Chapter 2 Dave
I can’t believe I was looking forward to having someone else here to help me. It’ll make a good situation even better , I thought. But instead, they hired someone who threatens my perfect situation. And I’m pissed. I look over at Kris scarfing down a frozen burrito in the breakroom. I’m back here looking for a box of coffee filters, but I can’t help getting distracted by my new co-worker.
Where did they find this guy? He looks like an extra from a 1990s heavy metal video: tall, wiry, with dirty blond hair down to his shoulders, and an honest-to-goodness sneer that never seems to leave his full lips, not that I’m looking.
I take it back. He stopped sneering when he saw that ancient sound system. Then his pale gray eyes lit up, and he radiated a kind of puppy dog joy that should have looked goofy on his slightly weathered face, but instead, it was kind of sweet. Damn it all. Somehow, I landed an unskilled job with predictable hours and benefits. That shit never happens. I know, because I hunted for jobs like crazy before I found this. All I could find was gig work or mixed-shift nightmares that wouldn’t allow me to pay for the screenwriting bootcamp and attend on a regular schedule. The only reason I found this was because my sister knows the owner, Nate, who I’ve never met.
Kris takes another messy bite of burrito and licks his lips. I don’t realize I’m staring until he starts talking.
“Everything okay, boss?” He smirks. I close my eyes and pray for patience.
“I’m not your boss. And it’s fine.” I turn around and open the cabinets beneath the sink.
“You were looking pretty hard at my burrito,” he continues, though I’m clearly doing something else.
“No, I wasn’t,” I grit out, blindly rifling through boxes of supplies.
“You can have a bite if you’re hungry.” It’s obvious he’s goading me now. What’s this guy’s problem?
“I don’t want a bite,” I snip out.
“I’ll bring one for you tomorrow. You had a greedy look in your eye.”
“I don’t touch trash like that,” I grump.
Kris laughs.
“You seem like you want it pretty badly to me, but suit yourself.”
I’m glad I’m facing away from him because my cheeks are burning now. Stupid burrito. Stupid, hot jerk. Stupid me. Why can’t I find the filters? I let out an angry little growl. There are only paper towels and dish soap here. I can feel Kris’ eyes on me. I need to leave.
“I’m going to look in the back.” I don’t wait for him to comment and head for the hallway door.
“Knock yourself out.” I hear him call.
My whole body feels tightly coiled, like I’m ready for what? A fight? No. I want to kick that burrito into the sun. I resolve to bring Kris a salad tomorrow because there’s no way we’re repeating that again. I’m planning the toppings as I mindlessly swing open the door to my left.
Instead of the cool silence of the storeroom, I hear someone gasp. The second I see Ari’s surprised face; I realize I’ve taken a wrong turn. This cafe used to be some kind of restaurant or speakeasy and has lots of hidden doors and backrooms.
It takes me another moment second to realize Ari’s not alone and that I’ve interrupted something. A young man is scrambling off Ari’s lap and adjusting his pants. Ugghhh! This is embarrassing.
“Sorry!” I blurt.
“It’s fine. Is, uh, everything alright?” Ari’s cheeks are flushed under his beard, but he doesn’t seem too embarrassed. I am, because I thought he was in a relationship with the owner, not some cute twink.
“Yeah. I was looking for the coffee filters and I took a wrong turn.”
“I see.” He clears his throat. “How’s Kris doing? I’ve been hearing a lot of music.”
I’m grateful for the change of topic but surprised he wants to chat at a moment like this.
“He’s fine. Loves his tunes.” I feel a bead of sweat roll down my back. I’m going to need a nap after all this.
“Alright.”
I stand there awkwardly for a beat, then the other guy clears his throat.
“Hey! You must be Dave,” he says.
“Uh, yeah.”
I guess Ari’s telling everyone about me.
“Great. Ari’s had nothing but good things to say about you.” His blue eyes shine at me like he’s genuinely glad to meet me.
“He has?” I ask.
“Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Nate. Nate Katz, you know, the owner here.”
I heard the owner was a student at the university, but I was thinking it was someone older who had gone back to school, not someone barely out of high school.
“Huh? I mean, great to meet you, Mr. Katz.” The words feel awkward coming out of my mouth. This guy looks like someone’s little brother.
“Call me Nate. It’s good to meet you.”
“Yeah, uh thanks. Sorry, I interrupted. I’ll go get the filters now.”
“Sounds good! Don’t forget to push the matcha latte donuts,” Nate reminds me with a smile. I nod numbly.
“I will,” I say, then quickly turn away.
I closed the door behind me and take a steadying breath. This time, I turn to the other way and open the storage room. This is all Kris’ fault.
***
When I get home, I throw my bag on the floor and flip my shoes off. My studio apartment is a few blocks from the cafe, so I walk home past the modest downtown storefronts in the neighborhood when the weather’s good. It’s 6:15 on a Sunday and I have nothing to do except try to shake off my frustrating day at work and focus on something infinitely more important: my writing.
If my screenplay had been going well, a little irritant like Kris would slide right off my back. But it’s not going well, and I find myself thinking of him again, especially his smile when the music got loud enough to hurt. And when he offered me his burrito. It made something twist in my chest, and maybe lower when I saw the playful curve of his full lips. I don’t want to feel a twist. Especially with him, and especially now when I have more important things to focus on.
I’m struggling to get through this bootcamp. If I can’t do this, the rest of my plans will be impossible. I need to write my script. And not just any script, an amazing script…something that shows the world that I did the right thing by quitting med school. My excellent script will be the first win of many that paves my way to fame and success. No pressure, right?
I flip on the lights. My crappy old laptop sits on the coffee table just feet from the door. I feel like it’s taunting me. I don’t know what to write. I mean, I have the plot mapped out, but the specifics are nonexistent. I just can’t get a grip on the details of the current scene. Or the one after that. I’m stuck.
I should shower. That’s always good for brainstorming, plus I hate how I smell like coffee and car fumes by the end of the day. I toss my dirty clothes in the hamper and pad to the bathroom naked.
I can barely afford to live alone, but the expense is worth it. There’s no one to interrupt my writing, no one to complain about my music, and no one to object at moments like this. I scratch my bare ass proudly. See? It’s perfect.
Except it’s so quiet on evenings like this it’s almost oppressive. Just me and my judgmental laptop alone together. At times like this, I feel lost in a void. Like no one on earth cares that I’m alive. Like I’ve made a massive, irreversible mistake by leaving my old life behind.
Before I can spiral further, I grab my phone off the counter. I need a distraction. Something. Someone. Anything’s got to be better than being alone with my laptop. I open my favorite hookup app. This is exactly what I need. Something to take my mind off my script, to pull me out of my head. To make me feel good. I swipe through the pictures, barely looking at the guys. Who’s close? Who can be here by the time I get out of the shower? I don’t care about their dogs or their hobbies, I just don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
I scan quickly. Sunday downtown can be a bit of a dead zone. Most people come here for work or school, then leave on the weekends. I used to live in West Hollywood, and it was literally teeming with men. But that’s not my scene, or my income bracket, anymore. The low-rent lifestyle in Downtown LA is just fine for this phase of my life.
My mind flicks to Kris, then I dismiss the thought. I swear I saw him checking me out a couple of times today. But it doesn’t matter. He’s my co-worker and a distraction, but not the kind I want right now. I want someone I can instantly forget.
I swipe right on someone who’s a couple miles away who meets my rock-bottom criteria: tall, top, non-smoker. Quick anonymous oblivion coming right up. We text a bit and I don’t even pay attention to the rest of his profile before getting in the shower where the good ideas are supposed to start flowing.
My script is a space/disaster/horror movie, like Gravity meets Alien . I love the idea of the hero, alone in the galaxy, facing impossible odds (no oxygen + killer aliens) and overcoming them to triumph. I’ve done a mind-boggling amount of research, and now I just need to write it.
I lather up my hair and check that my fingernails still look good. Should the aliens be humanoid or monster-ish? Should the story take place in the near or distant future? How should the hero, Jaxon, act when he’s alone with his fiancée Christina? Will there be swooning??
I’ve got to do something impactful with their first scene that sets up their big reunion at the end. But what is it? Why does she even like him? I don’t know, and every attempt I’ve made at showing it seems wooden and forced.
I check my phone immediately after drying off. “FU*IDK” is almost here. I throw on some basketball shorts and a loose tank top and head for the kitchen. The doorbell wheezes out a noise, and I head over to peer through the cloudy peephole. The guy looks like a human, which is about all I can tell since it’s getting dark, and he’s angled away from the door. I unlock the deadbolt and swing the door open. The guy is pleasantly tall and broad. I can feel the heat of anticipation begin to build. That is, until he turns around and my blood runs cold.