Created By by Richard Matheson Read Free Book Online

look.
    “Somebody told me about an opening …”
    “Opening?”
    “A part.” His voice was low. Dominant. “Name’s Corea. Jake.”
    “How did you get in here?” Alan didn’t like this at all.
    “Snuck onto the lot. Fucked with some old guard’s head. Called your secretary, got her out of the office with some bullshit.”
    Alan was about to throw him out. But something in the man’s face stopped him. He looked as if he’d just murdered a family of eight, then fixed himself a sandwich, ignoring the mutilated bodies. He looked unstable. Dangerous. Alan couldn’t take his eyes off him.
    “Do you have an agent? Are you an actor?”
    The man made a sour face. “Fuck agents. I’m what’s gonna sell tickets.”
    They locked eyes. There was something frightening about him. Something not right.
    “What kind of experience have you had?”
    He grinned. “Whattya need?”
    Alan laughed a little. Corea froze an uncomprehending stare. It was like, “What the fuck is so funny, asshole?” Afternoon shadows were shifting through the shutters and Alan could see, all at once, the man’s terrible skin. Pocked. Uneven. He wondered if it were a childhood disease? Acid thrown by a lover. He couldn’t be sure. But it added to the septic menace.
    “So you want ratings—or whatever the fuck it is you guys want?”
    Alan nodded. That’s what he wanted.
    “Then that’s what you’re looking at. Ratings.” Again, that arrogant, fuck-you hardness. That contemptuous, pained anger at an Evian pussy.
    Alan just watched him.
    “So you are an actor? You’ve worked in things?”
    “Wherever I was, I knew my lines.”
    Alan nodded. Ooookay.…
    “You’re a pretty unfriendly guy. Anybody ever tell you that?”
    “Everybody,” said Corea. “And you’re a charming phony. Anybody ever tell you that?” A torturer’s smile.
    “You don’t believe in flattering a potential employer.”
    “Planning on employing me?”
    “Who knows,” answered Alan, wondering if this guy could deliver anything a coach could sculpt into decent work.
    “Then you’re a stupider fuck than I already thought.” He got up. “I’ll be watching for the cancellation.”
    Alan stared after him, not believing this. His secretary, Lauren, buzzed him as Corea slammed the door. “Geez, who was that? You tell him he couldn’t act or something? He stormed out of here ready to kill somebody.”
    “How’d you know he was an actor?”
    “I just assumed. The guy has presence.”
    Alan told her he wanted to talk. She came in, looked at the burned photograph of Tech. Made a face, ran a palm edge on the desktop to sweep blackened fragments.
    “What do you think?”
    “That guy? Sexy. Reminds me of like Oliver Reed in a really bad mood.”
    “Oliver Reed is always in a bad mood.”
    “He’s incredible. Can he act?”
    “Don’t know. Didn’t read him.”
    “What were you doing in here?”
    Alan didn’t answer. Still shaken by the odd behavior. Lauren came behind, massaged his shoulders. “You like him, don’t you?”
    Alan said he didn’t.
    “You like him.”
    “No. He’s not what I want.”
    She nodded; unconvinced.
    Alan thought more and called to her as she walked to the door. “Call the gate. See if you can catch him before he splits. Try and get a phone number on the guy.”
    She nodded, closed the door. Alan didn’t feel good. His head ached. And Corea gave him the creeps.
    A “charming phony.”
    Fuck
him.

back story
    T o get to Palm Springs from L.A., you stroked your armpits with surfboard wax, poured your car its favorite beverage, and tried to go into a trance for a couple hours. The drive during July was a bad, sticky drag that made people want to punch little kids in the mouth just because they asked for an ice cream.
    The freeway went through weird, spectral places like Cucamonga or Azusa and smog wiped grimy hands over everything, making the trip like a ride through a muffler. For geeks into bug organs on glass, it was