Part 20 (1/2)

”Enough of what?” I said.

”The bulls.h.i.+t, I guess. Bryce was sure right about him.”

”About what? What bulls.h.i.+t? When did all this happen?” But I already knew part of the answer. I'd seen some of it myself.

”Oh, G.o.d, where to start?” the guy said. ”I guess it's been going on since the beginning. I don't even know the whole story - I was just the casting director. Look, I don't want to tell you what to do, but you need to get the h.e.l.l out. Brander's a crazy old man.”

The black hole in my stomach? Somehow it was sucking my whole body in, so fast I didn't even feel the pain.

”Sorry to lay this on you all of a sudden,” the casting director was saying, even as concern washed down his face. He looked at Kevin. ”Is he going to be okay?”

”Yeah,” Kevin said. ”He's fine. Thanks for telling us. Nice to meet you.”

I guess I'd suddenly gone sort of catatonic, but I saw the casting director walking away, giving me another concerned glance or two, and I felt Kevin pulling me down the street, toward something, I don't know what. What had we been doing? What city were we in again?

”Russel? Talk to me,” I heard Kevin say to me, once we were underground, in the subway station, waiting for the red line to take us back to our apartment in Hollywood. ”Tell me you're okay.”

Finally, I managed to speak. ”I need to call Mr. Brander.” I fumbled for my phone. ”I need to find out what's happening.”

”Russel, maybe-”

”d.a.m.n it!” This far underground, there wasn't any reception.

I turned for the exit, but Kevin stopped me. ”Come on, let's wait till we get home.” I didn't want to wait, but the train was arriving, and somehow Kevin pulled me onto it.

I didn't say anything the whole ride back, just let the train jerk and jostle me.

When we were up out of the subway station again, Kevin said, ”You can call him now.”

”No,” I said softly, evenly. ”I'm going over there. I need to talk to him in person.”

”Russel, I'm sorry. I tried to tell you.”

I whipped back at him. ”Really? Now?”

”I just meant-”

”I know what you meant! You were right all along, and I was an idiot.”

”No, I-”

I started up the hill to our apartment.

”Russel!” Kevin called after me, but I ignored him. I was already running for our car.

I drove over to Mr. Brander's house. It was a Sat.u.r.day, so the traffic on Sunset Boulevard wasn't actually that heavy, but I had somewhere to be, somewhere I needed to get to fast, and I couldn't believe how pokey everyone else was being.

An Infiniti hybrid stopped at an intersection right in front of me, even though it totally could've made the yellow light - and then I could've made the light after him.

”Oh, please,” I muttered.

A black Tesla tried to pull out from a parking spot right in front of me, expecting me to stop for it.

I laid on the horn.

A Mazda convertible slowed to let a pa.s.senger out, but they hadn't even pulled over to the curb.

”Get out of the f.u.c.king street!” I yelled.

It wasn't until I was almost to Mr. Brander's house that I realized what I was doing - that I'd become an a.s.shole driver just like everyone else in Los Angeles. When had that happened? I hadn't even noticed it.

I parked the car on the street, but I wasn't about to wait for anyone to buzz me in. I walked past the intercom right up to the gate itself. I jostled it some, but it didn't open, so I climbed over it and jumped down to the other side.

I walked straight to the front door, and I was on the verge of barging my way in. I had left my car behind, but I still had road rage.

The door opened before I could touch it.

Lewis peered out at me from the darkness, guarded, wary.

”What the h.e.l.l is going on?” I said.

”You'll have to talk to Mr. Brander,” he said. But to his credit, he opened the door wider and sort of nodded me toward the office.

I lowered my voice. I was still angry, but not necessarily at Lewis.

”Please,” I said. ”Just tell me what's going on.”

I was standing there in the dark of that foyer, in that house made of wood and dust. My eyes still hadn't adjusted, but I could make out the whites of Lewis' eyes. They locked onto me.

”Russel, I'm really sorry,” he said. ”I wanted to tell you the truth at the very start. That first day when I overheard what you said about interracial casting? And not just that. You didn't deserve this. No one does. But, well, Mr. Brander pays me, so it didn't feel right. Plus, I'm a screenwriter too, and I really need this job.”

Lewis was trying to make it as a screenwriter? Somehow this figured. I thought back to the night of the dinner party, when I'd thought Lewis had been trying to tell me he and Mr. Brander were a couple. That wasn't it, I realized. What had he wanted to say? What exactly was he trying to tell me now?

”He's done this before, hasn't he?” I said to Lewis, suddenly understanding. ”Mr. Brander brings in a writer, tells him he's going to produce a movie based on his screenplay, gets them all excited. But it doesn't ever happen.”

I don't know how I knew this, that this wasn't the first time Mr. Brander had done this. But I knew in my bones he had.

”How many times?” I asked.

Lewis hesitated. My eyes had adjusted at last, and I could see him clearly now.

”Three times before,” he said. ”Maybe more before I got here.”

It wasn't ever real, I thought. It had always seemed too good to be true, because it was.

”So he just pretends to set up movie deals?” I said, angry again. ”Why? Because he's old and doesn't want to be alone? He lures people out here with promises of fame and fortune? It makes him feel like he's still a player, like he's important?”

”I suppose so,” Lewis said.