Rough Cut Page 14

  English was another matter. Total agony. Those bastards had expected him to write long-winded essays on bullshit books. That one teacher, Mr. Huff, was the worst. Homework every night. Calling on unprepared people to humiliate them. Fuck Oliver Twist!

  Lenny felt a sudden urge to go find and pound on Mr. Huff, but a small alliance of brain cells unsaturated by alcohol reminded him he was fretting over something that happened ten years ago on the other side of Pennsylvania.

  Lenny counted bills out of his wallet and dropped them on the table in an impressive stack. He put the biggest bill on top. Most of the others were singles, stained with grease and oil from the auto body shop. He rounded the amount due to the next dollar. There’s your tip!

  Lenny shoved himself away from the table, causing a bottle to topple —no big deal, it was empty —and lifted his large frame from the chair.

  He growled away the minor head rush and aimed for the exit.

  “Thank you! Come again!” chirped the hostess, young but dog-faced, nice tits but fat legs; and he gave her a half wave.

  Lenny stepped outside, and the sky was a lot darker than the last time he had seen it. The air was cooler. His legs started to move in one direction, but his car was in another direction. He nearly stumbled while trying to correct himself.

  “Careful there, Lenny.”

  Lenny stopped and turned. The voice was bold and sarcastic. Who the f—

  Pottstown Police Officer Roger Henry stood nearby on the walkway, hands on hips, watching Lenny with a smirk.

  “Forgot where I parked my car,” Lenny muttered.

  Lenny and Officer Henry had a history. In fact, Lenny had a history with several of the local cops, but it was Officer Henry who always seemed to be lurking around a corner with nothing better to do than try and bust his ass. Meanwhile, bank robbers and crack dealers ran amok.

  Henry had been the officer reporting to the scene of several ugly fights involving Lenny. The cops never seemed to witness or recognize the incidents that warranted the beatings; they only arrived in time to see the beatings, piling on him and dragging him off for overnight stays in the drunk tank.

  Officer Henry had also nailed him for drunk driving. Twice.

  “Going for a drive?” asked Henry, walking over, eyes fixed on Lenny’s eyes, probably sniffing for booze.

  “What’s it your business?” snapped Lenny, then cursing himself because it came out sounding slurred and sloppy.

  “I know you’re already familiar with the drunk driving laws of the State of Pennsylvania, but I’d be happy to offer a refresher course,” said Henry.

  As an involuntary reflex, Lenny’s upper teeth pressed on his lower lip and he began the “F” sound. But he stopped himself from uttering a short phrase that would have invited a whole bunch of new problems.

  Henry stood very close now. “I just don’t want you to do anything stupid, Lenny.”

  The restaurant sat across the parking lot from a large shopping mall. Lenny looked over Officer Henry’s shoulder at the illuminated storefronts. Office Depot. Kohl’s. Target. He hated the mall.

  “I need to do some shopping,” said Lenny. He moved past Henry, heading for the mall.

  “Good idea,” said Officer Henry. “I hope you mean it. I’d hate to see you behind the wheel of your car anytime soon.”

  Lenny walked about fifty feet before turning to look back.

  Officer Henry remained out front of the steak house. Still watching him.

  Lenny continued to the mall, grinding his teeth the whole way.

  He entered through the electronic doors and the abrupt brightness made him angrier. It was Friday night and the place was busy with loud teenyboppers, the most annoying human beings on the planet, aside from crying babies, of course.

  Lenny realized that he probably hadn’t stepped foot inside this mall since Nora left him. She liked the mall. She liked to browse and try on clothes she could never buy. She somehow found interest in entire stores devoted to soap, or sunglasses, or calendars, for Christ’s sake.

  Before they were married, he used to come here with her a lot. He put up with it. He’d put up with a lot of things during courtship so they could seal the deal.

  After they married, he refused to go shopping. He simply hated it. She could go to the mall with her girlfriends as long as he pre-approved any expenditures.

  She was good about that, too. Obedient.

  Lenny stopped walking. He realized he was starting to dwell on Nora again. He had promised himself he would stop obsessing over that bitch. That rotten little bitch who snuck out on him in the middle of the night. It still infuriated him. The beers at dinner were supposed to wash her out of his mind. Now she was back with the tide.

  God damn it!

  He noticed people staring at him and realized he had said that last thought out loud.

  Lenny started moving again. He needed a destination, and it could not be his car; and it would not be the interior of one of these stupid stores.

  Lenny came upon the mall’s movie theaters. Ten screens of crap, but maybe there was something he could tolerate for two hours. Long enough to sober up a bit and make sure that imbecile cop disappeared.

  If the movie sucked, he could take a nap.

  His eyes scanned the movie titles. He recognized one of them as a Will Smith action flick receiving heavy promo on TV.

  “Does this movie have a lot of ass kicking?” he asked the gray-haired woman behind the ticket window.

  She said she didn’t know, and she pointed out that the movie had started 45 minutes ago.

  He looked back at the list of titles.

  “What about Deadly Desires? What’s that all about?”

  “It’s a horror movie, sir.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Has it started yet?”

  “Just got underway.”

  “Alright. One ticket for Deadly whatever.”

  Lenny entered the multiplex.

  He considered buying popcorn, but then saw the prices, which pissed him off. He went looking for the right theater, which took several minutes, which pissed him off. Every corridor seemed to lead to some stupid Disney cartoon or faggy romance, which...

  He finally found Deadly Desires and entered the darkened theater. The movie on the screen was dark, a nighttime scene. His eyes took a moment to adjust. He stood in the aisle until he could see.

  The place was about half full. Lenny moved into a row near the back. He dropped into a cushioned seat and threw a leg over the seat in front of him. It was rather comfortable. Maybe he would nap. He hoped that Officer Henry remained perched in front of the steak house, waiting for his return. Let him stand there like a fool!

  On the movie screen, some Hollywood pretty boy sat inside a camping tent. A lantern lit up his face. He was talking in low tones about an archeological site and old rituals.

  “Human sacrifice was part of their culture,” said pretty boy. “According to Mayan legend, priests would rip out the beating heart of their victims with a flint knife, and throw the bodies down from the temple to appease the god of death.”

  Lenny chuckled. Horror movies usually made him chuckle. They tried so hard to be spooky, but they were usually retarded. “The god of death,” he muttered loudly.

  Someone shushed him.

  Lenny shushed back, fiercely.

  The actor on the movie screen droned on and on about Aztecs and pyramids and how the pyramids were built.

  Lenny started to shut his eyes.

  Through the slits, he saw Nora.

  He closed his eyes completely, then opened them wide.

  Nora?

  The pretty boy on the movie screen was talking to Nora. Lenny’s Nora. She nodded, listening with big eyes, pouty lips.

  Her hair was different, shorter and darker; and she had been dolled up, prettier; but it was definitely her.

  His escaped wife. His Nora. In Hollywood. Making movies!

&nb
sp; Lenny jumped up to his feet.

  “You filthy whore!” he screamed at the movie screen.

  People turned in their seats to look at him.

  The screen showed a close-up of Nora. Her head was as big as the side of a house.

  Lenny was going out of his mind. He jabbed a finger toward the screen. “You bitch; you filthy bitch; you can’t run from me; you no good slutty whore!”

  “Shut up, you lunatic!” someone shouted from a few rows away. Several people clapped in approval. The audience began buzzing.

  “You shut up, asshole!” screamed Lenny.

  One of the men in the audience stood up and turned around. “Listen, pal, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to get the manager.”

  Behind the man’s silhouette, the movie continued.

  “Human remains have been found on this site as recently as five years ago,” said the pretty boy. “The Mexican government keeps it very quiet. They don’t want to hurt tourism.”

  “You’re scaring me,” said Nora. “Look at me, I’m shaking.”

  “Oh, hon, I’m sorry. It’s okay,” said pretty boy, and he reached for her. They embraced. “Relax sweetheart.” They kissed. A big, sloppy movie kiss.

  “I’m coming for you, Nora!” screamed Lenny. “Don’t think you can get away with this.” He began moving out of the row. Toward the end of the aisle, a seated couple didn’t bring in their knees quick enough, and Lenny banged into them. The man said something unwise, and Lenny punched him twice in the face, fast and hard; and the man went quiet while his date screamed.

  Lenny stomped out of the theater, back into the brightness. He turned toward the corridor walls where a succession of movie posters announced the current showings.

  Lenny stood before the poster for Deadly Desires, hands clenched into fists. The artwork depicted a large blade, a full moon, and off to each side of the blade, a bunch of little faces of the people appearing in the movie.

  Sure enough, there was Nora, sexed up, mouth open, a look of fear.

  “You better be scared, you rotten bitch.” He searched the movie credits for information. He didn’t see Nora’s name, but she probably had used a fake stage name, like all those fruity actors did.

  “Sandra Ross” was the first actress listed. Could Sandra Ross be Nora Hurley?

  No big deal, he would find her.

  The most important information was readily available.

  PJ Productions.

  Written and Directed by Harry Tuttle.

  “Harry Tuttle,” said Lenny. “Hotshot Hollywood slime-ball, stealing a man’s wife.” This Tuttle guy was probably screwing her. That’s what all those movie directors did —screw hot young actresses in exchange for movie roles. The casting couch! How else would you explain a total nobody suddenly appearing in a major movie?

  Lenny wanted to punch the movie poster. His insides felt like they were on fire. After many months of despair and aimlessness, he felt pumped up with passion, purpose, and a destination.

  Hollywood, California.

  “Nora,” he growled at the movie poster, “you are a dead woman.”

  25

  Harry stood in line at the Village Coffee Shop for his daily Frappuccino and bagel, with one significant alteration to his morning routine: he was incognito. He wore sunglasses, a cap, and did not scan the room for familiar faces. Instead, he watched his shoes. For possibly the first time in his life, living in a community that thrived on attention, Harry Tuttle did not want to be recognized.

  He just wanted to get his goods, retreat home, hunker down and stay out of sight until Deadly Desires blew out of the public consciousness and became yesterday’s fad.

  Unfortunately, the movie kept making good money and earning good notices.

  Harry had spent many sleepless nights debating what to do next. Several times he’d climbed into his Audi, headed for the LAPD to reveal Stegman’s crimes, but wound up back in his driveway.

  He feared the police would not believe his innocence. They would arrest him as an accomplice to murder. Even if they didn’t hold him accountable for the fate of Sandra Ross, he would still face devastation and ruin. He would be hit with fraud charges for Deadly Desires. His filmmaking career would come to a humiliating end. His reason to live would die.

  Harry spent hours parked in his driveway, arguing with himself. In the end, he couldn’t let go of the success.

  “Harrrry.”

  Harry felt something like an electric shock travel up his spine. The voice behind him was shrill; it was nasal; it was...

  “Julie,” he said simply, turning to face his ex-wife. She stood behind him in line with her new husband, acclaimed British director Nigel Howard. Nigel was tall, which gave him the opportunity to look down his nose at Harry. He always had his lips pursed together in a weird, suppressed smile. Harry chalked it up to smugness.

  They were the last two people on the planet Earth he wanted to talk to now.

  “What’s with the sunglasses? You have a hangover?” Julie asked.

  “No. Just tired.” He removed the shades and the room brightened, but not his mood.

  “Congratulations, Harry,” said Nigel. “I hear that your little movie is doing well.” His accent somehow underscored the condescension.

  “Yes,” chimed in Julie. “Way to go.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a little movie,” said Harry, bristling. “It’s been a pretty big success.”

  “Yes, but you know what I meant — the production.”

  Harry shifted the topic. “I understand you two are keeping busy with a ‘little movie’ of your own.”

  “Army of Steel,” said Julie proudly. “It’s going to be the blockbuster to end all blockbusters.”

  Nigel added, “We just finished five months of preproduction, and we’re starting principal photography. We’re shooting all over L.A. You won’t be able to miss us. In fact, we’ll be closing down a road up by your house.”

  “Thanks,” said Harry. “The traffic’s not bad enough as it is.”

  “Nigel’s got a special effects army on this one, it’s so huge,” said Julie. “These guys are the best in the business.”

  Nigel nodded. “It’s amazing what you can do with major studio backing. They gave me a $110 million budget. It’s the greatest toy box a director could ever have. I feel like a kid at Christmas. We’ve got 200 technicians and about 500 different special effects. A lot of it is CGI, but there are also some live action stunts that are far superior to anything else out there.”

  “Well, I suppose the videogame crowd will go for it,” said Harry.

  Nigel didn’t lose his smug smile. “This film will appeal to all generations, from eight to eighty. We have an all-star cast with a major draw for every demographic. We’ve got Tom —“

  “I know, I know. I’ve read about it.”

  “Don’t forget your biggest star,” teased Julie, hitting Nigel in the arm.

  “Ah yes, a sweet young thing named Julie Howard,” said Nigel. “I heard she’s pretty good.”

  Julie Howard. It stung Harry almost as much as your little movie.

  “I’m going to be in Vanity Fair,” said Julie, but Harry didn’t have to respond because his turn had come up at the counter. He turned his back to them and ordered his Frappuccino and bagel.

  “To go, please,” he said. On his way out, he wished Julie and Nigel well with Army of Steel.

  “Good luck with...what is it, Deadly Dangers?” asked Nigel.

  “Deadly Desires,” said Harry.

  “Yes, good luck with the monster movies,” said Nigel. A quick movie clip ran in Harry’s mind: a fist hitting Nigel squarely in his smug face. Nigel falling down. Harry pouring hot coffee on his head.

  Harry walked out to his car. He climbed behind the wheel, shut the door, and sat there for a moment, munching on his bagel and taking sips from his Frappuccino. The food and coffee made him feel better, but his mood promptly tanked again when he saw Julie and Nigel leaving the Village
Coffee Shop, arm in arm.

  I don’t love her anymore, but why does it still sting?

  Harry placed his coffee in the cup holder. He took out his cell phone. He dialed Rachel. They had a date planned for that evening, but he couldn’t wait until then...

  She answered on the third ring, and he told her, “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Harry, that’s so sweet,” she said. “I’m glad you called. I’m so excited about tonight. I haven’t been to a Lakers game in years.”

  “I checked our tickets. We have great seats.” Paul had given them to Harry a few weeks ago, a freebie from a happy investor. “We’ll be able to smell the players’ B.O.”

  She laughed. “I’m just looking forward to one of those pretzels that are as big as your head.”

  They carried on with the light, cozy conversation for a few more minutes, until Harry’s confidence levels felt restored. He confirmed the time he would pick her up, and they said their goodbyes.

  Harry hung up and checked his watch. Eight hours until game time.

  He shoved Julie to the back of his mind. He sidestepped the horrors of Deadly Desires. He continued to focus on Rachel. Her beauty, her sweetness, her purity.

  Everything bad in his life became overpowered by the happiness Rachel brought him. And then he realized he might be in love.

  26

  Walter Wiggins stepped out of a side entrance to WKKG Studios as evening descended on Los Angeles. Even though he had a reserved parking spot close to the building, he was perspiring and out of breath by the time he reached his red Cadillac STS. Everywhere he went, he dragged along 250 pounds of human flesh on his short frame. He knew that a lifetime of sitting on his ass watching movies had done this to him. But he also knew that sitting on his ass watching movies all day paid handsomely —more money than any of his highbrow journalism colleagues would ever see. While they worked insane hours for pitiful pay to scratch out stories about city council bickering or ozone levels, he got to attend glitzy Hollywood press junkets and gab with the stars. If he was well fed along the way...so be it. The rest of them? Jealous.