Fade to Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

chapter Sixteen

Ryan
~

I was wasted. That much I was sure of. That was about all I was sure of. Sixteen straight hours of filming and a bottle of fine whiskey promised a good night’s sleep. Sheldon was on the sofa still playing guitar with Nathan. I loved my best friend, but I also wished he’d go home every now and then.

Of course, home was his posh London flat with his wife, Beatrice, and three little daughters, Sophia, Rakhel, and Libby. Now that I thought about it, time at my place might be the only peace he got.

Sheldon and his wife had more money than anyone I knew, yet he lived like a bum when he was with me. One of the things I loved about my friend was that you would think him normal, or close to it.

Honestly though, Beatrice was related to royals, and hers was one of the oldest families in England. Sheldon was one-third heir to a shipping company. Mix the two, and you had wealth beyond measure. I knew this, but most of the world thought of Sheldon only as my sidekick.

He was that as well, but the guy was smart, funny, and one hell of a musician. Most nights I loved him, just not so much tonight. I could hear the high pitch of his laughter, no matter how loud I turned up my music. I jammed a finger at the iPod to shuffle but still heard the pair of them.

Sheldon and I spent most of our youth roaming the street of streets of West Hollywood trying to make money with acting to support our blues “band” which was me on the guitar or piano and Sheldon on bass.  After meeting by chance at the same commercial auditioning, Sheldon and I have rarely apart.

On a wild hair one night I left my hometown of Elko Nevada and rode in the back of a pickup with four other teenagers to Hollywood, simply because I was bored.

The girl I was with at the time was sixteen, and at fourteen, I could not say no when she asked if I’d go while she tried out for a small role in a TV movie. While waiting on her a receptionist asked if I had ever acted and would I be interested?

Twenty minutes later, I walked out with two hundred and fifty dollars and Sheldon as my new costar and best friend.

I was born Robert Thomas Pierce, but legally changed that to Ryan Knox as soon as an agent told me it was a much cooler. I am a Ryan and try daily to forget any other existence before. After that first commercial, I never looked back to the life of poverty in Elko.

The broken life of a little sister killed by hit and run as she followed me across the street. The tragedy caused my mother to abandon me and my father. I spent several years being blamed for my sister’s death and cannot recall a life before I was a fault. My father spent day and night sipping beer from the moment my mother left without warning so when I was invited to Hollywood, I jumped at the chance to escape.

I didn’t count on the possibility that I would act beyond a hair commercial, except to fund our band. I found myself starring in a movie that next year and the band took a backseat to the sudden demand of film making.

Sheldon was an incredible musician and lived the rebellious opposite his parents intended. Tattooed and grungy with all-night jam sessions is what he preferred to years at Oxford.

That’s been several years ago and my music abilities are no longer a factor as my film career has taken over my life. I’m passed the point of ever being able to do anything else. Not that I don’t like acting, it just wasn’t what I set out to do and now I don’t feel I can do anything else.

Nathan laughed bringing me sharply out of the daze like sleep I was about to enter. I rolled over pushing my face into the pillow. Why did I not just stay at hotel while they were both in town? I’d met Nathan Mitchell a couple of years before on location in Nashville. He was visiting the set with Sheldon, and we became instant friends. Nathan was an extraordinary musician. He recorded a couple of pieces for the film, then came and went like the seasons.

Sheldon acted in small roles, but only because he liked it that way. He said acting took too much of his time, and he could not “invest” in the demanding roles that flooded his unanswered inbox. He drove his agent crazy.

I was envious of Sheldon’s talents. I had to work many years to achieve the kind of fame that came so easily to my friend. Right now, he was using his God-given talents with Nathan’s God-given talents. The combination was amazing. They would be sleeping, then they’d head off to some venue singing the blues tomorrow, and I’d board a plan to LA in the morning.

I didn’t know how I got in this position, and certainly couldn’t find my way back. Would I if I could? An accidental actor just goofing off to pay for my band? Now I was in too deep to do anything else.

Finally, somewhere between the Stones and Elvis, I slept hard. At five in the morning, Viola was shaking me awake.

“Hurry, man! Get your ass up!”

I slowly opened a heavy eye. She was throwing clothes in a bag, grabbing this or that off shelves, not paying any attention to the condition of the garments. I pulled myself up knowing Viola would have no mercy on me.

“At least I don’t have to dress,” I said, trying to make her happy about one thing. I failed.

She waved her hand back and forth.

“Jesus Christ, it smells like you’ve been eating a hippopotamus ass all night. Brush your teeth before you kill somebody!”

That shut me up, and put me in a foul mood. I grudgingly brushed my teeth, threw a hat on my head, and headed for the door, Viola fussing all the while. I glimpsed Nathan and Sheldon passed out on my couches. I wanted to be one of them, just for a day.

“Okay, put this on,” Viola demanded.

I put on the jacket she tossed me, and followed my five-two-in-three-inch heels, black-haired, tatted-up assistant into the elevator.

“Tell me again why you live in this shit hole?” Viola asked, holding the rail as we went down four floors in the wobbly elevator.

“Because it’s cheap and private,” I said, from the depths of my bad mood.

“Here.” She handed me four Motrin and water. “You look like you were beat with an ugly stick. Roger will have your ass if you’re late again.”

I swallowed the pills as the elevator opened. We got in a car, and headed to the airport.

“Molly is already there, waiting”

I snorted, “Good for her.”

Viola ignored me.

“Here’s your schedule, and tell me what you want for breakfast.”

I glanced at the paper, and folded it down to a two-inch square, then shoved it in my pocket.

“Whatever. I’m not hungry,” was my reply.

It seemed all I did was fly from state to state, and eat—other than acting in major motion pictures, that is. I had yet to get a lead role. I was always attached to some other actor, and I was sick of it. These swooning teenage dramas. I wanted to do something besides make the studios richer. At twenty two I was more than ready to do a lead mob style film, but was told repeatedly I was too pretty, or too baby faced.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Viola did not appreciate my lack of interest in her goings-on. I looked at her squarely.

“Tell me again, why do you work for me?” I asked her this at least once a month.

“I don’t work for you, and you couldn’t afford me if I did,” she said, with that ice-covered tongue.

In spite of how annoying she was, I couldn’t do anything without Viola. Twenty minutes later, I scrambled to get out of the car. I turned to look at her.

“You’re not coming?” I asked, disappointed.

She smiled sweetly, acid nearly visible on her lips.

“No, sweetheart. I will fly in tonight. I have to work a real job and can’t babysit you every day.” Then shut the car door in my face.

God, I loved her. Not in any way sexual, but she was sharp, and the best “handler” there was. She worked for Roger, and was assigned to me. Roger was my manager—Roger Mitchell, a second cousin to Nathan, an Italian-American whose grandfather was from the old country, and who had sailed to the States many years ago. I heard that often, usually after at least three glasses of the finest Scotch.

His history was important to him that was for certain, although if you asked about his parents, he’d go to great lengths to change the subject. Those of us in his circle, however, were aware of the mob-rich genes that he came from. Combine that with Hollywood roots, a showgirl mother, and you got the rich personality of Roger.

He was raised in California, by an uncle in the business. Although he had many reasons not to be, the guy was loving and legit to the nth degree.

I wouldn’t make it without Roger; of this I was perfectly aware. If I needed anything at all, he was a phone call away. I wasn’t sure why he took pity on me. I was just another nobody, looking to make fast money to buy my band their eats and booze as we traveled. At least that was the initial plan.

I was content for now with my role in life. I hoped to write, and maybe direct, someday, but for now it was another stop, another set, another rehearsal. I made it through security without being recognized. When I climbed aboard the plane, I saw Molly sitting with her legs crossed chewing gum while flipping through a magazine.

Roger managed us both, but Molly was his pride and joy. He and his ex-wife adopted Molly when she was little, but Molly did not use the Mitchell last name opting to use her grandmother’s maiden name of Rowland. I flopped down in my seat in front of her.

“It’s way too early. Wait till we are four states away to start talking,” I told her.

Molly just blew a huge pink bubble and flipped the page. This was our second and last movie together. That much we agreed on. Though I loved her as one of my closest friends, I had to try and find my own identity. The tabloids loved us and made up ridiculous stories about us. A little known fact was Molly was gay, and only her dad, her occasional female lovers, and I knew that. The only reason she did not make this public was that she refused to be a lesbian poster child.

I tried to sleep on the plane but found it impossible. I drank coffee and read Molly’s magazines.

Molly moved to the seat beside me.

“Three months, then you’re off to Louisiana for your big break,” she said, placing her arms around mine, and laid her head on my shoulder.

“No contract yet,” I said, not wanting to get my hopes up. I looked out the window for something to do. I was nervous I would not get the part. They liked me, but so had many others who had passed on me.

“You will,” she teased.

I pulled my face back to look at her.

“You know something I don’t?” I asked.

“Well, I heard Viola and Dad saying some paperwork was coming FedEx today, and I heard Viola would be presenting it to you tonight.”

I held my breath. This part would open many doors for me. My fragile heart couldn’t take the rejection if it fell through. I couldn’t back out of acting now. I was in too deep, but I’d go crazy if I kept filming these sappy dramas forever. This was something Roger and I both were well aware of and were trying desperately to change.

After we landed, we rode to the set in our waiting limo. A few paps were around, but after a few shots, they left us alone, waiting for someone more famous. Molly and I headed for makeup, and soon were on set. We filmed for seventeen hours and finally got to the house around midnight.

The next day we would do it all over again, but for now I chain-smoked, and snorted coke with Molly until I heard from Viola.

Even the coke didn’t take the nervous edge off. I was a wreck. What if this didn’t work? What if I was stuck in this position forever? I’d be some loser actor on a stage in Texas, working for my dinner. Not that the idea was not somewhat appealing, but I highly doubt I would be accepted as a musician now that I’ve been acting. The public seem to find actors amusing when both careers are attempted.

It was just the images of my dad that crept into mind at the thoughts of failure, his skin yellow from liver damage, from years and years of alcohol. I touched the tips of my fingers and imagined the calluses he had in the same spots from playing guitar.

I refused to think I was anything like my father. He spent to majority of his time in a recliner smoking and sipping beer day and night. There’s no life there and when he did decide to speak to me it was mostly about how my mother left because I killed me sister. I had to shake the thoughts from my head before they carried me down low.

It was three in the morning before Viola got to the house, the one Roger allowed us to use when we were on the West Coast. He purchased this specifically for Molly, for safety reasons, he told her. Molly tried to refuse, but often failed at not accepting Roger’s gifts. She wanted a name for herself. Most likely she would always be known as the Mitchell heir.

Viola lit a cigarette. She thumbed bright red, talon-like nails through a file. Blowing smoke out of the side of her mouth, she placed papers in front of me.

“It’s yours for the taking. Just don’t screw it up,” she said, without preamble or an ounce of humor.

My heart hammered in my ribs. I felt Molly rub my shoulders.

“Ah, Ryan, this is excellent!”

I thumbed through the contract. The details were unimportant. I could see the important things and lawyers had combed through details such as what I would make. This would be the pivotal point in my career.