Chapter 20 ZACHERY’S SORDID PICTURE PAST
Chapter 20
Z ACHERY ’ S S ORDID P ICTURE P AST
As the sun starts to go down over Dillville’s damn Dillfest, I pull off my sunglasses. It looks ridiculous to keep wearing them, and besides, Kelsey is well handled.
In LA, getting recognized is no big deal. The paparazzi aren’t that interested in me unless I’m gussied up at a premiere with some rising star on my arm. Even if they spot me out alone, they only bother to take a couple of perfunctory photos that aren’t used anywhere, just stored in case I die unexpectedly or get embroiled in a scandal.
Here in Dillville, I go about my business for another good half hour before anyone does a double take. As I’m considering buying a beer, a man breaks out his phone, not to take a picture, not yet anyway, but to pull up my name on Google. I see him doing it.
No one else pays me any mind as I stride to the far end of the booths in hopes that he doesn’t make the connection. I end up back at the stage, currently empty, although quite a few people linger on the risers to wait on the next act.
Kelsey and her fella were here earlier, and I made sure she was all right. So far, no red flags. They were having a toe-tapping good time.
Then I hear my name. “Zachery? Zachery Carter?”
I pull out my phone, pretending to be absorbed in something and not listening.
But it’s not the random guy looking me up. It’s Livia from the bed-and-breakfast. She hurries forward, the plume bobbing on her hat, holding her long skirt up to keep it out of the way.
She’s a picture in her vintage outfit, that’s for sure. She sits next to me. “You okay?”
I don’t get a chance to answer. A man leans down between us. “Livia, did you call this man Zachery Carter? Like Zachery Carter from that comedy?” He snaps his fingers, trying to recall the title.
I don’t help him.
“No relation,” I say, but Livia bumps my arm.
“Of course it’s him, Sam. He’s staying at my bed-and-breakfast.”
“You don’t say.” His eyes flash with recognition. “ Beer Junket Bingo ! I loved that movie. You were so great in it. That part where you farted in that old lady’s face when she got a bingo on G-23! Classic.” He erupts into laughter.
Several other people surround us. “I have a G-23 T-shirt somewhere,” another man says. “My wife bought it for me to wear to bingo. Some of us still laugh when they call G-23.”
Great. My worst comic moments are coming back to haunt me. I personally burned all my G-23 memorabilia, but it sold hard and fast ten years ago. The studio made a fortune in merch. And so did I. This elderly gentleman’s wife helped buy my house.
Livia leans in. “I haven’t seen it.” She seems to understand that I really don’t like reminiscing about the less savory moments of my old career.
But the men are on a roll. “Remember when ol’ Zach here pisses in the fountain in the town square, and the mayor’s wife ends up getting a picture of his schlong and hangs it in her bedroom to look at when she—”
I stand up. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I was going to escort Livia to the games. You may recall I was rubbish at pitching a ball.”
One of the men slaps his knee. “That’s right! You had to throw the opening pitch in that other movie—what was it? And it only went halfway, and the whole crowd tried to keep the cheer going as it slowly rolled across the field.”
The original man wipes his eyes. “I think of that every time my son Homer tries to pitch in his Little League.”
Yeah, this is a laugh a minute. I hold out my arm to Livia. “Shall we?”
She is perfectly willing to go. “Yes, let’s.”
We leave the men behind.
“Does that happen a lot?” Livia asks.
“Being the butt of old men’s jokes?”
“No, getting recognized as famous.”
I shrug. “Not as much as it used to.”
We turn down the main row of booths. I scan for Kelsey, but I don’t spot her bit of sunshine anywhere.
“Where is your cart and horse?” I ask.
“They were done for the day. They’re getting a well-deserved rest.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of her house.
“Good for them.”
“I apologize that I’m not up to date on your career. Have you done anything recently?”
“No, I retired years ago.” I sometimes say something more amusingly self-deprecating, like, “Nobody seems to need their fountain filled,” but I’m not up for it tonight.
And where is Kelsey?
“That must be nice,” Livia says. “How do you spend your time these days?”
“I work in casting. We help up-and-coming actors get their footing.” I look between every tent as we pass. Still nothing.
“That’s lovely. They must be so grateful to have someone of your stature assisting their career.”
If only.
We walk far enough that we approach the street that borders the park, Livia’s bed-and-breakfast sitting grandly on the other side.
“Are you wanting to head back to the house?” she asks.
“Oh, no. I was looking for Kelsey.”
“Oh.” Her voice drops. “Are you two ...”
“No, no,” I say quickly, in case Popcorn Boy is local and I might start gossip. “We work together.”
“Are you auditioning people on the road?” Her voice catches with excitement, as if she might be on the verge of getting discovered herself.
“Something like that. We’re casting a new movie.”
“Well, I did a fair amount of theater in high school.”
And here we go.
We reach the street, and I’m not sure where to look. “The last time I spotted her, she was at the stage, but we just left there and walked the entire length of the festival.”
“I haven’t seen her.” She lets go of my arm. “Do you need to find her?”
Dang it. “I think I do. I’ll catch up with you later?”
Her smile returns. “I’ll make some coffee. Come downstairs if you want some.”
I hear the invitation in her voice. “Thank you, Livia.”
I turn on my heel, pulling out my phone. I swiftly text Kelsey.
Are you still at the fair?
I walk the full length of the booths another time, phone in my hand, willing her to respond.
A hundred images go through my mind. Kelsey, in the throes of a passionate embrace behind the cotton candy tent. Kelsey, already running off to some white chapel in the boonies, ready to prove the fortune teller wrong.
The fortune teller I paid.
Damn it.
Or worse, Kelsey getting abducted by some popcorn psychopath.
I can’t take it a minute more, so I do something I know I shouldn’t. I put through a call.
I think it’s going to roll to voicemail, but then I hear Kelsey’s shaky voice. My entire body goes on red alert.
“Hey, Zach. You need me for something?” The trembling makes me shake with rage.
“Yeah, it’s time to go. Where are you?”
“I, uh, okay.” There’s a muffled sound. “I’m going to have to go.”
I hear that motherfucker’s voice, saying something like, “You sure?”
But I also hear something else. Singing. They’re near the stage.
I’m relieved she’s close enough that I can get to her. I break out into a run toward the baseball field.
“Maybe a while longer?” she says, and that sounds enough like a cry for help that I push into a full-on sprint.
I pass the risers near the stage, hearing the faint delay of what is live and what is passing through the phone. “Are you on the field?”
“Close,” she says.
I halt on the far side of the concession stand. The field is black, the metal stands empty.
Then I see the smallest glint of light.
Her cell phone.
They’re underneath the farthest set of bleachers. I spot the shadows and a hint of her yellow dress in the dark.
If he’s laid a hand on her, I will kill him.
The shortest distance isn’t around the field but across it. I don’t know where the entrance is, probably by each dugout, but I’m in a hurry. I quickly scale the fence and drop into the dirt of the field.
I race across it, scale the fence again, and in seconds I’m underneath the bleachers and pulling Kelsey behind me.
“What the fuck is going on here?” I demand.
“Nothing,” Popcorn Asshat says. “She just started crying.”
“Come on, Kelsey,” I say.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m trying to help.”
Hardly. My voice is a roar. “You’ve done enough.”
“Dude, she told me you’re not her brother.” He takes a step toward me, and I don’t have anything else to say. I come in swinging, and my fist hits his chin with a satisfying crunch.
He stumbles back. “What the hell, you piece of shit!”
I’m ready to hit him again, but Kelsey takes my arm. “Let’s go.”
She folds into me, and I pick her up. I don’t have to go the fast way now, so I simply carry her through the packed parking lot.
We dart between cars until we reach the street.
“I can walk,” she says. “Let me walk.”
I set her down, glancing behind to make sure nobody followed us. There are only a few families lugging tired kids out of the fair.
We’re quiet until we reach the bed-and-breakfast.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask her.
“I will. Let’s go to your room.”
But I swear, as we go hand in hand up the stairs, that if he’s done even one-fifth of what I think he has, I will kill him.