Austin and Emily Read online

  The car was silent, save for the wind whistling through the busted back window as Cremora, Kenneth, and delirious Austin envisioned the shoes. Cremora wondered if they were all the same size. Kenneth wondered about the butter. Austin was no longer capable of deciding what was a dream and what wasn’t.

  The radio came to life, the volume as high as it would go, and all three jumped in their seats, some higher than others.

  Cremora turned the knob. The man on the radio said, “Hurricane Austin slammed into the coast of West Florida, just north of Tampa, with winds of 145 miles per hour, a Category Four storm. The tidal surge, combined with the devastating winds and rain, has caused catastrophic damage to this coastal city and surrounding areas. Austin is big, and slow-moving, and angry. A deadly combination. Now back to the hour of power. One hour of average songs that sold over a million copies and captured our hearts.”

  Kenneth asked, “Is this the end of the freakin’ world? I mean, hurricanes, shoes on the mountain, dogs in the desert with doughnuts.”

  “Doughnuts?” Austin mumbled.

  Kenneth zipped past the slip. “I expect to look in the California sky tonight and see the moon on fire. A big ball of sparks and flame. Why not?”

  As they drove into Los Angeles, the sun was setting into the Pacific Ocean. The freeway was abuzz, cars whizzing past all round. Cremora hugged the far left lane.

  “Where do I turn?” Cremora asked.

  Kenneth answered, “Austin’s in no condition to walk for miles up and down Hollywood Boulevard. Besides, Emily won’t be out there at night. Let’s go to the Sunset Strip and mingle with the stars.”

  Cremora was too freaked out by the traffic to argue, and Austin was still floating in a cloud of spider venom and pain pills. Kenneth barked out instructions until they found themselves on the Strip parked across the street from a trendy Los Angeles bar called The Blue Horse. The sign outside was big and blue, the “H” in Horse flickering like the bulb was going bad when in fact the effect was purposeful, intended to appear rustic and random.

  Kenneth said, “I’d like to buy both of you a beer and plate of nachos.”

  They were hungry and tired and nachos and beer sounded remarkably good.

  Cremora asked, “Are we dressed good enough to get in this place?”

  “Are you kidding? This is Los Angeles. The rich people dress down. The richer you are, the crappier you look. They’ll think we’re freakin’ millionaires. Oh, but don’t let ‘em see you get out of this wagon. The rich people might dress crappy, but they don’t drive crappy cars.”

  Kenneth crawled out the window. From sources unknown, Austin experienced a bolt of energy and got out of the vehicle without assistance. Both Cremora and Kenneth felt their eyes drawn to the boob, now the size of a small head of lettuce, pushed against the shirt, creating a one-sided cleavage, which by definition is no cleavage at all, just a juicy mound of flesh. Austin didn’t notice the stares. His eyes were busy focusing on the neon blue sign with the flashing “H.”

  “What kind of establishment is this?” he asked.

  “This is where the movie stars and beautiful people sometimes show up to eat nachos. Tonight, we’re the beautiful people, believe it or not, so walk like you’ve been here a hundred times before.”

  A large Hispanic man with a goat beard and seven earrings in his left ear stood at the door. He eyeballed the three as they came across the street.

  Austin whispered under his breath, “He’s not going to allow us in. He knows we’re not the beautiful people.”

  As they walked past the large man, Kenneth said, “Hey, Curtis.”

  The large Hispanic man said, “Hey, Kenny.”

  Cremora followed Kenneth inside. Austin had noticed the Hispanic man glance down at his chest and quickly back to Austin’s face. It was the glance of a man who had seen many things and was surprised by nothing anymore.

  The bar was an odd combination of old and new. The wooden bar looked ancient, like something from a cowboy saloon, but all around the walls were strings of tiny blue Christmas lights. A life-size, steel-blue horse with eyes made of crystal stood in one corner, wearing a saddle.

  Austin asked, “How do you know that guy?”

  “How does anybody know anybody?”

  The three sat down at a high table with high chairs. Austin could barely squeeze his backside on the seat.

  Kenneth watched and then said, “Have you ever thought about getting that operation fat people get? Sew up your stomach so you can’t eat but one cracker at a time?”

  Austin responded, “I don’t have a problem with my weight and neither does Emily. Unfortunately, they don’t have an operation for somebody with your condition.”

  “Good point,” Kenneth conceded. Earlier, he had fished a one hundred dollar bill out of his bag in the car. It was winnings from the roulette wheel. Emily’s original thousand dollars was still in the bag, intact, resting in Kenneth’s mind with the weight of a hippo.

  “Three cold beers and a nacho mountain,” Kenneth ordered.

  Cremora was intrigued by her surroundings. She held herself out to the world as a person unaffected by glitz and glamour, but inside, she was starstruck just as Emily had always been. As kids, they played for hours and hours pretending to be television stars. Emily was always the pretty one. Cremora was always the smart one who solved the crime, or repaired the jeep, or shot the bad guy in the groin with a bow and arrow.

  She scanned the place slowly, stopping on a group of people standing at the bar. There were nine or ten, in their mid-twenties, about half girls. They were loud, and obviously underdressed, and drinking shots of something green. Cremora rubbernecked, stretching to the side to see the faces.

  She turned back quickly. “Oh my God.”

  “What’s the matter?” Austin said, but he didn’t bother to exert the energy necessary to look over his shoulder at whomever she had seen.

  “Oh my God,” she repeated. “Do you know who that is over there?”

  Kenneth said, “Jimmy Carter?”

  “No, you idiot. That’s Justin Ross-Blair.”

  Austin and Kenneth looked at each other. Kenneth said, “I wish it was Jimmy Carter.”

  Cremora took a look back toward the bar. “Well it’s not. It’s Justin Ross-Blair.”

  Kenneth said, “He must be important if he has three names.”

  With an angry edge, Cremora explained, “He’s in the movies. He was just in Glorious.”

  Austin waited for the nacho mountain. He hoped there was sour cream instead of guacamole. The idea of guacamole haunted him.

  Kenneth leaned so he could see the crowd at the bar. “He looks like a jackass to me.”

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe he’s here. Emily would die.”

  Austin was curious. He turned his body in the high swiveling chair, lost his center of balance, and fell backwards with such downward speed neither Cremora nor Kenneth moved a muscle. The sound of the great weight and back of the chair crashing to the wooden floor was like an automobile accident. Cremora and Kenneth instinctively got down to help. The group at the bar watched, but in a peculiar way. Almost like it wasn’t real. Almost like it happened on a movie screen, far in front, with the hidden knowledge everyone would be okay after the end of the show.

  Austin was embarrassed beyond explanation. He scrambled to his feet and looked straight ahead.

  “Are you all right, Austin?” Cremora asked. “How many times have I asked you that already today?”

  “Nachos,” Austin said, as the platter was being delivered. It was a saving diversion. The mound was piled high with chips, meat, tomatoes, and jalapeño peppers. On the top, like a big hat, was a dollop of sour cream the size of a baseball. Bright white and luxurious.

  The automobile accident took a backseat to cold beer and the nacho mountain. They ate with greed, each pulling out favorite parts and munching as they searched the mound for more. They didn’t notice the beautiful people at the bar snickering.
They didn’t see the skinny blonde girl do her impression of the nacho eaters, or the handsome movie star pretending he was teetering back on his bar stool.

  “Three more cold beers, young lady,” Kenneth ordered, and he heard an echo of his order from the direction of the bar, the voice thick with the exaggerated Southern accent only a Yankee could do. But Kenneth didn’t react to the insult, and Cremora and Austin didn’t hear it.

  Finally the mountain was gone.

  Austin stood from his chair. “Which way is the boy’s room?”

  Kenneth took the last swig of his beer. “I’ve gotta go myself. I’ll show you.”

  The bathroom was fancy. Marble countertops surrounded pure white sinks and gold faucets. Kenneth found a urinal and Austin began to wash his face at the sink. There was no one else in the bathroom. In the mirror, Kenneth saw Justin Ross-Blair come through the door. He swaggered to the sink next to Austin. He was tall, good hair, blue jeans and a funky shirt. He moved like people were watching. “Holy shit. You really busted ass out there, man. That was great,” he said in a loud voice.

  The two men stood at the sink looking at each other in the big mirror. Justin looked at Austin’s breast.

  “Is that a tit? You got a giant tit? Are you some kinda circus freak?” He pointed into the mirror instead of directly at the real Austin McAdoo.

  Kenneth zipped up and stepped back from the urinal. In a mid-range, commanding voice he said, “Austin, go stand against the door. If anybody tries to come in, put your back into it.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the movie star said.

  Kenneth allowed a minute to pass. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Right now, in this bathroom, you might want to ask a different question. You might want to ask, who are these two guys, and what exactly are they capable of doing? Those are more pertinent questions, don’t you think?”

  Justin cocked his head like a rooster. “Whatever, man.”

  In a blurry split-second Kenneth rammed Justin Ross-Blair against the bathroom wall. His forearm was hard against the young man’s throat. The force and speed left Justin defenseless, face-to-face with what appeared to be a man capable of great violence.

  Austin watched from the door. Kenneth, in a soft voice, said, “Being famous doesn’t give you a license to be an asshole. You see, in the old days, people were famous for doing things that lifted them above the rest of us, like saving lives, or discovering cures for diseases. Nowadays, fame is heaped upon people for shaking their asses, or accidentally releasing a home porn movie of themselves, or, like you, standing in front of a camera and speaking the lines someone else wrote. Actors are loved because they’re unoriginal, and the unoriginal man is loved by the masses. It doesn’t mean shit in here. In this bathroom, right now, none of it means anything. I can snap your neck in less than a second and leave you alone on the floor.”

  The man looked into Kenneth’s eyes and knew he spoke the truth. He could only say one word, “Please.” And he said it with great meaning.

  Austin perspired. He dreaded the idea of the door behind him being pushed from the other side. He’d never been in a true physical altercation, and the idea held much anxiety.

  Kenneth whispered, “Now, you can apologize to my friend, or you can listen to the snap of your own neck. You pick.”

  “It’s O.K.,” Austin said.

  Kenneth turned on Austin, “No, Austin, it’s not O.K. If you don’t stand up, they’ll step all over you. They’ll piss in your eye. He’s gonna apologize, or I’m gonna kill him, with or without your blessing.”

  Kenneth eased his forearm from the man’s throat to allow enough airflow to speak. “I’m sorry,” he said. Mostly he was sorry he found himself in such a predicament, but looking at Austin, the movie star felt a molecule of genuine remorse. He said it again, “I’m sorry.”

  Kenneth pulled back. He stood five feet away and said, “Now, take off your pants.”

  “What?” the man said.

  “You heard me. Take off your pants.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not interested in you running into the bar to get your buddies or call the cops before we can leave. If you don’t have your pants, I bet you won’t go out there so fast. I’m sure there’s some paparazzo out there just dying to get a picture of Justin Blair-Ross in his underwear, drunk, running out of a public restroom.”

  “It’s Justin Ross-Blair,” the young man said.

  “See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Take off your pants.”

  Justin hesitated, “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

  “Well, whose fault is that? Certainly not mine. Is that the new thing, no underwear?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Take off your pants now or I’ll slam you against the wall again, crabass.”

  The young man removed his jeans and stood half-naked.

  Austin and Kenneth watched. Austin was embarrassed and wanted it to end.

  Kenneth said, “That’s quite an interesting penis you have there. In fact, I’m not sure it actually qualifies as a penis. We need an official ruling.”

  Justin looked down at himself like it was the first time he’d ever seen it.

  “Please don’t tell anybody,” he said.

  “O.K.,” Austin answered. “We won’t.”

  Kenneth picked up the pants from the floor. He took another look at the naked man. “I hope you learned something.”

  Austin led the way out the door taking studder steps, like a trotting horse. Kenneth called the waitress over, but before she could arrive, there was a yell from the direction of the bathroom. “Jason. Jason.”

  Kenneth looked at Austin. “Bodyguard,” he said.

  Kenneth put the hundred dollar bill on the table, grabbed Cremora’s hand, and they ran like robbers. One of the men from the group at the bar bolted for the bathroom at the same time. “Jason. Jason, get over here,” they heard again.

  On the way out the door Kenneth said to the doorman, “There’s a nude drunk guy in the bathroom with a hacksaw.”

  Curtis turned and moved quickly inside the bar. Austin and Kenneth, with Cremora in tow, dashed across the street to the red car.

  Cremora said, “What’s going on?”

  “Just drive,” Kenneth said.

  When down the street, she asked Austin, “What happened?”

  “I can’t talk about it,” he said. A new pressure pounded in his forehead from the exertion of the sprint.

  Kenneth spoke up. “Let’s go down near Hollywood Boulevard. Unless somebody’s got some money, I guess we’re sleeping in the car.

  They cruised up and down Hollywood Boulevard, half looking for Emily and half looking at the sights. Up on the hill, high above, they saw the Hollywood sign lit up in white lights. It reminded Cremora of her childhood games. It reminded Austin of the half-naked man in The Blue Horse bathroom.

  Parked on a side street, they settled in for the night.

  “Here’s the plan,” Cremora said, “first thing in the morning, we’ll spread out in different directions and agree to meet at the Chinese Theater every hour on the hour. If either of you finds her first, I think I need to do the talking. Agreed?”

  It would not be possible for Austin to get comfortable in the small car. He still had a few dollars left for a hotel, but he would need every penny for the wedding expenses. The prospect of confronting Emily the next day was daunting, but the prospect of not finding her was far worse. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of the future without Emily. Going back to Birmingham. Unemployed. Living with his mother. Waking up with the poodle humping the back of his head. It was more than he wished to consider, and now, at this stage of the journey, Austin could barely remember who he once had been.

  Cremora started talking, “Why do you need trophies, or money, or even recognition? You’ve got to be satisfied with the knowledge you’re better. The attribute of being smarter dictates that
you be satisfied with the knowledge of your superiority alone.”

  Kenneth opened a canned ham. “Who are you talking to?” he asked.

  “Not you,” she said, lowering her seat back into a horizontal position. Her head ended up in the backseat area with Kenneth Mint looking down upon her face.

  “What is that nasty thing?” Cremora asked.

  “My grandmother’s hair coat. If you marry me, it’s yours.”

  Sarcastically she said, “Well that’s a tempting proposition. What girl wouldn’t want a hair coat in return for a lifetime of misery?”

  Austin lowered his seat back also, squeezing against Kenneth’s leg. It was cramped and warm. Kenneth thought of the hidden thousand dollars and the possibility of getting a hotel room, but he had plans for the money. It was Cremora who had the cash available for the hotel, but she liked the idea of spending the night in a car in Los Angeles under the glowing Hollywood sign on the hill. It was also Cremora who drifted off to sleep first, leaving the two men awake.

  Austin touched his boob in the dark and felt the tender pain. He thought of Emily, but his mind swung in another direction and he asked Kenneth, “Would you really have killed that guy?”

  “I don’t think so. He just pissed me off.”

  “Do you still have his pants?”

  “Yeah. You want ‘em?”

  “No.”

  Cremora mumbled something in her sleep about biscuits.

  Austin said, “Thanks for sticking up for me, but I could have handled the situation myself. I hope you know that?”

  Kenneth chose not to answer. Austin went back to Emily in his mind, closing his eyes and wrapping himself in the blanket of her memory. Tomorrow would be a big day, he thought to himself, one way or another, and he drifted off to sleep to the rhythmic sounds of Kenneth smacking ham.

  Part Four

  EMILY DOOLEY