From The Dead (4 page)

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Did your agent arrange that
for you?”

“Don’t joke. It’s just to pay the bills. They’re
gonna put me in a Clickety Clack costume that plays clopping sound
effects out of a tiny speaker crammed up its ass. Sounds like a tin
can bouncing down a sidewalk.”

In an odd way, Jesse found the concept pitiful. If
Jesse himself were to resort to such a stint, he’d refuse to admit
it to anyone. “Could be fun—if you enjoy that sort of thing.”

“Sure, you wave hello to the tourists. Pose for the
cameras with the kids,” Gavin replied. “That’s nothing compared to
what Mosley just landed, though.”

“Did he get hired as Pitt’s double?”

“No, it’s better: The dude got a supporting role in a
new TV show. He met the producer’s assistant at a party in October,
and she recommended Mosley to her boss.” Gavin stepped back and
rested his hands on his hips. He stared as if Jesse were a choice
between two curious brands of lager. “Why doesn’t your girlfriend
hook you up with her boss?”

“She took my head shot to him, but I’m
five-foot-eleven. Barry thought I was too tall. Said it screws up
his camera shot.”

“That sucks. Do you get that a lot?”

“Depends on the film,” Jesse replied. Sometimes,
especially when he stood among actors of the five-foot-seven
variety, Jesse felt like a giant in his industry, as if he were a
prom date for Judy Garland in
The Wizard of Oz
, one who
loomed like a Munchkin scientist’s cloning experiment gone bad.

Jesse basked in the comfort of this early March
evening. “I have an audition tomorrow, though.”

“Dialogue?”
Jesse beamed as a rush of encouragement electrified his arteries.
“Yeah, a few lines.”

“Way to go, big guy!” Gavin exclaimed. “About time,
isn’t it! What do you think your chances are?”

“My agent thinks I’ve got a decent shot at it. You
know how these things go—nothing’s a lock. Funny thing, they’re
looking for someone tall—for once, my five-eleven frame seems
customized for the part. Maddy said it’s the part of a
basketball-player ex-boyfriend.”

“It’s no Clickety Clack mascot, but if
film
is
what you’re looking for.” Gavin grinned. “That’s cool. Good luck
with it. Let me know how it pans out, okay? Gotta head in.”

And with that, Gavin trotted to his apartment door
while Jesse sauntered toward the stairs.

Jesse’s confidence began to mount a comeback. Maybe
the self-doubt would fizzle by morning.

He grabbed hold of the railing, the same black-metal
décor he’d seen along cafeteria edifices, and climbed the narrow
concrete steps to the second floor.

When Jesse shut the door, he detected the tang of
marijuana. Jada had lit up again—a stash left over from earlier
that week. Beyond his recent disaffection for smoking green
substances, Jesse now decided that, yes, he had begun to detest the
odor.

When he swept his sight across the living room, Jesse
found it empty: just the light of a table lamp. He followed the
scent through the living room and into the screened sunroom at the
rear of the apartment, where Jada sat on a plastic chair. She had
drawn one leg against her body to rest her joint-laden hand, limp
at the wrist, on her knee. As she stared out into the evening, she
seemed lost in a trance.

At first, she appeared distracted by the night air.
Then Jesse realized she was something else: tranquil.

Jada seldom seemed at peace. Perhaps she found
religion in the herb after all.

“Don’t you want a light on?” he said.

“I like the dark.” Her other leg rested on the
opposite chair. With glazed eyes, Jada stroked his arm, then
scooted the other chair toward him with her foot. She held out the
joint. “Here you go, babe.”

Jesse waved it off. Instead, he reached beneath her
hair to massage her neck—but his caress seemed foreign to him and,
for a split second, he felt like an intruder.

Jada had become a stranger to him.

Without a sound, he withdrew his hand with a
tenderness that had, at one time, been passionate but now seemed
shallow.

Together they sat in silence and listened to the
steady hum of traffic as it rushed along Van Nuys one block
away.

“Hear that?” she murmured. “Don’t you love the sound
of L.A.? It’s intoxicating.” She paused for a beat. “Everyone has
somewhere to go.” She tilted her head back, exhaled a stream of
silk. The flow crawled like a seductive ghost.

Jada laid the joint aside, half finished. She drew
her other leg onto her chair and, childlike, cradled both legs
against herself. Jesse watched as she turned in her seat, a pensive
expression on her face, and stared into his eyes. “All right, Green
Eyes, tell me what’s going on.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not the same. It’s like you’re no longer the
Jesse I know.”

He grabbed his camera, which he’d left on the plastic
table between them, and fidgeted with its buttons. In a halfhearted
effort, he forced a smile and snapped a picture of her. She nodded
in faint humor and returned her gaze to the night sky.

Jesse reached out and brushed his fingers along her
fingertips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You were outgoing way back when we first met. But
now …” She shrugged her shoulders. “You’re never in the mood to
mingle. It’s like you built a life here and just, I don’t know—gave
up.”

“We went through this the other day, didn’t we?” He
found it difficult to argue with her while she was stoned. She
looked so vulnerable yet could exhibit astounding recall the next
morning. Even when subdued, she could be spiteful. But still, Jesse
understood why she behaved the way she did: Jada had her personal
issues.

Then again, so did he.

Jada pursed her lips, rolled her tongue against the
inside of her cheek. She avoided his eyes. “When did you become
your father?” she asked.

Patience intact, Jesse chose to ignore the question.
“You’re a little under the influence right now. Why don’t we quit
this argument before we say something we’ll regret in the
morning—because we both know you won’t forget.”

Yet her words jabbed further. “Speaking of your
father, when will I get to meet him?”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Jada perked up in her chair, her usual position
before she increased the friction. “We’ve known each other for
eleven years. Isn’t it about time?”

Jesse said nothing. He watched her eyes narrow, their
pointed depths akin to a missile prepared for launch. The corner of
her mouth turned upward. She must have enjoyed this. And times like
this reminded Jesse of the love-hate relationship he and Jada
shared. How could he be attracted to this woman, yet not bring
himself to trust her?

Then again, he knew Jada had no use for trust.

“Come on,” she pressed. “What, you don’t think the
preacher man would approve of me?”

Jesse clenched his jaw and made a slow rise to his
feet. “Don’t worry, he wouldn’t approve of me either. By the way,
in case you’ve forgotten, he and I haven’t seen each other in those
eleven years. I don’t think his son’s sex life is his primary
concern.”

Although Jesse had made the occasional phone call to
his father, the last time Jesse had seen the man face-to-face was
the night before Jesse left home. On that night, Jesse had
explained to his dad that he planned to leave in the morning and
revealed he’d made the arrangements weeks before. Jesse was
eighteen at the time and, in his own rebellious fashion, had
escalated the discussion to a heated argument.

Jesse never revealed the whole story to his father.
The guilt weighed too heavy within. But when it came to the
departure, Jesse assumed his father blamed himself.

Dad, if only you knew.

Jada resumed her joint. “So nothing’s wrong; there’s
just a side to you I never knew existed after these years together.
That’s what you’re telling me?”

“I have my secrets.” Jesse walked away. “Do us both a
favor and let it go, okay?”

From the living room, he heard Jada shout. “By the
way, your sister called.”

Great. More tension, as if the air weren’t thick
enough.

Jesse and his sister remained close after he moved to
the coast. Jada knew Jesse confided in his sister regarding certain
aspects of his and Jada’s relationship—he could see the resentment
in Jada’s eyes. But he needed to confide in someone he could trust,
and though he trusted Jada with his romantic needs, he didn’t trust
her with his soul. The implant-to-L.A. Jesse matched well with
Jada; the true Jesse did not.

CHAPTER 6

“Jesse Barlow, we’re ready for you.”

Script in hand, Jesse, dressed for the role in a
basketball jersey and long, shiny shorts, followed the staffer into
the audition room. His stomach felt as if jelly jostled inside,
back and forth, an invisible high tide. For him, the greatest
challenge lay in the preliminaries—the hours and minutes that
preceded an audition—when nervousness settled in, confined until
the appointed time.

When Jesse entered the room, he noticed its
blandness: Unlike an actual film set, this room appeared stripped
down, with a less-expensive video camera pointed in his direction.
He stood in front of the camera, his back to a bare, white wall. A
hot overhead light, aimed at him, baked his skin. As he scanned the
area before him, he found a folding table covered with a white
tablecloth, where Mark Shea, the director, sat. In a hushed tone,
Mark conferred with his assistant, perhaps Jesse’s age, who took
notes on a palm device. Two other people, a man and a woman, filled
out the other half of the table.

The simplicity of the setting, however, worked in
Jesse’s favor, as it allowed his creative wires to emerge to the
forefront and amplify the scene, to conjure imaginary props and
visualize an environment that was not otherwise present. In
essence, Jesse entered a world of his own.

A man of styled salt-and-pepper hair, the goateed
Mark wore khaki pants and a casual striped shirt with its sleeves
rolled up. The assistant handed Jesse’s form to Mark, who clucked
his tongue while he advanced down each line with his pen.

Mark gazed at Jesse. “Jesse Barlow?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Mark Shea. As your agent informed you, this film
is called
Taking Sides
. Today you’ll read for a supporting
role: a professional basketball player, Rod Meacham, the ex-lover
of the lead. The setting is a news conference. Lots of commotion
between questions; cameras flash around the room. My assistant will
read the lines of the other character in the scene. Do you have any
questions before we begin?”

“No sir.” Jesse held the script below eye level,
about twelve inches from his face.

“And … action!”

With a deep inhale from his diaphragm, Jesse started
to read the dialogue. “I was not aware, and did not become aware
until Monday afternoon, that Felicity Hugo has a husband.”

“Mr. Meacham,” Mark’s assistant called out with a
journalist’s finesse, “can you confirm that you were an
acquaintance of Ms. Hugo’s prior to the alleged incident?”

Jesse’s eyes felt hot under the lighting, his stomach
in motion again. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and then
continued. “No, I never met the woman.”

“Hold on,” Mark said. “You’re doing fine, but keep in
mind this film will be a comedy, so an air of humor will surround
this character.”

Jesse nodded. To lighten his interpretation, he
cocked his head back and swaggered like an egocentric ball player.
He thrust forth a confident smirk. “No, I never met the woman.”

“But Mr. Meacham, sources say they found your credit
card in Ms. Hugo’s Denver hotel room. How do you respond to
that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she stole the thing.”

“And the money clip engraved with your name?”

“Psycho woman.”

“Mr. Meacham?”

“No further comment.” With this, Jesse completed the
scene.

“Pretty good,” Mark Shea said as he wrote a few notes
on Jesse’s evaluation sheet. “We’ll be just a few moments.”

Aware that the audition had gone well, Jesse
suppressed a smile, attempted to remain calm. He kept his arms
uncrossed to avoid negative body language. As Jesse stood there, he
reminded himself not to bounce on the backs of his heels, a nervous
habit Jada had pointed out. At the rear of the room, the doorway
threshold reflected a glare from the overhead light, which Jesse
used as a focal point while he waited. Maybe it would keep him from
looking desperate by staring at his evaluators—or worse, from
revealing a lack of confidence by focusing on his toes with his
head tilted down.

To stand in front of a group of people as they
whisper about you—Jesse found this to be the most peculiar aspect
of an audition. In what other circumstance would you seek to be
discussed and gauged in secret? But by Jesse’s own admission, at
his first audition years ago, such lull time had proven quite
awkward, akin to standing before a group of strangers in his boxer
shorts. What do you do with your hands while you stand alone,
scrutinized like a specimen under a microscope?

But he adored this line of work—when the line moved.
Jesse fell in love with drama as a teenager, but that passion
didn’t emerge right away. His height and physical aptitude led to
membership on his high-school basketball team. Invigorated by the
energy exertion and swift competition of the sport, Jesse proved a
decent player. But the rush from the games couldn’t compare to the
personal revelation that surfaced when he discovered theater. On a
whim, he auditioned for a fall play his sophomore year and secured
a supporting role. From that point on, he participated in the fall
and spring plays, which occurred, for the most part, during
basketball’s off-season.