Chapter 8 ZACHERY PLAYS BIG BROTHER
Chapter 8
Z ACHERY P LAYS B IG B ROTHER
Kelsey doesn’t write me again after my rather emphatic reaction to her suggested hair-color change.
She’s off the deep end. Dressing different. Planning to force a meeting with a strange man.
I’m worried.
I don’t have a desk of my own in Desdemona’s office, so I sit at Kelsey’s, watching Jester attempt to type a letter with one finger. It’s excruciating.
Kelsey’s desk is neat and organized, all the items laid out at right angles. I shift her mouse an inch to the left to break the pattern, then move it back.
Her space includes a framed photo with her mother, a kitten mug that holds her pens, and a collection of small blown-glass unicorns. It strikes me that I have never asked her where they came from.
I’ve had miles of confidence my entire life, which led to auditioning for parts, getting them, and while maybe not having a lifelong career, surviving in the business long enough to be well set.
There hasn’t been a single woman Desdemona has sent me after, or one I’ve pursued on my own, who has made me feel this off-center.
There’s something about Kelsey that brings it out. It’s the combination of her drop-dead looks, her smarts, and her sunny attitude that gets me.
I know how she sees me. She teases me about it. A manwhore. An opportunist. A man angling for press and limelight.
And I’ve been those things. I’m probably still those things.
But letting sweet, naive, bubbly Kelsey go on this wild-goose chase doesn’t sit well with me. Not all alone.
Who knows who she’ll run into. And with this fortune teller nonsense in her head, the withering-faith business and end-of-summer deadline, she might not make rational decisions.
I don’t have to be a contender. I’m acutely aware of all the reasons that I’m not.
But I can be a protector. A big brother.
I should fill in for those siblings she doesn’t see anymore. Talk some sense into her.
“You miss her already, don’t ya?” Jester’s eyes remain fixed on the keyboard as he asks this, typing at roughly one word per minute. He looks like a flower in a pink shirt with green pants, his head topped with a pale-yellow cap.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not. There’s no foolin’ Jester.”
“She’s out there all alone.”
“Kelsey can handle herself.”
I grunt in reply.
“What are you doing in the office anyway? You only come in here to fight with Desdemona or flirt with Kelsey.”
Flirt? I do not. I’m about to sputter out a vehement denial but Jester waves me off. “Don’t bother. There’s—”
“No fooling Jester,” I finish. This shtick of his is funny only when it’s about other people.
“You’re going to get frown lines if you keep scowling like that,” Jester warns, sticking his tongue out as he concentrates on what must be a particularly difficult piece of typing.
I should get out of here. I don’t have any duties, no women to woo on behalf of Desdemona, no files to study to learn what might get them to accept some project that matters to the office.
The chair squeaks as I roll away from Kelsey’s desk.
“Will I be seeing you around?” Jester asks.
“Probably.” Summers get light without Desdemona directing my actions. Maybe I should take a vacation. Cozumel. Ibiza. Costa Rica. All of the above. It might keep my mind off Kelsey.
“Keep tabs on our girl!” Jester calls as I stride out into the blinding sunshine.
I should take up surfing. Dye my hair blond.
Now I’m rambling in my own head.
I know what I want to do.
Catch up with her. Watch for her. Keep her from getting in a scrape.
But that’s insulting. She’s a grown woman.
I slide into my silver Jag. There are a hundred women I could call. Most of them would jump at an opportunity to dress up and get some photos taken on the strip or at a club, even if they aren’t too interested in me.
But instead of doing that, I head for Highway 1.
Driving this stretch of the coast always fills me with awe. The ocean. The beaches. The craggy cliffs. It gives me perspective.
I had the chance, early in my career, to do the New York scene instead. I met a playwright who had gotten a backer and wanted me for his lead. He ended up penning a well-reviewed production that had a multiyear run.
But my father pulled strings to get me an agent and a manager, and I was promised a role in a comedy. All the players involved were Hollywood regulars, so as long as I did a good job and handled myself on the set, I would have connections that would lead me from one project to another.
And it worked, my first character leading to a stronger part that landed me a supporting role, and then my first headliner.
After that, it tanked as fast as it rose.
I shove those thoughts away. They’re interfering with the peace of my view.
I park at one of the roadside stops to step out and take it all in. It’s midafternoon, and the clouds break the sunlight in long, straight beams.
My shoulders unknot, and I exhale in a slow, even breath.
I could put together a crew. None of my male friends are close, but they’re good enough for a guys’ trip. I could choose from actors on our roster, the ones still trying to get a solid break.
Add a few of the bit players from back in the day, the ones I keep in contact with. The big shots are unlikely to take a call from me. They stayed in the game.
I lean against the side of the Jag, ready to look at itineraries, when my phone serves up an old photo, a memory from two years ago.
It’s Kelsey, looking harried, and none too pleased I’m taking her picture as she packs a pile of folders in a box after a long day of auditions. She was new and unaccustomed to those long days.
We don’t do casting marathons anymore, using self-tapes and highlight reels to push our selections.
But that day was a doozy, and I pitched in to help the three of them, plus two temps we hired to help with check-in and flow.
Her hair is half in her face, and she’s clearly exhausted. But the glint in her eye as she dares me to take that shot is pure Kelsey. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe to tweak her. Maybe I already understood who she would become.
And now she’s out in the world, all alone, trying to wrangle her one true love.
I can’t leave the country, not even for a day.
In fact, I should be closer.
Much closer.
I pull up her texts from earlier. Didn’t she say where she was?
Bris-something or another.
I head to Google Maps to figure out her route. There’s Barstow, but that’s not very far. She surely got more miles down than that.
Then I spot it. Briston. It’s about five hours out, off the interstate on a small highway. Definitely a candidate for tumbleweeds.
That’s where she is.
But will she stay put?
No. She surely kept going.
It’s three o’clock. She’ll stop for the night somewhere. I follow the most likely trajectory of her journey. She’ll be close to the Arizona border, and knowing Kelsey, she’ll make that a goal.
I can take a more direct path and be only about six hours behind her. While she’s sleeping, I can catch up.
There will a problem at some point with my own sleep, but I’ll worry about that when the time comes.
Right now, I need to grab some basics and hit the road.
Oh, and let Jester know I’m going without him saying I told you so .