Chapter 2

"So who are you really?" asked RJ.

"You'd think I'd choose a better name than Barry Jones," I said.

"Whoever you are you're not Barry Jones."

We'd spent the evening getting very drunk. At least I did and Becky, foolishly matching RJ drink for drink at Harry's. RJ sure could drink. Both he and Becky loved Harry's. RJ called the "girls," i.e. actresses playing the villains to come join us. When they arrived every male in the bar followed them to our booth with their eyes.

The redhead especially lured stares. Stacked and statuesque, she swung her hips loudly. Her glances at me told me not to bother.

The Japanese girl, slim hips and pert breasts larger than expected seemed friendlier, so I talked her up while still coherent. RJ watched my exchange amused, shaking his head.

All four girls ended up chatting with the older men, some of the hipper rich guys on the island. I watched the redhead walking out with a guy a head shorter than her. The Indian girl and the Japanese girl left together. The African American beauty got friendly with a tall handsome white guy and started making out with him in the next booth. They stayed as late as we did, kicked out at closing.

"They're not interested in poor journeymen actors, Barry," explained RJ when it was just him and me and Becky in the booth. "They're looking for luxury."

Becky turned out to be the friendliest and most down to earth. For some reason I felt reluctant lying to her, so I steered our conversations either her way or RJ's way. RJ could talk story like nobody's business. We mostly listened to him. Sam this and John that and Steve McQueen and Bill Holden and Bob Ryan and etc. Too cool.

I did manage to probe the exquisite Becky at least verbally. "I wanted to study psychology," she told me. "I guess I came from a pretty confused home. Mother had ... well she still has these bouts of depression. Like a guy wanting to be a cop because a family member got murdered and he wants revenge, I wanted to be a therapist so I could fix my mother. Not really my mother of course, but people like her. I couldn't make her happy. I wanted to break through you know. Anyway, what made her happy ended up being me parading around, competing with other girls in beauty pageants. That led to modeling. At some point I realized I could learn psychology and do this sort of exhibitionist thing for my mom by studying acting. Modeling is acting, but kind of narcissistic. It's just you and the camera and the camera wants your essence and if you bring it out it works. Not much of a challenge, when I started acting classes and interacted with students, I hit a wall. Bad habits maybe, but I just couldn't react comfortably to a scene partner. I tried to, but that's the point. I tried. I felt at least one level removed. I seemed cold. I know that's what people say. But I still got parts and didn't even have to show my boobs or fuck the producer to get them. I guess I did good enough, but never felt like I did, you know. It wasn't fun.

"Then everything fell apart. I never knew what a knife's edge I lived on. But as terrible as it sounds, if I hadn't plummeted into hell, I never would have broken through. This film is the first film I feel good about my work.

"Part of it is Eleanor my coach. She took me in, worked with me more than anyone else. I visited her at her house. She never invited the others. We did these sense memory exercises, therapy sessions really, and one ... I broke down. I went hysterical. Eleanor freaked out. After a week in a hospital I called her to come visit. I insisted. As soon as she came, I embraced her. I thanked her.

"Somehow I knew I'd opened up. I could let another in. I could listen and react. Ever since I felt satisfied with my work. Not that I don't get moments of doubt or regret or embarrassment, but mostly I feel in the moment. It feels easy. At the same time it challenges me. It's great. It's my sanctuary. My life sucks but the work keeps me alive. Just the opposite of the way it had been."

At closing time, RJ hopped on his hog while Becky and I shared a cab. Both drunk off our asses, we leaned into each other in the back of the cab. Becky took my head in her soft narrow hands and stared into my eyes. It proved difficult. I think we both went cross eyed. Then she kissed me. It got sloppy. Numb tongues ended up everywhere inside and outside our mouths. We separated and she giggled. Taking my hand, she placed it on her breast. I discovered a perfect handful, resilient and pliable. I discovered her nipple pushing a quarter inch against my palm through her bra. I turned it and tweaked it and she moaned into my mouth. Her hand found my cock, at that point a conspicuous presence. She rubbed. I moaned. The cab stopped.

Struggling with my wallet, I took too long. She paid. We stumbled arm in arm into the lobby of the condominium. We kissed and fondled during the five flights ride. I struggled with the key as she leaned into me and giggled. RJ opened it.

A moment of sobriety made me ask RJ where to deposit the lovely lady and leave her to sleep it off. My stiff cock wanted the defenseless beauty, and being as drunk as her I could be defended for succumbing to the opportunity. My conscience made it through the deep fog of inebriation and I resisted.

"Stay," she moaned reaching out as she lay loose on her back. I removed her shoes and covered her with a blanket. One last kiss couldn't hurt. It escalated. Hands roamed and excited. But when our lips at last separated, her eyes drifted. She had the spins. "I'm going to be sick," she said.

"RJ. Bathroom!" I yelled. He opened a side door. I carried her under her arm until her face and the toilet aligned and she let loose the evening's dinner.

"Oh fuck. I'm sorry," Becky moaned quietly.

"No need to be. We've all been there," I responded while she heaved out more stomach content.

RJ handed me a damp wash cloth and a few minutes later set two large glasses and a small plate of white pills on the counter near the toilet. "Aspirin," he explained. "Come out when you've got her settled in your bed," he said with a wink.

"My bed!" I thought.

"I should go," Becky said blurry eyed sitting on the bathroom floor.

"No you shouldn't," I said.

"I have to get up early."

"No you don't." She had told me earlier as an excuse to relax and get drunk that Sid decided to wait through the weekend to get the shack back together.

"Oh yeah," she smiled crookedly at me. "Could I borrow a t-shirt? Something to sleep in?"

"Of course." I stepped out of the bathroom and found my bag and struggled to open it. Staring at my clothes, I wondered what to give her. Three inches shorter than me, any shirt of mine would barely cover her crotch. Shrugging I pulled out the biggest shirt I could find.

Returning to her, I found her struggling to remove her shirt. I helped. Beneath she sported a nearly transparent bra. I saw the shadow of her lengthy nipples and the small areola surrounding them. "Thanks," she said. "Could you undo my bra and ... um ... let me change?"

"Of course," I said. "You'll be okay getting back in bed?"

"I think I can manage," she said with a crooked smile.

"I'll be in the living room chatting with RJ. Just yell if you need me."

She nodded. Her hand held her bra against her chest.

Coffee awaited me at the small dining table. RJ sipped his. His naked chest appeared at the V of an old tattered white terrycloth robe probably stolen from some far flung fancy hotel he'd stayed at. His chest looked proud though the flesh sagged a tad and gray hairs sparsely covered it. He immediately sprung his surprise.

"How do you know I'm not who I say I am?" I asked.

"I've been a bullshitter since way before your mom got that twinkle in her eyes conceiving you. I enjoy the company of bullshitters. There's levels you know. Acting's one level, sometimes less bullshit than normal. Then there's subterfuge wherein a man hides who he is. I spot that from a mile away. I've been conned enough to have learned the signs. It's been quite some time since I've been fooled. You're skilled. You've done this before."

"I've got my SAG card," I said.

"Let me see."

"Actually I should be getting it in the mail tomorrow."

"That nails it. I know Barry Jones and you ain't him. Let me see who you are. You thought better of pulling out your wallet." RJ held his lengthy hand palm up and waved his fingers upward.

Shrugging I handed him my wallet. I'd never blown my cover so swiftly before. I only hoped he had nothing to do with the sabotage and the disappearances.

His eyes widened. He pulled out my business card. "Shit, I knew it. I talked to Chloe about my character. She told me what you told her. I noticed her hanging back when we headed to the other location. She even laughed evilly when she told me the slimeball Joe who you're playing she based on you. Cool." He handed back my wallet, keeping the card.

"I hope..."

"You can trust me Joseph Solomon."

"Who's Joseph Solomon?" asked Becky squinting in the light wearing my t-shirt and a pair of nearly transparent panties.

"Whoah pretty lady," said RJ. "I got a longer t-shirt if you'd like."

"I'm fine," said Becky.

"You sure are," said RJ. I nodded. She blushed and sat beside me.

"Any coffee left?" she asked.

"I think I can squeeze out a cup," said RJ rising and heading into the kitchen.

"Who's Joseph Solomon?" she repeated.

"I am," I said.

"So who's Barry Jones?"

"A relative of Melvin Simmons."

"So..."

"This'll help," said RJ carrying the mug of coffee in one hand and the business card in the other and placing them in front of her. "Figured anything out about the snafus?"

"I just started today, but maybe. I'm fairly certain Bern Forough has something to do with the sabotage. I saw his shoe impressions pushed into the ground beside the demolished shack and what looked like a fresh blister on his hand. Did either of you know him before the shoot?" Both actors shook their heads. "Does he seem high strung or nervous?"

"Hard to say. I mean if he's out of sorts, you could blame the disasters," said RJ.

"There's a difference between frustration and walking the razor guilt, but not knowing him might make it more difficult to see. I imagine he's a pretty confident guy. Have you noticed anyone he seems to act less confident with?"

"Marnie," said Becky, "the missing script girl. A couple times I noticed her approaching him and he looked, I don't know, like he'd rather be anywhere else than talk to her. He cringed when she approached and looked nervous, glancing around a lot when they talked."

"Why would the producer of a big production sabotage it?" asked RJ.

"Good question," I said. "Were either of you around when he got news of her disappearance?" Both shook their heads. "What about the director's allergic reaction? Anything about the food served to him before it happened."

"You know I do remember something," said Becky. "Sid went nuts at the Kraft table yelling at Bern about serving shellfish when his contract stipulated avoiding it. And Marnie brought him a plate. I didn't hear what they said when she gave it to him, but he seemed tentative about taking it and she must have assured him."

"And Roger..." began RJ.

"What about him?" I asked.

"I doubt he'd run off with Marnie. He played for the other side."

"Exclusively? How do you know?"

"Uhm ... I had a couple girls over. He refused my generous offer."

"Maybe he's monogamous," offered Becky.

"Well ... I don't think so. You two better not mention this..."

"We won't," said Becky. I nodded.

"I ... cornholed him. What can I say? I'm a sensualist. I like variety in my pleasure."

"I hope you used a rubber," said Becky.

"Of course. I'm not suicidal."

Conversation stopped for an uncomfortable moment. Images of sodomy flooded my brain, and the way Becky frowned and shook her head in a shiver, she suffered through her own imagination. Changing the subject seemed in order.

"So ... Have you acted?" she asked with concern.

"Not much," I admitted. "Some theater. Pat coached me when I had to work a case undercover. He seems to think I'll do okay."

"Joe's playing himself," said RJ with a wry smile.

"I hope not," I said.

"Me too," said Becky. "I liked your choices today. Maybe you are like your character." We all laughed. "Um ... Would you mind me hanging around with you, picking your brain." She seemed to hang eagerly on my answer.

"Are you kidding? A gorgeous, intelligent, sweet woman whose company I enjoy wants to know if I'd mind hanging out with her? I just wish Sandy were here."

"Who's Sandy," the luscious Becky asked.