Page 11 of The Actor: Harrison

“So what?”

“I don’t know, maybe he wants to kick my ass for how I acted at his party?”

“Possible. But it could also be good news,” she offers.

Sometimes I don’t know how she can keep up this positivity. I prepare myself for the worst-case scenario every time someone calls me. I want her optimism sometimes, but then I remember I don’t handle receiving bad news very well.

“I wish.” I stand up from the couch I crawled onto hours ago.

“Take a shower, you stink.” She winks at me before going back into her room.

I smell the hoodie I’ve worn since I don’t know when. “Jesus Christ.” I wrinkle my nose at the pungent scent.

An hour and a half later I hop out of my beat-up Civic and walk to the front door. My car stands out like a sore thumb in this place even though the house looks even more hideous than the night of the party.

I walk to the front door and ring the bell. After what seems like hours, Kevin comes to open the door. He beckons me into his home and closes the door behind me without removing the phone from his ear. He doesn’t speak but he is frowning at something someone is telling him on the other end of the line.

I follow him through the spacious living room, even more massive now that there aren’t dozens of people dancing in it, and walk through the patio door to the table by the swimming pool.

He moves a chair for me to sit and then walks away from my prying ears to the other side of the garden to bark orders at the phone.

If this is the mood of this conversation, it’s better I stand up and leave before I end up dead and buried under the palm tree. As if he senses I’m about to bolt, Kevin turns around and waves at me, and then at the table. I don’t know if he’s having a stroke or telling me to eat something from the banquet displayed in front of me.

Not sure what to do, I skip the sandwiches and cakes, and go for a safer plate of grapes and strawberries. It’s barely the end of January, but the sun is warm today and it’s nice to sit here and enjoy this weather.

I put some fruit on a plate and try to eat something, but I’m so nervous I almost choke on the first grape.

When he finally ends the conversation and walks to the table, he throws his phone on the marble surface and sits down at the head of the table.

“Piece of shit,” he grits out and I don’t know what to say.

I’m scared if I ask what’s going on he’ll bark at me and make the situation worse, but I’m also worried that if I say nothing he’ll take my silence as apathy and that’s worse.

I go for, “They usually are,” agreeing with something I have no idea about, but not taking a clear position with an opinion that requires knowledge of the situation.

Kevin takes this as an invitation to vent his frustration. “Can you believe they pulled out from the agreement after they signed a contract? I will sue their asses. I will milk every penny from them and they will have to wipe their asses with their bare hands because I’ll leave them with nothing,” he barks.

It’s a disgusting image to have at a dining table full of delicious food, but I don’t complain out aloud.

“That’s awful!” The comment can apply to a lot of things. The deal that went to ashes, the suing part, and also the ass wiping bit.

“I know! Now I have to find someone who can step in one week before the first day of filming. One fucking week. Can you believe that?”

I shake my head in disbelief. How can I tell him that I fucked up at his party and I don’t even have anyone signing on for our project? Let alone dropping it. This is the end of my career.

He then asks like he just realized he’s a bad host, “Have you eaten something? The new housekeeper overdid it when I told her you were coming.”

He wouldn’t feed me if he wanted to kill me, right? “I just got some fruit.”

“Good.” He starts to fill his plate with sandwiches and cakes, adding nothing more.

“Kevin, is there a reason you wanted me here?” I ask, a bit puzzled and a bit eager to have this done. He wants to end my career in Hollywood? Okay, but just do it, not torture me with this nonsense.

He frowns at me like he doesn’t remember why he called me here and then he says, “We’re making the movie, didn’t I tell you on the phone?”

My heart starts to race in my chest. “How? When? No, you didn’t say anything, you just called me here and ended the conversation. What the hell happened?”

I’m so confused I don’t even know if I’m happy, scared or just freaking out. I thought the party was a waste of time. Well, on my part it was, but Kevin clearly worked his magic. When the realization hits, I’m glad I’m seated because I would have ended up sprawled on the floor.

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