I say calmly. Even though I do, actually. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I won’t be reminded every time I look down. Or any time at all. I quickly stick to my original plan. “Actually, yes. Do it. Hurry up about it, and let’s go next door and get a drink.”
“Okay, man. I just can’t work out whether you’re supposed to be the turtle or she is. It’s bugging me.”
“For the last time, shut the fuck up.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Ignoring Nick’s no cell phone rule, I pull it out gingerly, trying not to move.
Devon Brown.
“Hey, D. You’re still coming tonight, right?” I greet him with the question, knowing full well he’ll be there. Erath was his puppy after all. I just need the reassurance. I can’t stand these industry backslapping events. The fact that Audrey offered to do it at home, instead of some restaurant, just shows how far apart she and I are these days. I need someone there on my side.
“Of course. Where are you? I want to talk to you about a new project and won’t be able to do it tonight.”
“Nick’s giving me another memento. We’re about to go next door and get a drink. Join us?”
“I’ll never understand your obsession with permanent ink. It’s a nightmare for makeup. I’ll be there in twenty.” He hangs up.
I realize I’ve been drinking a lot lately, but I can’t seem to muster the energy to care. I can write it off to jetlag most of the time, but Audrey knows. We have done about seventeen countries in the last thirty days. At times, I feel like we are getting back to the friendship we used to have before it all became so complicated. I know she wants us to be more again, especially for the baby’s sake. I’m trying.
“I’m done. The initials are designed into the scutes on the shell so you can’t really see them unless you know they’re there,” Nick says, scooting his stool backward. I look down at the creature on my foot. It’s tiny and beautiful. Nick is an artist. It doesn’t make me feel better. But then again, it is more to remind me everyday how easy it can be to take advantage of someone, so that I never do it again. Maybe it’s so that I can focus on providing my son or daughter some sense of honor. Honor that I don’t have.
* * *
I stand at the railing of my house, looking out over the valley to the Pacific Ocean as the sun sets. A glass of champagne dangles from my fingers. I’m tense but trying to look relaxed. Voices and laughter of mingling sycophants swirl around behind me, every sound another bar on this clichéd cage of mine. I drain the glass and let it slip out of my hand. It satisfies me to see it shatter on the rocky scrag of the hillside below. I’m wallowing. It doesn’t become me.
I mentally prepare, and school my features, getting ready to turn around and become the carefree, successful, and handsome host once again. It has been a tiring evening, the last five minutes the only ones I’ve had to myself. Hopefully, this is one of the last parties for Erath I’ll have to do now that the promotional tour is reaching its end. Endless photo-shoots, interviews, and staged outings with Audrey are finally slowing down.
It was Audrey’s idea to host the party for Andy and some of the studio executives who had first championed the Erath script. It isn’t that I’m not thankful and grateful to these people, but I also know that they depend on me just as much, if not more. Especially now. Inviting them all into my home is too much of an invasion for where my head is.
Audrey wasted no time moving back in here after I pulled the house off the market. I know she needs to show everyone things are fine between us.
I try to stay engaged with her when we are in public, and the effort is exhausting. And I know I have to start trying harder when it’s just the two of us, especially for the baby’s sake.
Devon gave a half smile and took my outstretched hand and shook it. “Devon Brown. Producing, for now, while I figure out what I want to be when I grow up. And friend of Jack’s.”
“Nice to meet you, Devon.”
“Likewise, Keri Ann.” He gave a small nod.
“Okay, well, I better go and get Colt. I’m late for my own birthday party.” I grinned sheepishly.
Devon’s eyebrows raised. “It’s today? Well, happy birthday. I hope you get everything you want this year.”
“Me too,” I said. I really did. “And, Devon? Thank you.”
J A C K
I saw that diamond road
And I took it
I made a lot of friends
But they were crooked
A cold hand reached out
And I took it
I made so many mistakes
Now it’s too late
To put ’em right
In the high twilight
- Lyrics from High Twilight by Daniel Isaiah
T H I R T Y – S E V E N
I’m good at compartmentalizing. You have to be in my profession. As long as the cameras are rolling, you are someone else. Living like someone else, thinking like someone else, reacting like someone else. I’ve learned how to convey a thousand conflicting emotions without uttering a single word. I can also hide a thousand conflicting emotions in a lead-lined fortress, while chatting amiably with whoever needs a piece of Jack.
Right now, I’m sitting in a chair in a back room at True Tattoo while Nick Parker uses his needle and ink to pry me open. Nick and I were a two-pack of trouble on the streets of New York before we decided to stop giving our mothers’ short trips to early graves and move to L.A. He was the only one who knew about my father. Now, he is one of two.
And he won’t fucking shut up.
“So Loggerhead Turtles are mostly native to the Georgia and Carolina coasts, did you know that?”
I don’t grace him with an answer as he shades away at the scutes on my foot.
“And you know after they are born there, it doesn’t matter how far and wide they swim and for how many years, they go back to the same freaking beach?”
“What the fuck is your point, Nick?” I say, focusing on his wall display so I don’t see the beach in my mind’s eye.
“Nothing, man. It’s just interesting you’ve chosen to put a tiny sea turtle on your foot. Not a big old Pacific Leatherback either.” He shifts his angle slightly, and I wince as the needle moves over a particularly sensitive tendon.
I breathe out and fold my arms over my chest. I have a ton of shit to do today, including having seventy people over to my house for a final thank you as we wrap up the Erath tour. I must have been crazy to try and slide in and out of Nick’s space without his irritating questions. My head is aching behind my eyes. All I want to do is get shit-faced.
Nick creases his brow in concentration that doesn’t synch up with his leaking opinions. “After they hatch, they can get distracted by bright and artificial lights and instead of meeting their destiny, they are lured to their deaths.”
“Jesus, Nick. What the hell is your problem?” I am pissed off. “Are you done yet?”
He smirks. “Not even close. Do you need her initials on it, or what?”
I grit my teeth. “No, Nick, I don’t,” I say calmly. Even though I do, actually. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I won’t be reminded every time I look down. Or any time at all. I quickly stick to my original plan. “Actually, yes. Do it. Hurry up about it, and let’s go next door and get a drink.”
“Okay, man. I just can’t work out whether you’re supposed to be the turtle or she is. It’s bugging me.”
“For the last time, shut the fuck up.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Ignoring Nick’s no cell phone rule, I pull it out gingerly, trying not to move.
Devon Brown.
“Hey, D. You’re still coming tonight, right?” I greet him with the question, knowing full well he’ll be there. Erath was his puppy after all. I just need the reassurance. I can’t stand these industry backslapping events. The fact that Audrey offered to do it at home, instead of some restaurant, just shows how far apart she and I are these days. I need someone there on my side.
“Of course. Where are you? I want to talk to you about a new project and won’t be able to do it tonight.”
“Nick’s giving me another memento. We’re about to go next door and get a drink. Join us?”
“I’ll never understand your obsession with permanent ink. It’s a nightmare for makeup. I’ll be there in twenty.” He hangs up.
I realize I’ve been drinking a lot lately, but I can’t seem to muster the energy to care. I can write it off to jetlag most of the time, but Audrey knows. We have done about seventeen countries in the last thirty days. At times, I feel like we are getting back to the friendship we used to have before it all became so complicated. I know she wants us to be more again, especially for the baby’s sake. I’m trying.
“I’m done. The initials are designed into the scutes on the shell so you can’t really see them unless you know they’re there,” Nick says, scooting his stool backward. I look down at the creature on my foot. It’s tiny and beautiful. Nick is an artist. It doesn’t make me feel better. But then again, it is more to remind me everyday how easy it can be to take advantage of someone, so that I never do it again. Maybe it’s so that I can focus on providing my son or daughter some sense of honor. Honor that I don’t have.
* * *
I stand at the railing of my house, looking out over the valley to the Pacific Ocean as the sun sets. A glass of champagne dangles from my fingers. I’m tense but trying to look relaxed. Voices and laughter of mingling sycophants swirl around behind me, every sound another bar on this clichéd cage of mine. I drain the glass and let it slip out of my hand. It satisfies me to see it shatter on the rocky scrag of the hillside below. I’m wallowing. It doesn’t become me.
I mentally prepare, and school my features, getting ready to turn around and become the carefree, successful, and handsome host once again. It has been a tiring evening, the last five minutes the only ones I’ve had to myself. Hopefully, this is one of the last parties for Erath I’ll have to do now that the promotional tour is reaching its end. Endless photo-shoots, interviews, and staged outings with Audrey are finally slowing down.
It was Audrey’s idea to host the party for Andy and some of the studio executives who had first championed the Erath script. It isn’t that I’m not thankful and grateful to these people, but I also know that they depend on me just as much, if not more. Especially now. Inviting them all into my home is too much of an invasion for where my head is.
Audrey wasted no time moving back in here after I pulled the house off the market. I know she needs to show everyone things are fine between us.
I try to stay engaged with her when we are in public, and the effort is exhausting. And I know I have to start trying harder when it’s just the two of us, especially for the baby’s sake.
