From The Dead Page 6

  Tongue in cheek, she grinned. “I already knew that.”

  Jada leaned her head back as Jesse initiated foreplay. At last, she murmured, “What do you know—I’m getting laid tonight after all.”

  Jesse stopped. “What?”

  “We both thought you’d work tonight.”

  “Right.” He’d forgotten about the birthday party earlier that day.

  Jada closed her eyes. “Kiss me here …”

  * * *

  They lay naked beneath the sheets that night. Hours earlier, Jesse’s cloud of depression had emerged again, and once they reached the bed, he had lost the urge to pursue intimacy further. An argument ensued—as if the circumstance weren’t humiliating enough for him—which left them to fall asleep embittered and distant.

  Halfway through the night, Jesse grew restless and stirred in his sleep. Groggy, Jada grunted, then patted around the bed with eyes shut. When she squinted at Jesse, she watched her partner rustle beside her as he struggled through a difficult dream. But his quiet moans and sighs didn’t indicate fright—rather, a peculiar tenderness, a cautious concern.

  “Babe …” she whispered. No response. She tapped him to no avail.

  A chill formed in the air, and Jada pulled the satin sheet closer against her skin. Despite her attempt to return to sleep, Jesse’s body shifts jolted her awake. At last, she reached over and grazed his hair with feather-light strokes. Jesse calmed. She continued for a few moments until he murmured in his sleep.

  “Caitlyn …”

  Jada halted in mid stroke. As she withdrew her hand, she stared at Jesse.

  She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She just stared at him, the gleam in her eyes sharp as a pair of precision razors.

  Caitlyn.

  As she pierced him with her eyes, she lay and watched to see what happened next. But his stirring didn’t resume. Jesse continued to lay motionless. Soothed.

  Jada’s lips compressed until they all but disappeared. With a huff, she turned over and drew the sheet over her head.

  * * *

  Jesse sensed he’d had a troubled dream the night before but couldn’t recall the subject. Not that this was unusual; he remembered few dreams nowadays. Had Jada stroked his hair, or was that part of the dream too?

  Jada continued to sleep. Since it was Sunday morning, Jesse figured she’d want to sleep in. No appointments today. Besides, he couldn’t shake the sense of tension, or at least something off-kilter, in the atmosphere.

  From his seat at the dining-room table, Jesse heard Jada stir in the bedroom when she awoke. Without getting up, he peered around the corner and caught sight of her through a portion of the bedroom doorway. She held her hand against her head as though to combat a headache.

  He watched her as she discovered the other side of the bed empty. She fingered the imprint of Jesse’s body, still carved into the sheet, a ghostly reminder of his presence. When she rose, Jesse resumed his breakfast.

  On her way out of the bedroom, Jada bit her lip. Her face looked a tad too flushed. To Jesse, she appeared bothered.

  Though Jesse didn’t ask, Jada gave him a status report anyway. “I didn’t fall asleep till dawn. You shifted around last night,” she said.

  Jesse shrugged but said nothing.

  With the aroma of brewed coffee in the air, Jesse watched as Jada padded into the kitchen toward the bistro-style pot. Jesse continued to munch on his organic oat cereal while he perused one of the scripts Jada had left on the table.

  He had hoped the prior day’s birthday party would help shake the relentless cloud of depression that continued to weigh on his shoulders, but it hadn’t. And he didn’t feel like talking this morning. Too embarrassed from having let her down in bed the prior night, he couldn’t look her in the eyes. Such a problem had never occurred between them before.

  Jada poured herself a cup of dark roast and topped it with a splash of soy milk. As she stirred, she eyed Jesse and took a seat across the table. “Script any good?”

  Jesse swallowed another bite. “Did Barry sign on with it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s awful.”

  She forced a smile. “That’s why it ended up on the table and not in my portfolio.”

  “Straight to the recycle bin, huh?”

  “That’s quite a comment from someone who won’t go out of his way to recycle. You’re full of surprises.”

  “Who knows? Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

  “Nothing wrong with trying something new.” She sipped her coffee and shot him a grin.

  He could tell Jada wanted answers, probably about his lack of performance. Humiliated enough, he wasn’t about to take her bait.

  Jesse set the script aside and took another bite.

  Her jaw clenched, Jada inhaled the steam from her coffee. After Jesse headed for a refill, he returned to the table and studied his finger as he circled the rim of his cup.

  “Preoccupied last night?” Jada asked.

  “I wasn’t in the mood, that’s all.”

  “You initiated the whole thing to begin with. Was it because I wanted to be on top?”

  “I’m sure that didn’t help.”

  “I’ll always end up on top one way or another—in everything.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind.” Despite her pause, Jesse could tell she was ready to prod further. Jada continued, “Maybe we should try something different, spice it up for once.”

  “You mean with sex?”

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  “Like what?” Disinterested, he didn’t know how else to respond. When it came to intimacy, Jesse was more conservative than she was, but he seldom encountered an issue when he indulged her.

  “I don’t know,” Jada said. “Maybe a threesome.”

  Alarmed, Jesse dropped his spoon. He glared at Jada. Determined to maintain his self-control after this unwarranted insult, he tried to hide his shock behind a neutral tone of voice.

  “Are you kidding?” he said, his words clipped.

  “Just one time, for a little variety. Kind of like—oh, I don’t know—to treat ourselves.”

  “A treat? I don’t see how that’s a treat.” Composed, Jesse channeled his anger to the cereal bowl as he slid it aside.

  Thick as honey, tension hung in the air. Now both their jaws were clenched.

  Jesse broke the silence. “Are you saying you’re dissatisfied with me?”

  “Of course not. Don’t take it personally.”

  “How do I not take your idea personally?” Jesse felt his face turn shades of maroon. Was that a stifled grin on her face? She seemed to find satisfaction in his anger. Jesse stood before he would lose his temper. He shook his head in disbelief. Even for Jada, her suggestion crossed the line. His voice a notch louder, he added, “This is ridiculous. What are you thinking?!”

  She kept silent, just watched.

  He raged on. “And you’re thinking the third person would be who?”

  “Well, it’s my idea,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, “so it’s only fair to have another guy, right?”

  Incredulous, his cheeks grew hot. “Unbelievable! What the hell is supposed to run through my mind while another guy fucks my girlfriend?”

  “So you’re into monogamy now?”

  “Are you high right now? You don’t make any sense!”

  “So you’re saying there’s no one else?” she said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Of course not!” Jesse wasn’t perfect, but he had remained faithful to Jada throughout their relationship.

  Her voice was hushed yet venomous. Jada leaned forward, pressed her palms against the tabletop. “Then who the fuck is Caitlyn?”

  “Who? Why are you asking me this?”

  “Your dream. You had a bad dream last night and said her name.”

  “Wait, you’re telling me this is all about a dream?! You’re holding me accountable for my
dreams?!”

  “They come from all that subconscious crap, right? You must know a Caitlyn or be thinking about a Caitlyn!”

  “How many times have you flirted with any producer you think could give your career a boost? You can never swallow what you dish out!” Jesse could feel his ears turn scarlet. He took a deep breath, then held up his hands and exhaled. “I’m not doing this right now. I don’t need this shit so early in the day.”

  Jesse stormed out of the room. Jada got up for a refill.

  CHAPTER 13

  He felt miniscule compared to the expanse of the ocean.

  Small.

  Insignificant.

  Atypical of southern California, the overcast sky featured ashen overtones today. From a window, one would think it a winter afternoon. The beach was desolate and, at the moment, belonged to Jesse alone.

  Jesse loved Malibu. The oceanfront community didn’t feel as commercialized as Santa Monica down the road. He loved to cruise northward along the two-lane Pacific Coast Highway as it wound through the area. The road ran parallel to a series of high hills, rolling plumes of greenery where white mansions sat nestled. While Malibu’s cost of living was much higher than that of Sherman Oaks, walking the shoreline was free and Jesse escaped here to contemplate, to dream.

  Jesse pondered his previous argument with Jada. Her words had dealt him a severe blow. In spite of her blunt accusation and lack of tact—both characteristic of Jada—to hear that she considered their intimacy less than satisfactory had sunken straight to the bottom of his soul. The last thing a man wanted to hear from his partner was that she was bored and he was the cause.

  He had clung to her for so long that he’d forgotten why. It wasn’t habit per se, nor could he attribute it to genuine love. But in recent days, as the prospects of life caved in around him, he needed her—she was the one constant factor in his life. Perhaps that made no difference to Jada, but he appreciated the security. Did that make him feel like a failure? Yes. Did it tarnish his sense of masculinity? Absolutely. Although unspoken, in this honest moment he had to admit it was true.

  The breaking waves welcomed him. Jesse removed his shoes and socks. Camera in hand, he wandered barefoot across the fine, ivory sand and walked to where the water’s edge ebbed and flowed. When it retreated back to sea, the savory water abandoned its bubbling, salty foam to reveal smooth, damp sand that begged for a fresh layer of footprints. Jesse halted. He closed his eyes to savor the chilled Atlantic water as it massaged the tops of his feet and hurled sand granules between his toes. He listened to the hypnotic undulation of the breakers and the squawks of seagulls that cried ownership of the scene.

  Serene. That’s the word he would use to describe this ambience. This is why he had come.

  When he opened his eyes, he absorbed the sight once more, then took a photograph of serenity. While the sky above reflected how he felt inside, the steady motion before him communicated what he sought to feel inside. The ocean seemed to hold a spiritual quality: untamed yet predictable. Larger than life. Jesse’s father, in preacher fashion, said God could be seen in nature. So where was God in times like this? Where was God as Jesse’s future unraveled and he tried to hang on by his fingernails?

  Jesse had to think of something. He couldn’t lean on Jada for validation. It made him feel like a loser.

  He held up the camera again, waited for a large breaker to mount in the distance, and clicked.

  “Are you a professional?”

  Apathetic, Jesse glanced at the figure that approached him. Grasping a camera made him appear an expert, while busting his ass for eleven years in front of the camera said nothing?

  “Just taking a few shots,” Jesse replied.

  Jesse estimated the young guy to be in his mid twenties. His sandy-brown hair tousled by the light breeze, the guy looked like someone who had broken many girls’ hearts in between tennis matches. He finished a cigarette, then made his way to Jesse’s paradise to share in the vast view. Dressed in high-end, brand-name gear and a two-hundred-dollar watch, Jesse figured the guy lived in Malibu. He didn’t see a parked car nearby, so the visitor must have strolled from a few minutes down shore.

  “You live around here?” the guy asked, a hint of an accent in his voice—British or Australian. The females must croon over him, Jesse figured.

  “Sherman Oaks.”

  The guy nodded. “I live around the corner. Tell you what, I’m addicted to sushi.” With his thumb, the guy gestured south. “Especially the stuff they have at the hole-in-the-wall down the road. Ever been there?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a little dive on stilts—a bar-and-grill type with a sushi counter. Gotta make my appearance there every couple of days to feed my passion. If I hadn’t just come from there, I’d insist on leading you over to it,” the guy joked.

  Jesse wanted his solitude back.

  The intruder extended his hand. “I’m Adam.”

  “Jesse.”

  “So if you’re not a photographer, what are you?”

  Your first guess is correct, buddy. “An actor.”

  Adam’s eyebrows rose. “Really?” He stepped back and gave Jesse a once-over glance. “Makes sense though; you’ve got the build for it. Have you been in anything recent?” His tone wasn’t judgmental like many with whom Jesse crossed paths in L.A. This guy didn’t come across as threatened by a competitor; rather, he seemed curious, easy to talk to. By nature, however, Jesse remained guarded.

  Jesse wasn’t in the mood to fend off a stranger, so he decided to let the guy feel welcome for a few minutes. Jesse offered a polite smile. “An unemployed actor,” he clarified. “Thanks for the compliment. Meanwhile, I work a part-time job but have today off. What do you do for a living?”

  Jesse watched as Adam fought to hide a smug grin and shrugged. “I guess I take it day by day, enjoy life. Smell the sushi.”

  “Don’t you work?”

  “I’d be awful at it. I’m not really a nine-to-five kind of person. I dabble in production with some friends, tried to put together a couple of reality-TV shows. They never took off, though.”

  “Doesn’t that make it hard to pay the bills?”

  Adam withdrew into an air of genuine humility, as if he seldom shared the next piece of information with strangers. “Well, not if you’re Mick Lewis’s son.”

  Unbelievable. Known for his successful summer blockbusters, Mick Lewis directed action films with major budgets. In the late 1980s, Mick married Regan Cooper, an Australian actress who starred in his first film. They divorced ten years later.

  “Mick Lewis?” Jesse chuckled, then pivoted in Adam’s direction. More hospitable now, Jesse was eager to hear details about the good life. “Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t worry about a job either. Lucky you. Is Regan Cooper your mom?”

  Adam answered with a nod, which also explained his accent. Once again, he scanned Jesse. “No films in the pipeline, you said?”

  Jesse shook his head.

  Adam studied a seagull that stomped nearby. Before he caught himself, he rubbed his finger along his own bicep, which seemed an absentminded habit. Jesse thought he saw Adam take another quick glance from the corner of his eye. It was obvious Adam weighed his words.

  “Listen,” Adam said, “my dad’s got films lined up. He’s given a career start to some of my buddies. I could probably talk him into arranging a bit part for you—just a few lines, shouting at an enemy invader or something.”

  Jesse didn’t expect this, and he never would have asked a stranger for such a thing. He’d heard Mick was a well-liked director; maybe his kid followed suit.

  Speechless, Jesse searched for a response. “That’s—wow. It’s hard to believe you’d do that for someone you just met.”

  Adam pursed his lips. “Yeah … sure, but I thought, you know, maybe something a little more … if you’re up to it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Something more involved, if you know what I mean.”

  That’s the
way it often worked, through mutual back scratches. Not a problem.

  “I doubt there’s much I could do; but sure, whatever it takes. My roommate works for a director.”

  Adam slid his hands into his pockets. He pursed his lips as if Jesse had misunderstood the meaning. “It’s … well, it’s not exactly a professional request. More like a personal one …”

  “A personal one,” Jesse repeated. What was the reason behind Adam’s loss for words? Adam seemed to search for something in Jesse’s face.

  “A favor,” Adam said, slower.

  “Of course. Name it.”

  “No, I mean a favor.”

  Jesse paused. He tried to grasp what Adam meant by his inflection.

  Then it hit him.

  Though no one was around, Jesse couldn’t help but speak in a hushed tone. “Are you talking about—you mean, like a sexual favor?”

  Adam stared at him. The absence of a reply spoke volumes.

  Jesse’s back grew rigid. Now the stranger’s spontaneous conversation made sense; Jesse’s mind had been so focused on his own life, he hadn’t recognized Adam’s words as a means to try gauge his sexual orientation. He wanted to lash out at Adam but contained it instead. Jesse attempted to maintain a neutral demeanor. After all, Adam knew people in the industry and could, with a phone call, ruin Jesse’s future chances of success.

  Jesse couldn’t face him. So he stared into the distance. “I couldn’t do that.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened around here.”

  Jesse had heard of such scenarios but had never involved himself in one, nor had anyone he knew. Some people would jump at the opportunity. Granted, Jesse was desperate, but at least he had an agent who worked on his behalf.

  “Remember Michael Casey?” Adam continued.

  Michael Casey was a young Hollywood heartthrob around Jesse’s age. News media credited Mick Lewis with the actor’s discovery after he cast him in a small role.

  “What about him?”

  “How do you think he got discovered?” Adam hinted.

  Skeptical, Jesse snorted. “No.” In a tug-of-war between his own honesty and the temptation to open a career door, Jesse hesitated, shook his head slowly. “No, that’s not an option for me.”