I can’t imagine it would be something good.
The police leave after taking some pictures and the firemen leave after putting out the fire. The paramedics stick around for a couple of minutes to chat with Damian about an action movie of his that came out a few months ago called The Force of Law.
One might say that it wasn’t his best movie and certainly not his best performance. One might also say that the movie probably would have threatened to destroy his entire acting career if people had bothered to go see it.
One might say those things.
Still, the few who saw it and liked it formed a loosely organized cabal of people who, whenever any topic that may be construed to have a remote relation to the film comes up, they talk about the movie.
I almost lost my lady boner for him after seeing that steaming pile of…
“Emma!” Damian calls over. “Check this out; you’re not going to believe this.”
I never bothered leaving the side of the fire. The fire was small enough that I didn’t even have to move when the firemen put it out. Now, though, Damian’s over on the driveway with those paramedics and they’re all looking down at a cell phone.
One more look down at the now illegible threat somehow arranged entirely without anyone noticing, and then I walk over to see what they all find so interesting at a time like this.
“Check this out,” Damian says. “That guy who was blackmailing you—Ben Whatever,” he says. “He got into a fight in the slammer and got the shit kicked out of him.”
“Don’t toy with me, Jones,” I tell him. “Don’t tease me with good news that isn’t true.”
“Check it out,” he says.
I was hoping for pictures, but it’s just an article. Apparently, Ben was standing in line, waiting for his food tray, and some man just came up to him and socked him right in the fucking mouth.
“Did you see the best part?” Damian asks.
“I’m still reading,” I tell him.
When questioned about what possible motive he could have had for the assault, the attacker, LeRoy Tsvetkov, is quoted in the article as saying, “I know what that punk did to Emma Roxy. I love that bitch. I seen all her movies.”
I think it’s somewhere around here that I realize any significant understanding I may have thought I had regarding the ways of the world is completely wrong.
“Being famous isn’t all bad,” Damian says with a laugh.
Chapter Sixteen
The Art of Conversation
Damian
“And, cut!” Dutch yells, and I know I’m in for some shit. “What the hell was that?” Dutch yells. “I told you to take the suitcase, put it on the bed, and then grab the big stack of towels. It’s really not that hard, Jones. Jesus! What’s the matter with you?!”
Dutch is angry.
I know I probably didn’t need to tell you that, but he’s been angry with me a lot lately, and it’s no secret why. I’ve been choking like a motherfucker for over a week now.
“Let’s try it again!” Dutch shouts.
I take my place at the foot of the bed. In this scene, my character finds out that Emma’s character has left the hotel and is planning to leave the city, so he’s chasing after her and Dutch insists that we do the old stealing-hotel-towels gag like it hasn’t been done to absolute death.
Still, I took the job, so the least I could do would be to do a decent take, or at least one would think.
Dutch yells action, I take a step toward the bathroom, and Dutch yells cut.
“I want you to repeat this in your head,” he says. “Take the suitcase, put it on the bed, and then grab the towels. Repeat that for me.”
“Dutch, I know,” I tell him. “I don’t know what my problem—”