Chapter 4.2

Darren Shaffer was halfway through the pitch, and, in his mind it was going well. Better than well. Better than his wildest dreams kind of well. When Leo Chakiris had called him to complain about how he’d treated his son on the movie set a few days ago, he never imagined he’d actually get this kind of one-on-one time to discuss it.

Now, over dinner, Leo was a captive audience who seemed genuinely interested in Darren’s sci-fi movie idea. He wouldn’t waste a Friday night listening to my movie pitch if he wasn’t impressed with me, right? The way Darren figured it, a greenlight was inevitable. He was painting the picture with words, using his hands too much. Am I really using my hands too much? He ran his fingers through his long, greasy black hair. I can’t spoil this now, he thought. And he was pretty sure he hadn’t. Leo was buying all of it - he had hit a grand slam. In fact, he was already rounding third base and sliding into home plate even before the waiter had come to take their orders.

Then Leo’s cell phone rang.

Leo looked at the caller ID, got a pained expression on his face and said, “I have to take this. It’ll just be a minute.” He pressed a button and said “Leo Chakiris. Go.”

I hate cell phones, Darren thought. I hate other people’s cell phones particularly. Jeff tried to look interested in the color of the tablecloth as Leo started talking.

“Yeah, well,” Leo said to the person on the other end, “I’m in a meeting here, kid. Can’t this wait ‘til tomorrow?”

Darren, trying to occupy his attention, picked up his spoon. What a lovely spoon. Very curvy at the top. He saw his reflection in it and quickly brushed a stray hair somewhere near his ear.

“You want to run that by me again?” Leo’s face had gone white as a sheet. He listened for what seemed like an eternity before saying, in a hushed tone, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He stood to leave, pulled out his billfold, and dropped three crisp hundred-dollar bills on the table.

“This’ll have to wait, Darren, I’m sorry.” He was putting on his Darrenet. “Family problems, you know how it is. Call my office and we’ll set up another meeting.”

“Leo, I…” Darren sputtered.

Leo grinned that empty, non-committal Hollywood grin. “Sounds like you got a dynamite idea, there, Darren,” he said blankly. “In the meantime, try to be a little nicer to my kid, okay? No, don’t get up,” he said, as Darren was starting to do exactly that.

Just like that, Leo was out the door.

The waiter came by and asked Darren if he was ready to order. Darren, trying not to look crushed, said no, handed the waiter a hundred bucks, and then pocketed the rest. At least something good came out of this, he told himself.

Because I’m never going to get another appointment with this guy, he admitted to himself as he monitored his reflection again in the top of the curvy spoon. Which means my movie never gets made. For the rest of my career, I’m stuck directing teen football horror flicks.

In frustration, he squeezed the spoon with the top of his thumb and, to his surprise, the curvy popped off and clanked as it landed on his plate.

You’d think, Darren thought, that a place this fancy could invest in some solid silverware.

__________________


“Feet off the glass!” Rahsaan scolded.

“Sure thing,” said Jeff, crossing his legs and leaving them exactly where they were, which was directly on top of a stylish see-through coffee table directly in front of Rahsaan’s flat screen television.

They’d been there for over two hours, hashing and rehashing over everything they’d been through to each other and to Rahsaan, who seemed to be taking it all in stride, despite the raised voices and the uneasy tension between the newly christened Captain and Sheila Glutz/Lisa Meyer. Lisa had managed to find some sweats in Rahsaan’s closet and change out of her torn formalwear, but Jeff insisted in staying in his superhero duds, which amused Rahsaan and annoyed Lisa to no end.

She was pacing in a corner. “His parents could be home any minute,” she said, an edge of panic creeping into her voice. “Are you sure coming here was a good idea?”

“If you don’t like it, go home,” Jeff said, exasperated.

“Not while Vikki’s in trouble,” Lisa said.

“Yeah,” Jeff snorted, “like you’re really helping out here.”

“You go home, then,” Lisa snapped.

“Oh, great,” Jeff said sarcastically. “Mom and Dad will be so glad to fix up the spare terrorist bedroom for me.”

What made the whole thing worse was the fact that were only three blocks away from where Lisa lived, and only four houses down the street from Jeff’s home. But for all the trouble they were in, Jeff thought, they might as well have been on the dark side of the moon.

“They didn’t recognize you,” Lisa said.

“Of course they recognized me!” Jeff said. “Look at that!” He gestured toward the TV screen, not wanting to watch the footage again.

“It’s all blurry,” Rahsaan said, squinting his eyes at the screen. “Looks like some kind of eel.” He wandered off into the kitchen, mumbling something about anemones with pasty white thighs.

With their host out of earshot, Lisa asked “You’re sure Rahsaan can be trusted?”

“I don’t know,” Jeff said, craning his head toward the kitchen. “Rahsaan!” he yelled.

“What?”

“Can you be trusted?”

Lisa scowled.

“Are your feet still on the coffee table?” he yelled back.

“Perhaps,” answered Jeff.

“Then no.”

Lisa looked like she wanted to break something.

Jeff laughed. “Rahsaan is family,” he said simply. He then nervously licked his hands to get rid of the leftover potato chip grease and salt.

“You really are a pig, aren’t you?” Lisa said.

“That’s me, isn’t it?” Jeff said. Lisa nodded, but Jeff was ignoring her and referencing the television. They were still rerunning the amateur video of the pick-up truck incident – over and over and over. It was the only footage anyone had been able to capture of the moment. It was pretty raw, though – Jeff thought that it was unmistakably him, despite the fact that his face was covered and the whole thing was out of focus. The pretty blonde announcer mentioned wild stories of giants and other beasts and UFOs and all kinds of nonsense, but the gawky kid in tights was the only one on the scene.

“There’s no way my parents aren’t watching this,” Jeff said, feeling the pit of his stomach sinking into his shoes.

“You can’t tell it’s you!” Rahsaan shouted from the kitchen. “So go home!”

“No,” Jeff shouted back.

“Then move your stinkin’ feet, anyway!”

“Sure thing!” Jeff shouted back, his feet still firmly planted atop the table.

The TV announcer got an excited look on her face as she grabbed her earpiece. “I’m just getting confirmation from the emergency room at the UCLA Medical Center that there’s been another sighting of the alleged instigator of the attacks in Westwood. He arrived there with two young women, one a victim identified as Vikki Dennis of Topanga, California, who remains unconscious and is now receiving medical attention for a compound arm fracture. Whether the wounds were inflicted on her by the terrorist is unclear.”

“Oh, come on!” Jeff yelled at the screen, sitting up straight and leaning in anxiously. “If she were my victim, why would I take her to the hospital?”

“She can’t hear you,” Lisa said. Jeff sniffed derisively and uneasily rubbed the side of his face.

The announcer continued. “The second girl identified herself as Sheila Glutz. Probably an alias.”

“Probably?” Jeff scoffed. Then, to Lisa, “Couldn’t you do better than ‘Glutz?’

“Sorry, ‘Captain,’” Lisa shot back.

The announcer said, “Investigators have not determined if Miss Glutz is a hostage or an accomplice.”

Lisa gasped.

“And word is,” the announcer continued,” that the alleged terrorist identified himself as a captain in his organization, perhaps some kind of paramilitary group. We’ll provide more details as we receive them.”

They cut back to the pick-up truck footage. Jeff flipped off the television and tossed the remote to the other side of the couch. He took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers. “This just keeps getting better,” he said, putting his glasses back on.

“Are your feet still on the table?” Rahsaan hollered from the kitchen.

“Yes, sir!,” Jeff replied. “It bothers me more than a little,” he said, leaning toward Lisa, “that this Chakiris guy can just all of a sudden turn into King Kong and throw big rocks and cars everywhere.”

“We’ve been through this over and over again,” Lisa sighed. “I can’t explain it, anymore than you can explain why all of a sudden you’re so – so –“

“So sleek and aerodynamic?” Jeff offered.

“You’re not being helpful.”

“Yeah, well, neither are you.”

“Both of you are pathetic, if you ask me,” Rahsaan said, “and you didn’t.” He spoke as he entered the room, walking over to the coffee table and lifting Jeff’s legs off the top and dropping them unceremoniously in front of the couch. He sat next to Jeff. “Did you get a hold of Walthius?” he asked.

“He’s not answering his cell phone,” Jeff said.

Rahsaan pursed his lips. “Wouldn’t be surprised if the service is down,” he said as he flipped the TV back on. “You guys made a real mess.”

“So this is it, then?” Lisa asked. “We just sit here?”

Jeff shrugged. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Rahsaan put his own feet up on the coffee table and clicked through the channels, all of them showing the same thing.

“What about Vikki?” Lisa asked.

“What about her?” said Jeff. “The doctors will fix her up. There’s not much more we can do.”

“So we’re just going to leave her to Chakiris?”

“We’ve been through this, Lisa,” Jeff said wearily. “We show our faces at that hospital, and we both get hauled off to jail.”

“Not you,” Lisa said.

“You’re right,” Jeff answered. “I could throw the cops across the room and pound all of the doctors into the floor. That’s exactly what Vikki needs.”

“Chakiris?” Rahsaan repeated, suddenly interested. “David Chakiris is the giant guy?”

“The giant guy,” Jeff confirmed, nodding. “And Vikki’s boyfriend.”

“If he’s watching TV, he knows where she is,” Lisa said. “She can identify him. Which means that’s where he’s going next.”

“I just can’t believe it,” Rahsaan said. “David Chakiris?”

“You know him?” Lisa said.

“He’s on the crew for that movie they’re filming at THS,” Rahsaan replied, sounding excited to have found a connection to all of this. “The football slasher thing.”

“How do you know?” Lisa asked.

“His dad’s the sound guy,” Jeff said.

“Right,” Rahsaan said. “And Dad came home yesterday talking about this kid who made a big scene and got thrown off the lot.”

Lisa’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure it was Chakiris?”

“No doubt,” said Rahsaan. “He’s Leo Chakiris’ son.”

Jeff sat up. “Leo Chakiris’ son?!”

“Leo Chakiris.” Lisa looked confused, like she was trying to place a face. “Should I know who that is?”

“Probably,” Rahsaan said. “Not too many people run major movie studios, even in Southern California.”

“Is that all you know?” Jeff asked.

“Yes,” Rahsaan said. Then his eyes brightened. “No!” he corrected himself. He shot out of the room and up the stairs. In a few seconds he was back with a manila folder filled with names an numbers. He tossed it onto Jeff’s lap.

“Contact sheet, cast and crew” he explained before Jeff or Lisa could ask. Jeff rifled through the pages and found David Chakiris’ name, along with an address.

“That’s an apartment complex in Reseda,” Lisa said, looking over his shoulder. “It’s not that far from here.” She walked over to Rahsaan’s front hall closet. “You got a coat I can borrow, Rahsaan?”

“And just where are you going?” Jeff demanded.

“Where we’re going,” Lisa corrected him. “Chakiris’ apartment.”

Both Jeff and Rahsaan laughed out loud.

“You can’t be serious,” Jeff said.

“Dead serious.”

“Just what do you expect to find there?” said Rahsaan.

“I don’t know,” Lisa said angrily. “Probably nothing. Maybe everything. A clue. An answer. I have no idea. But it’s either that or sit hear and watch you eat potato chips and wait to get arrested. Or for Vikki to get killed.”

Jeff plopped his feet back up on the table and thought about that for a moment. Still looking forward, he asked “Rahsaan, help me out here. What do you think?”

Rahsaan grinned goofily. “I think it’s a great idea.”

Jeff’s eyed grew wide. “You do?”

Rahsaan nodded. “I’m for anything that gets your feet off my coffee table.”

__________________

Leo Chakiris let out a groan as he waded into the sea of clutter that was his son’s bedroom. This is the boy’s natural habitat, he thought ruefully. The whole apartment was like this. Clothes and food wrappers were scattered everywhere, and Leo winced as he pried a half-eaten candy bar off of a grimy pillowcase.

What a slob. Must be his mother’s influence.

With that, he tried, on a whim, to remember David’s mother, but he had a hard time calling the image to mind. Multiple marriages were not uncommon in Hollywood, but Leo had had considerably more than most, and it was hard to keep all the women in his life from mixing together into one expensive nightmare. He did his best to avoid thinking about any of his ex-wives, especially the ones who were still alive.

After all, that’s what accountants were for.

He made his way out to the front room and cleared a spot on the dingy couch in the far corner. He picked up an old copy of Rolling Stone and thumbed through the pages, unable to concentrate on the words or even focus on the pictures.

That little snot ought to be here by now, Leo thought. Leo Chakiris was not a man accustomed to being kept waiting.

After what seemed like forever, the door opened, and Leo tossed the magazine aside.

“Hey, big guy!” said the source of all Leo’s current troubles, in what seemed to Leo to be an unnaturally cheery voice, given the present circumstances.

“Don’t ‘big guy’ me, kid,” Leo snapped. “I’m not big on social calls. So cut the small talk. I’m old enough to resent anyone foolish enough to waste any of the time I have left.”

The “kid’s” forced smile vanished. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?” he answered scornfully. “You can’t even muster up any sympathy for anyone else. Not even your own son.”

Leo chuckled mirthlessly, sat down again, and pulled a cigar out of his suit coat. “I got a lot of sons, kid,” he said, lighting his cigar and putting his feet up on what he assumed was, underneath the T-shirts and newspapers, something like a coffee table.

__________________

She smells good.

Jeff was befuddled by such close proximity to a girl he had, just a few hours ago, thought about stringing up by her thumbs. In order to be able to communicate during the flight to David Chakiris’ apartment, Lisa had suggested that they rethink their travel arrangements. Instead of mounting his back, Lisa asked Jeff to carry her the way he’d carried Vikki, so her mouth would be close enough to his ear to be able to speak without being drowned out by the wind.

The forced intimacy of the moment left Jeff feeling somewhat awkward, because, prior to lift-off, he hadn’t particularly liked Lisa Meyer much. And now he discovered that, while still disliking her in general, he now specifically liked the way she smelled.

So she smells good, he thought. So what?

Why should that be a big deal? Or even a surprise? Forced intimacy was still intimacy all the same, and boys who get close to girls end up thinking about things whether they want to or not. Jeff concluded this was just a byproduct of biology.

As if Jeff and Lisa would ever work as a couple. No way. She’s pushy and obnoxious. She’s a cheerleader and I’m a band geek. And to top it off, I’m still about a foot and a half taller than she is. Jeff pondered the insanity of the two of them walking together, holding hands, boyfriend and girlfriend, looking to all the world like a giraffe kissing a penguin.

Jeff wondered if penguins ever smelled this good.

___________________


Lisa was transfixed by the view from above the clouds.

She could see all the lights Los Angeles sprawling out to the ocean, where everything abruptly ended. The stillness and power of the endless dark water was starkly beautiful, especially in contrast to the busy splendor of the city lights. It was a view that Lisa had seen when she’d traveled by plane, looking out a tiny plastic window and breathing stale, recycled airline air. Seeing it this way was much more vibrant and immediate.

In the middle of the turmoil that threatened her life and the lives of her friends, Lisa allowed herself just enough time to bask in the magic of the moment.

It’s almost perfect, she thought.

If only Jeff’s breath didn’t smell like barbecued potato chips.