Shamus In The Green Room by Susan Kandel Read Free Book Online Page A

Frances
    and heading into the kitchen.
    Just then the key turned in the lock of the front door.
    “Annie!” screamed Alexander, careening into her out-
    stretched arms.
    “Hi, there,” she said. “How’s my sweetheart?”
    “I have something to show you,” I said in a singsong voice.
    “Mom, what’s that on your jeans?”
    I looked down. “I don’t see anything. Have a look at this.”
    I handed her the scrapbook.
    “No, on the back. Gross.”
    I twisted around to see. It was something mushy and black-
    ish. I looked at Alexander.
    “Icky banana. Mommy never uses icky bananas.”
    “I can’t believe you found this thing. Look at how cheesy it
    is. Say sorry, Alexander,” Annie instructed.
    “Sorry, ’Xander.”
    “Not to worry, baby,” I said. “Use a napkin next time.”
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    “Okay, Grandma.”
    Annie looked at me and I looked at Annie.
    “What?” asked Alexander.
    He was so serious, just like his father. I bent down to stroke
    his hair. It was as soft and slippery as silk.
    “Turns out Grandma likes Mondays,” I said, “that’s what.”
    CHAPTER
    SEVEN
    Tuesday morning and Rafe and I were back at it again, but
    I’d put my foot down when, by way of greeting, he pulled
    the mini-microphone out of the pocket of his baggy cargo
    shorts.
    “To be perfectly honest,” I said as we sped off in his freshly
    washed car, “I feel uncomfortable with that thing hanging
    around my neck.”
    “Not to be rude,” he started—“and by the way, which way
    are we headed?” He took a bite of out an Egg McMuffin. “You
    want a bite? I don’t usually eat this shit, but whatever.”
    “No, thank you.” I’d had my own nourishing breakfast of
    stale graham crackers and coffee. My half-and-half had gone
    sour, so I’d created a mixture of whipping cream and nonfat
    milk, which should have amounted to the same thing but
    didn’t. “We’re heading east.”
    54
    He took a left on Melrose, then stuffed the rest of his
    breakfast back into the cheery McDonald’s bag and shoved it
    onto the backseat. “Like I was saying, I don’t want to be rude,
    but this is a job and the mike is one of the job requirements.”
    “C’mon, Rafe. You know perfectly well you’re never going
    to listen to these tapes.”
    “Oh, yes, I am. We have a whole closet devoted to audiovi-
    sual equipment. In Will’s office.”
    “You think you’re going to listen to them, I believe you.
    That way you can tune me out when you feel like it.”
    “Whoa. I didn’t know this was about you.”
    “It isn’t,” I said, reddening.
    “And for the record,” he said, just missing the green light at
    Fairfax, “I’m listening to every word you’re saying. I’m listen-
    ing to the words in between the words. I’m listening to you
    breathing.”
    “That isn’t necessary.”
    The light changed and he shifted back into gear. “It’s not
    like I can help it. How far are we going?”
    “Down to Paramount Studios.”
    “Cool. Look, Cece,” he said, fiddling with the stereo, “I’m
    an actor. We take cues. To take a cue you’ve got to be listening
    and you’ve got to be watching. You’ve got to feel the other per-
    son’s rhythms. It isn’t personal, really. So just do your job,
    okay?” He settled on a rap station and cranked the volume so
    high the car started to shake.
    I have always been a bad employee. I believe in punctuality
    and hard work, but deferring to one’s superior, well, that part
    has always stuck in my craw. Which is why writing has been
    my salvation. Just me and my Bondi-blue iMac in my con-
    verted garage office with the Lucite desk and apple-green walls
    55
    and floors. I should never have accepted this gig. But I did ac-
    cept it, and now I had to suck it up.
    “I’ve reconsidered. I would be delighted to wear the mike.”
    I had to shout over the music. “If you would be so kind as to
    hand it over.”
    “Cool.” He tried not to look too satisfied, but he could’ve
    tried harder.
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