When he leaves, having unboxed, plugged in, and set up the computer itself, then installed monitoring software so that everything that’s done on it is recorded and reports are emailed to both Kim and me, Ivy lets out one of her patented zombie moans.
“Now the poodle is undead,” I say. “That can’t be good.”
“It’s notfair,” she says half-heartedly, compared to her previous attempts.
“Actually, I’m pretty sure this is the definition of fair. We told you to stop contacting Christopher. You continued to contact Christopher. Now we have a solution that allows us to make sure you don’t contact Christopher while still doing your homework. Should we go over the rules one more time?”
“Why even ask? You’re going to repeat them to me anyway.”
“Good point. If you contact Christopher in any way, what happens?”
She scrunches down further. “You find out and take my computer away.”
“If you disable the monitoring software or for any reason your session is not recorded, what will happen?”
Ivy deteriorates into a zombie poodle robot. “You.Take.The. Computer. Away.”
“Right,” I say. “And if you do any other unspecified things that we have not had the foresight to forbid you to do but which you reasonably could have foreseen that we would not have been okay with had we been asked ahead of time?”
“Ughhhhhh. My life is over.”The zombie poodle robot melts into such a puddle that she half flows off the couch and ends up contorted in a position that cannot be comfortable, but which Ivy maintains out of stubbornness.
“Great,” I say. “Good luck with that homework.”
Ivy makes a noise that sounds like she might actually be dying, but I don’t turn around. I’m pretty sure if she’d suddenly developed appendicitis or choked on anything other than her own sense of ennui, she’d have the sense to come out of there and make herself known before she died. I have to admit, I felt about as miserable earlier when I was being interviewed over the phone by that British reporter. She tried in about a dozen different ways to get me to admit that there was a deeper reason I called Kim my wife beyond my messed-up psychology. I tried not to sound like a zombie poodle robot as I explained over and over that there wasn’t, but I’m not sure I entirely succeeded.
Outside my trailer, I find Kelsey leaning up against the side, her head cocked at a flirtatious angle, actually twirling her hair around her finger while she holds up the gift card in Aaron’s direction.
“So,” she says. “What do you say? Let’s get you out of those pants.”
I try not to laugh. I like to think I was more subtle than that when Kim and I were first working together, but then I remember the complete lack of surprise from any of the cast or crew when it became obvious we were sneaking out of each other’s trailers every morning and making out behind the set pieces between takes. I’m pretty sure there were a few clues beyond our magnetic on-screen chemistry.
“If it gets me pants that don’t smell like dog piss, I’m in,” Aaron says.
Kelsey falters and they both look over at me, like they’ve just realized I’m standing there.
“Oh, hey,” Aaron says. “Thanks, Mr. Pless.”
“Call me Blake,” I say. “And I’ll pass your thanks on to Kim.”
“Yeah, thank you,” Aaron says again, and Kelsey gives me an excited grin behind Aaron’s back.
I have no idea if Aaron is reciprocating her interest, but I’m not sure Iwouldknow, as I’ve never heard the kid say anything more than is absolutely necessary for his job. I’m not sure if he’s just quiet in general or if he’s nervous around me.
It used to drive me crazy the way the staff would treat me like I deserved some kind of reverence just because they’d seen me in movies. Now I’m so used to it that it’s faded to a kind of background noise. But it still bothers me that I can’t make real friends with the people I work with like I used to.There’s always this distance, this sense that everyone is so busy freaking out that they’re friends withBlake Plessthat they forget I’m just a normal person.
In the early years, it was Kim who kept me from going completely insane from the dissonance and isolation. After that, I think maybe I did lose it for a while.
I take a deep breath and try to figure out how I’m going to fix what I said to Kim. I get why she’s mad at me, but I didn’t mean to imply that she’s not capable of helping people. I just worry that she’s going to get hurt, getting invested in a kid like that who, from what I’ve observed so far, is way more interested in getting wasted and enjoying his fame than in taking serious career advice.
Then again, I was that kid, once. Not so much the fameseeking, partying type, but definitely the guy who fell into acting and didn’t have a single clue what he was doing. I walk back toward the area where they’re filming, hoping to catch Kim and apologize.
I may not think it’s smart of her to try to save every stupid kid she works with, but I suppose I shouldn’t fault her for the impulse.
It’s the only reason she ever gave me the time of day.
Twenty-four
Kim
