Chapter 1 #3
I don’t know what I expected after Love Thy Neighbor ended.
I made a few guest appearances on some shows, and Teen Street sent me on a tour across the country to meet fans, sign autographs, and take photos.
I didn’t think I’d have to try so hard for anything else.
But the offers, scripts, and phone calls gradually became less and less until there were none.
They weren’t going to cast me in Roller Rink.
They wanted a Willie Aames type. I wasn’t even their second choice.
All the other actors they called must have sensed it was going to be a flop, but I was desperate and needed work.
Ever since, my phone line’s gone cold. The only bone thrown my way was when Floyd said Norman Lear might be interested in having me guest star on one of his shows.
But people look at me and still see little Reggie Camden, not all-grown-up Austin Rivers.
It’s frightening how quickly people can forget about you and move on to something else. Someone else. New faces are in those magazines, and they’ll be there until they’re too old.
Like me.
I’m two drinks and a line in, feeling pleasantly numb, when the doorbell rings twice, followed by a slow knock, knock, knock on the front door. I look at the clock. It’s just after midnight. I get up slowly and glance through the window beside the door before opening it.
“Hey there.” Margie leans seductively against the frame. She’s come from someplace else because she has a sparkling silver clutch under one arm, and her straight black hair falls in waves around her face. Remnants of what looks like lightning bolts are drawn at the outer corners of her eyes.
“Hey.” I step aside to let her in.
She’s wearing a silky, green tube top and a matching skirt. I catch the scent of Chanel and cigarettes as she moseys inside. It takes me a few seconds to notice she’s barefoot and holding a pair of white platform sandals.
“I wasn’t going to walk up your driveway in these,” she says, dangling them at me before she drops them on the floor. She sets the clutch on the entryway table and crosses her arms. “Thought you were coming out tonight after the show.”
I go back to the sofa. “Did I say that?”
“I thought so.” She follows me over, sits next to me, and helps herself to a sip from my glass. Then she turns sideways and stretches her legs over my lap. “I wanted to check on you.”
From the redness ringing her eyes, she’s had a little bit of something tonight, but that redness doesn’t hide the concern.
“I appreciate it, but I’m okay.”
She raises a doubtful, thin black brow.
“I am,” I insist, reaching for the bag of coke. I notice I’m running low, but offer her some anyway.
She shakes her head and watches me cut another line. “Should you really be doing that?”
“Why not?” I say, rolling up a dollar bill.
She takes it from me and turns my face toward her. “I was worried about you, Aussie.”
I sigh and lean back against the sofa.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it. But you can’t blame me for worrying.”
“I said I’m okay.”
“You’re sitting here alone after Kenny Kincaid, doing blow and getting drunk.”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Come out with me.”
I look at her. “Kenny Kincaid says hi, by the way. He wants to take us both out to dinner sometime.”
“Come on.” She swings her legs off my lap and stands up. “I don’t want you to be here alone.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“All right, then I’ll stay.” She makes her way over to the mini bar. “Got any gin?”
“Margie…”
“What?”
I pick up the rolled dollar and fiddle with it for a second. “Nothing.” I glance at her and see she’s staring warily at me. “I mean, it’s fine. You can stay. I want you to.” I give her a weak smile.
She nods and makes herself a drink. “How was the show?”
“It was okay.”
She brings her drink over and sits next to me. “Just okay?”
“You know how he is.”
She takes a sip and studies me for a moment. “Did he ask you about it?”
I shake my head.
It’s too quiet in here. I get up and head to the stereo, noticing there’s a Seals and Cross record already in the player. I play it. I return to sit next to Margie and drink. After a minute, I notice out of the corner of my eye that she’s watching me.
“I’m fine, Margie,” I repeat. “I appreciate you checking up on me, but I’m fine.”
If I were a different kind of guy, she’d be my girl for sure.
I don’t think anyone knows me better than she does.
We grew up together on the set of Love Thy Neighbor.
My first kiss was with her. The first time I had sex was with her.
But both times I was thinking about somebody else.
One of them was Stan Forrester, the guy who played her TV older brother.
I hung around him a lot on set, and for the longest time, I didn’t understand why.
I just wanted to be around him. Then I wanted other things from him; things that Margie wouldn’t be able to give me.
Nothing is wrong with her. She’s a total knockout. Guys are always checking her out, including Harvey Laden. A memory from New Year’s Eve pops in my head, and I snort the line to forget it.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask Margie.
“No. Why would I be mad at you?”
The coke is giving me a second wind. I put an arm around her. “Want to go to Flipper’s?”
“Fine with me.” She swallows down her drink, then makes her way over to the foyer to get her shoes.
I pick up my suit jacket from the floor and put it on. Before Margie can open the door, I take her arm. “I mean it. I’m okay.”
She looks at me somberly for a moment before she goes out the door. “All right, Aussie, let’s go have fun.”
And that’s what I intend to do.