The Last Days of Video (28 page)

“Aliens?” Waring said.

“The sequel to
Alien
,” Match explained. “I've always loved the
Alien
movies. And the studio has approached me about directing another sequel.”

This surprised Waring, who had believed that the
Alien
franchise was dead and that Match was not really a director in demand.

“
Aliens
is my favorite movie,” Jeff announced.

Waring turned and stared at his moronic young employee, who was standing behind the counter.

“Your favorite movie?” Waring asked. “Of all time?”

“It's one of my employee picks.”

“Wow, Jeff. That's ridiculous.”

Jeff shook his head. “At least I believe in global warming.”

“Who doesn't believe in global warming?” Match said.

“
Der Führer,
” Alaura said.

“I'd get fired if I said that in Hollywood.”

“See!” Waring said, delighted that his earlier point had now been scientifically verified.

“I didn't say
Aliens
is the best movie ever,” Jeff explained. “I said it's my favorite. There's a difference. It was one of the first R-rated movies I ever saw, and I thought it was the definition of cool. Great effects. Kick-ass protagonist. I've watched it hundreds of times.”

Waring turned up his hands, then let them drop—totally exasperated by Jeff's defective reasoning. “Next you'll tell us that you enjoyed the
Star Wars
prequels more than the originals.”

“No,” Jeff said, his mouth twisting like he'd sipped turned milk. “I'd never say that.”

“And now I'm thinking about Jar Jar Binks,” Waring said. “Thanks for ruining my entire day, Jeff.”

Jeff shrugged, unwounded by this exchange.

“Hell,” Waring went on, “I think Match's first movie was a better action flick than fucking
Aliens
.”

Waring slowly realized that this comment was not the rousing endorsement of Match's first film he might have hoped for, and that, in addition, Waring had also implied a subtler judgment against Match's later films. Waring hadn't meant it that way, because he'd actually liked
Losers.
A lot. It was a solid, solid movie. Waring bit his upper lip, trying to think of a way to erase what he'd just said. Match frowned down at his standard-issue black Converses—Alaura shot Waring a vehement look—and Jeff seemed to take this as his cue to walk to the back of the store and shelve movies.

“So can I check out
Aliens
?” Match said, smiling painfully.

“Sure,” Alaura replied, and after glaring again at Waring, she darted away to retrieve the show box.

“Well?” Waring said, now alone with Match (and much less nervous than he'd expected to be in this situation). “What was the second thing?”

“I'm sorry?”

“You said you came here for two reasons.”

“Oh, yes. The second thing.” Match pointed a finger at Waring—and his embarrassment seemed to vanish instantly. “It was to ask you a huge, huge favor.”

“Me? Favor?”

“Yes. I was wondering if you could recommend a bar.”

“A bar?”

“A place where people drink,” Match clarified. “For the cast and crew. Things have been a little tense on set. For various reasons. I was hoping to have a gathering. A party. I mean, our wrap party's in, like, eight days, but still, I thought a night out drinking would be good. For morale. You know, at a local place. Nothing fancy. I was wondering if you could take everyone.”

“Me?” Waring repeated. “
Take
them to a bar?”

“Yes. I just figured, you know, since we're doing you a favor with the celebrity auction thing. Everyone wants to go. Including all the actors. I'm giving them tomorrow night off.”

“Tomorrow night?”

Alaura reappeared with
Aliens.
“Match,” she said, “I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“Well, I've already told everyone that it's happening, so . . .” He looked again at Waring. “What do you think, man? Can you help us out?”

And as if mentioning the actors had ripped open a hole in the space-time continuum, Tabitha Gray and Celia Watson, flanked by a security detail of six muscle-bound men, entered Star Video. Waring's legs went gelatinous. He gripped the counter for support. Celia Watson, who was perhaps the smallest person Waring had ever seen,
and who made him feel immediately disgusting for finding her deliciously attractive, because until just last year she'd played a bubbly teenage detective on that stupid Disney Channel show, though he was fairly certain she'd recently turned legal-years-old . . . Celia Watson disappeared at once into the labyrinth of Star Video.

Tabitha Gray—the most beautiful woman in the world—approached Match Anderson. She did not look at Alaura or Waring, curled her fingers around Match's hand, and kissed his cheek. Then she smiled at Waring in perfect imitation of herself.

“Guys,” Match said, looking in awe at the celestial being holding his hand, “meet Tabitha Gray, star of
The Buried Mirror
.”

Meanwhile, Jeff stood in
the Mystery/Suspense section, organizing movies that didn't really need organizing because he'd already organized them twice that week. But after Waring's disastrous comment about
Losers
, Jeff had felt a blinding spasm of embarrassment, similar to moments at church talent shows when a well-intentioned old lady would sing painfully off-key. So Jeff had retreated, and he was lost in his work, making space for
Mystic River
and reflecting on why he should feel such embarrassment if he wasn't the one who'd misspoken, and then contemplating, for some reason, if he'd ever make it back to Tanglewood Baptist, because he hadn't been to church in weeks, when he heard the
click-click
of high heels somewhere nearby.

“Hi,” said a clear, flutey voice to his left, near the Drama section.

“Hello?” Jeff said, turning to look.

It was Celia Watson, the young supporting actress from
The Buried Mirror.

Jeff stared at her. His voice was paralyzed in his throat.

Celia Watson began to giggle. But it was not a cruel giggle. At least, Jeff didn't think so. Her unexpected appearance—it was surreal, as if the image of her in front of him was too flat, a poor copy of Celia Watson. She was only a little over five feet tall in heels, and
frightfully skinny, and strangely she wore a neon green dress over blue jeans. Was that in style these days? Her hair was longer than he'd ever seen it, and it was platinum blonde instead of the brunette he'd been expecting. And as his vision adjusted to the uneven store lighting that seemed to cast Celia into silhouette, he realized that her head seemed several sizes too large for her body.

But her luminous smile made his intestines quiver.

He had never been a fan of Celia Watson. Was anyone? he wondered nervously. When he was in elementary school, all the girls had watched her Disney show religiously, and their parents had driven them in caravans to her corny concerts. Since then, Watson had starred in musicals and teen movies. Terrible, laughable movies. Yes, she was famous, but most intelligent adults thought she was a joke.

“How's it going?” Celia Watson said.

“Uhhhhh,” Jeff said charismatically.

“What are you doing back here? Working?”

Taking a breath, Jeff finally found the wherewithal to answer in English: “Shelving movies. I mean, I work here.”

“This must be a cool place to work.” Celia stepped forward, picked up a random DVD show box—
Memento.
She considered it without judgment, as if she didn't recognize the movie, or perhaps knew everything about it, then set it back in place. “Hey, are you the one who put together that nice display of my films at the front of the store?”

Jeff nodded. He was doing everything he could to keep his eyes on Celia and not to scale the Mystery/Suspense section in terror.

“Yes,” Jeff said. “I made the display.”

“Oh, thanks!” she said genuinely. “I know they're just kids' movies, but thanks.”

“So you're in this Match Anderson movie or whatever?” Jeff managed.

“
The Buried Mirror
?”

“And you're filming around here?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Later today on campus. Very pretty, campus. Not much to do at night though, huh?”

He nodded, doubting that there was much to do.

“So you're in college?” she said. “What year?”

“Freshman.”

“That makes you eighteen? Me too.”

“Cool,” he said.

“Anyway,” she said. “I hear your boss is taking us out tomorrow night. To a local bar or something. You coming?”

None of which made any sense to Jeff. “Me?” he said.

“Sure. Why not?”

Why not?
Dear Lord, was Jeff successfully managing a conversation with Celia Watson? He didn't want to blow it, so he tried to figure out
why not
, to figure out some way that Celia Watson's question was not enthralling. In fact, there were a thousand reasons why not. He was not of legal drinking age. He had never been in a bar. And he knew, if he really dug deep into himself, that he would never be able to maintain this charade and converse at any length with Celia, who was a Hollywood star, whose parents had been Hollywood stars and had thus bestowed upon her a charmed life, and who must not yet have noticed Jeff's acne, or his stupidity, but who was staring at him now, swaying at him, glowing at him, her lips glistening as if covered in magic jelly.

Then he heard Alaura's voice whispering from the front of the store, beautiful Alaura, and he imagined her standing with Match Anderson. Though Alaura was working regular shifts again and organizing the celebrity auction—which would save Star Video—Jeff could not help feeling painfully jealous of Match Anderson, who was ugly and dirty and hardly able to hold a conversation, but who was obviously brilliant or else he would not be a Hollywood director, would never be able to land a girl like Alaura—

Jeff realized that he'd been silent for too long, and he found himself blurting at Celia: “Sure, let's go out!”

Celia's body shook in surprise. Her already large eyes widened even more. “You're cute,” she said enthusiastically, as if flirting with an interviewer at a press junket. “Cool. I like tall guys. We'll have fun.”

“How's, uhh . . .” Jeff scrambled through the recesses of his consciousness for anything to say. “How's the movie going?”

“The movie?” she said. “Oh, it's fine. I'm thrilled to be in a Tabitha Gray movie, of course. It's a great move for me.” Celia looked down at her green dress, which she was worrying at with her tiny fingertips. Her voice lowered. “I think it's going to be great. I
hope
it's going to be great. Match Anderson is, you know, he's great. The screenplay's crazy, though. Really, really crazy. And it's weird, of course, because I'm playing this sexual role. My character has an affair with Alex Walden! Gross, huh? He's ancient. Like forty-five years old. I mean, ew. And overall, honestly, I'm not even sure I understand the screenplay. Do you know the story?”

Jeff shook his head no.

“No?” Celia said, her perfect eyebrows raised. “Apparently your coworker, Alaura whatever-her-name-is, she helped Match write it. She's the one with the tattoos, right?”

“Sure,” Jeff said. “She's my friend.”

“She's been hanging about with Match, I hear. Staying in his hotel room?”

“I don't know.”

“It's just, this celebrity auction thing's a little weird,” Celia said. Her voice was now deep and worried, and she was sticking out her lower lip, like a little girl denied her favorite toy. “They're saying the celebrity auction was Alaura's idea, too.”

Jeff nodded. He tried to think of a way that the celebrity auction
wasn't
weird, though until just now he'd considered it a brilliant plan.

“It's just, my agent and parents, you know?” Celia went on. “So far, I've only starred in kids' shows and movies. Sure,
The Buried Mirror
is supposed to be my first adulty thing. A big breakout
thing, a change of image, et cetera. But still, who's going to bid on me at some celebrity auction? Preverts, that's who.”

Jeff found himself chuckling. “Preverts? That's funny.
Dr. Strangelove
.”

Celia giggled, and she swayed toward him. “That's right!” she said brightly.

Then she reached out with her short arm and tiny hand, and she squeezed his forearm.

Jeff felt a cold shock radiate through his entire body.

“You're so cute!” she said.

Looking up at him, she nibbled her lower lip, the same one that had just been puckering out at him.

“I really hope you'll come out tomorrow night,” she said softly.