From The Dead (7 page)

“Clubbing?”

“Barry gave me a to-do. He wants me to check out the
band that’s scheduled to play tonight. Soundtrack potential---a
favor to a friend.”

“Sorry, I must have forgotten.”

“No, it was a last-minute task.”

“You’re going alone?”

“Why not? It’s business.”

“Tell you what, I’ll hop in the shower and go with
you. It’ll give both of us something to do.”

“Sure … sure, of course you should come. But I doubt
the band’s impressive; Barry would have gone himself if he thought
they were viable.”

“Well, they must be decent if he told you to check
them out anyway.”

“I suppose.”

Jesse glanced at his watch. “Gimme fifteen
minutes.”

“Fine.” Jada snapped her lipstick shut.

* * *

The Acoustica pulsated within. A small, retro outfit
tucked away in Pasadena, it catered to an artsy crowd with its
plush, mock-velvet furniture. The club’s cozy atmosphere was a
well-kept secret on its block.

When they walked in that evening just past six, Jesse
felt the sound vibrations reverberate against his jaw. The
jazz-fusion band, in the midst of its first set, was a quartet. The
lead singer tackled bass guitar and vocals, and at present snaked
his way around a modern scat-rap mix.

Jada appeared more preoccupied with the décor than
with the band. She tossed a quick glance in the singer’s direction
before she settled on a stool at the bar. After she ordered
vermouth, Jada scanned the room and crossed her legs. From the
stool beside her, Jesse followed the twists and turns of the
rubbery vocals that emanated from the platform. He placed a hand on
his girlfriend’s knee and ordered a Heineken for himself. As he
listened, Jesse couldn’t understand Barry Richert’s interest in
this particular band; but then again, Barry was the one with the
track record.

“Jada?”

His voice elevated over the music, the man sported a
broad smile and dark brown hair that had begun to gray along the
edges. Whiffs of Armani cologne permeated the air. He wore casual
attire. Expensive casual attire—the kind that goes well with both
jeans and khaki pants. The kind that downplays its cost, but whose
buttons reveal how much the customer forked over for it.

Jesse turned to the stranger. So did Jada.

“Dale! What are you doing here?” She laid a hand on
Jesse’s shoulder. “Have you met Jesse?”

Dale’s mouth rounded as if he were about to say more,
then extended his hand. “I don’t think so. Dale Lugar.”

Jesse and Dale shook hands.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Jada continued.
“It’s such a tiny place.”

“I’ve been known to stop by for a drink. Never been
here on a Saturday night; figured I might as well try it out. I’ve
never seen
you
here, though.”

“Barry wanted me to check out the band for a film.
The—wait, I just had a brain fart: What’s their name?”

Before Jesse could answer, Dale chimed in. “Final
Fuse.” Another grin. Dale looked like a man who carried a perpetual
inside joke and hid it behind a cloak of intellectualism. A man
who, when caught by surprise, possessed enough self-control to
steady his response. Cool under pressure.

“Dale was a medical consultant on a film a few months
ago,” Jada said.

That explained his composure. The guy was a
doctor.

“Chiropractor?” Jesse quipped, just for the hell of
it. Doctors seemed to hate the joke. Jada shot him a look that
articulated she didn’t share the humor, either. She had a sixth
sense for money and influence, and this guy reeked of it. Jada
didn’t make enemies with such people.

Dale chuckled. “No. Plastic surgeon.”

Jada laughed and touched Dale’s arm. Jesse snorted to
himself. Typical Jada, who flirted with anyone who might prove
exciting.

“Good to see you again,” Dale said to Jada. Then he
turned to Jesse and added, “Nice to meet you.” Jesse and Dale shook
hands again before Dale sauntered off.

“He’s not really a plastic surgeon,” Jada said. “Last
time I saw him, he was in the middle of a divorce. His wife waited
till she got her plastic surgery paid for before she told him she
intended to file. He was crushed.”

Okay, maybe Jesse misjudged the guy. Different as
Jesse and Jada were, Jada had become a part of Jesse’s life, and he
couldn’t stand the idea of losing her.

An hour later, Jesse had his fill of the throbbing
music and wandered to a patio outside, where a group of smokers
congregated. When he eyed Dale, who stood alone, Jesse strolled up
to him.

Dale took another drag from his cigarette. “A doctor
who smokes,” he admitted.

“My illusions are shattered.” Jesse stared out at the
horizon as it faded amid nightfall. “What kind of medicine do you
practice?”

“Cardiology. I have an office in Sherman Oaks.”

“A
cardiologist
who smokes.”

“Yeah, you’d be surprised. My ex-wife loved to
mention the inconsistency. She was a yoga nut.”

“Sorry about your divorce. Jada mentioned it.”

“My ex got everything but the Maserati.” He
extinguished the cigarette while the final cloud seeped through his
lips. “What can I say? Shallow women suit me.”

The smoker group returned inside, which left Jesse
and Dale by themselves. Aside from the music, muted through closed
glass doors, the evening was calm. Dale flicked a lingering ash
from the railing.

“You and Jada have been together how long?”

“About ten years. We were friends back then, and it
evolved.” As he pondered his own reply, Jesse grew perplexed. “Come
to think of it, I don’t remember our first actual date.”

“And you’re a …”

“An actor.”

“Anything I might’ve seen?”

Jesse hated that question. The answer forced him to
face the reality of a typical week. “I work as an extra right now.
Projects here and there, but not a big role yet. Jada never
mentioned it?”

“I wouldn’t take it personally. She never mentioned a
relationship, that’s all.”

“I guess she wouldn’t talk about it at work.”

Dale stepped back and tilted his head to scan Jesse’s
face. “You’re not from around here,” he observed. “Born and raised,
I mean.”

Jesse sniffed. In the awkward silence, he could tell
Dale was ready to head inside.

This guy is a doctor, right?
Maybe he can
make sense of my symptoms.

“Are you familiar with other areas of medicine
besides cardiology?”

“A working knowledge. Why do you ask?”
Jesse squirmed inside; he didn’t want to go into detail. On the
other hand, he did want peace of mind in the matter, a sense that
all was okay.

“Look,” Jesse said, “this isn’t a big deal. But Jada
doesn’t know anything about it, and you might be aware of how …
reactionary she can be.”

Dale chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Jesse slid his
hand into his pocket, which must have come across to Dale as a
nervous gesture. Dale’s expression straightened. “Have you
experienced symptoms?”

“Oh … it’s nothing major, just … you know, common
things.”

“Like what?”

Why did I tell this to a stranger?
Now Jesse
felt ridiculous to have brought up the issue. “I get exhausted for
no reason at all …” He paused.

“Is that all? It could be stress. I wouldn’t worry
about it.”

“No, there’s more,” Jesse said. “Nosebleeds—they come
for no reason. And it’s hard to get them to stop.”

“It can take ten minutes sometimes.”

“Five, ten minutes. Often it’s more like a half hour,
even longer.”

“And Jada’s never noticed this?”
“Given our mixed schedules, we’re not around each other much. A
couple of evenings a week, tops. She’s seen one nosebleed
happen.”

Dale nodded. “What else?”

“If I nick myself, like my finger, it can take that
long for the bleeding to stop. Bruises in a couple of odd places,
but I could’ve bumped against something. Once, my heart started to
race, but it returned to normal after around twenty seconds—that
was scary, but again, it only happened once. That could be stress
too, right?”

“It could depend on the activity you were engaged in
at the moment.”

“I don’t remember.”

“How long have these symptoms occurred?”

“A few months. I never had a problem with them
before.”

Dale turned away. He stroked his chin and paced, back
and forth, across the patio. When he returned to Jesse, he shook
his head. “The out-of-the-blue appearance of your symptoms
intrigues me; it may or may not be a coincidence. Have you seen a
doctor about this? Just to rule out any possibilities?”

Jesse snorted, crossed his arms. “No, I haven’t.”
Impatient with himself for his concerns—and because he’d drawn
someone else into the matter—Jesse shrugged it off. “It’s nothing.
Those symptoms happen to everyone at one point or another. I’m sure
it’s stress from trying to pay the bills and jumpstart a career.
I’ve never been an addict, but I’ve fooled around with pot here and
there,” he said. “I’m tired and have finally managed to get myself
fucked up, that’s all.”

Dale’s eyes penetrated Jesse’s, a concentrated look
that seemed to search for nonverbal clues. Jesse recognized the
gesture—his father owned one himself.

“Look,” Jesse continued, “never mind. I’m heading
back inside. Don’t mention this to Jada, all right?”

“Your call.”

“Thanks for your help.”

Jesse opened the glass doors and returned inside,
where the music had started to sound like confusion.

CHAPTER 12

Jada couldn’t sit still. The whole drive home, her
foot tapped. She seemed stressed out, although the reason eluded
Jesse.

When they walked through the front door, Jada tossed
her purse and keys on the counter and made a beeline for the
bathroom, where she opened the medicine cabinet. Curious, Jesse
followed her in and caught her as she reached for the painkillers.
Several years ago, Jada had her wisdom teeth removed and got a
prescription for the ache. As it turned out, a bottle of ibuprofen
had suited her fine. But rather than discard the unused
painkillers, she saved them for special occasions—one pill to help
her mellow out when she grew nervous, which was rare. The bottle
remained half full.

Jesse knew better than to mention the pills. Maybe
she had found that evening’s jazz fusion as annoying as he had.

“Well, that was fun,” she said, her voice rigid as a
copper pipe.

Jesse turned his head and pretended not to notice as
she returned the bottle to the cabinet. “I take it you enjoyed
yourself?”

One pat to his butt, and she flipped off the light.
“Sure.”

Jada sauntered over to the sofa, where she fell into
it, kicked off her shoes, and curled her legs underneath her. It
looked like the painkiller buzz had started take effect
already.

“So what did you and Dale talk about?” she asked.

“Huh?”

She smoothed the cushion beside her. Jesse took the
hint and sat down.

“Tonight,” she replied. When Jesse failed to give an
immediate answer, she leaned closer. She peered into his eyes;
Jesse found a gentle tease in hers. She said, “I saw you on the
patio together. Did you have fun? You were out there long
enough.”

“Just shooting the breeze.”

“Did you pick up some cardiology tips from him?”

“I learned he has a Maserati.”

Tongue in cheek, she grinned. “I already knew
that.”

Jada leaned her head back as Jesse initiated
foreplay. At last, she murmured, “What do you know—I’m getting laid
tonight after all.”

Jesse stopped. “What?”

“We both thought you’d work tonight.”

“Right.” He’d forgotten about the birthday party
earlier that day.

Jada closed her eyes. “Kiss me here …”

* * *

They lay naked beneath the sheets that night. Hours
earlier, Jesse’s cloud of depression had emerged again, and once
they reached the bed, he had lost the urge to pursue intimacy
further. An argument ensued—as if the circumstance weren’t
humiliating enough for him—which left them to fall asleep
embittered and distant.

Halfway through the night, Jesse grew restless and
stirred in his sleep. Groggy, Jada grunted, then patted around the
bed with eyes shut. When she squinted at Jesse, she watched her
partner rustle beside her as he struggled through a difficult
dream. But his quiet moans and sighs didn’t indicate fright—rather,
a peculiar tenderness, a cautious concern.

“Babe …” she whispered. No response. She tapped him
to no avail.

A chill formed in the air, and Jada pulled the satin
sheet closer against her skin. Despite her attempt to return to
sleep, Jesse’s body shifts jolted her awake. At last, she reached
over and grazed his hair with feather-light strokes. Jesse calmed.
She continued for a few moments until he murmured in his sleep.

“Caitlyn …”

Jada halted in mid stroke. As she withdrew her hand,
she stared at Jesse.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She just stared at
him, the gleam in her eyes sharp as a pair of precision razors.

Caitlyn.

As she pierced him with her eyes, she lay and watched
to see what happened next. But his stirring didn’t resume. Jesse
continued to lay motionless. Soothed.

Jada’s lips compressed until they all but
disappeared. With a huff, she turned over and drew the sheet over
her head.

* * *

Jesse sensed he’d had a troubled dream the night
before but couldn’t recall the subject. Not that this was unusual;
he remembered few dreams nowadays. Had Jada stroked his hair, or
was that part of the dream too?

Jada continued to sleep. Since it was Sunday morning,
Jesse figured she’d want to sleep in. No appointments today.
Besides, he couldn’t shake the sense of tension, or at least
something off-kilter, in the atmosphere.