The Extra (14 page)

Warren felt despondent when he walked back toward the street but tried to cheer himself up by offering rational explanations for her absence.  Maybe she’d been offered that leading role she was after.  That’s why she’d never come back to
The South Side
; she didn’t need to anymore.  If that was true, he couldn’t wait to hear about it.  But then maybe there was another reason.  Maybe she was with Craddock, cruising up the coast in his convertible Maserati.  Warren winced and quickly pushed this thought away.  It was far too painful.

He was moving under the front archway when he saw her coming, arms loaded with grocery bags.  When she spotted him she paused in her tracks.  Her expression dropped.  It was only a moment and then she lowered her head and trudged forward.  “Hello, Warren,” she said as she went past him.

“Bridget!” he replied, relieved that she was alone.  “Can I give you a hand?”

“I got it, thanks,” she answered.

“I’ve been worried about you.”  Warren followed her back to her apartment.  “I thought something might have happened to you.”

“I thought the same about you the other night,” she said, stopping in front of her door.

“Yeah… I’m really sorry about that.”

“Hold these a minute.”  She handed him the bags and then took her keys out of her pocket.  Bridget opened the door and Warren followed her inside. 

“I wanted to be here,” he added, detecting a flash of anger in her eyes.

 “I guess you didn’t want to badly enough,” she said.

“Is that why you haven’t been back to the set?” he asked as he put her groceries down on the counter.

“What gave you that idea?”

“Is it true?”

“No Warren, it isn’t true.”

“So why then?”

“I was offered a part on a play in St. Louis.  I’ve decided to take it.”

Warren let this information sink in.  “What about your audition?  What if you get your call-back?”

“They called two days ago,” Bridget said flatly.  “I didn’t get the part.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know how much it meant to you.”

“Yeah, well I guess a life of stardom just wasn’t in the cards for me.  I might as well just face it.”

“It was only one audition,” he protested.  “Surely there will be others.”

Bridget didn’t answer right away.  “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“I’ve had enough, that’s all.  This wasn’t just any audition.  It was a part I really wanted.  It was a part that…that I knew I’d be so good in…” her voice trailed off.

“So you’re throwing in the towel.”

“Yes, I’m throwing in the towel.  You don’t have to rub it in.”

Warren frowned as he considered the import of her news.  “At least it had nothing to do with Craddock.”  Warren couldn’t help but let this slip.

“Why would it have anything to do with him?”

“The other night.  I saw him dropping you off.”

Bridget’s eyes opened wide in disbelief but she couldn’t help but laugh.  “Roger Craddock?  Are you serious?  You can’t actually think…”

“I know what I saw.”

“I was baby-sitting for him!  Oh, Warren, I don’t know what you must think of me if you’d suspect I was involved with a man like that.”

Warren’s face tensed, his muscles becoming rigid.  “I’m glad to see that I was wrong.”

“Very, very wrong.”

Warren felt foolish.  It was such a simple answer, though that still didn’t change the bigger picture.  Bridget was leaving.  “How much longer do you have here?” he asked.

“’Till the end of the week.”

“Were you going to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

Warren narrowed his eyes, wondering if there was somehow more to it.  How much did she really know about that night?  One way or the other, she obviously didn’t want to see him anymore.  That realization was a painful one.   “And what about your dreams?” he asked.  “Without them we’re nothing; isn’t that what you said?”

“Yeah, well don’t believe everything you hear.”  Bridget reached into one of her bags and started to pull out her groceries and arrange them on the counter.  She opened the refrigerator and put away a half carton of eggs and a quart of milk.

“You were on the set that following morning, weren’t you?” he asked her.  “You spoke to Marjorie.”

Bridget blinked.  “Maybe I did.”

“And then you went straight home.”

“Yes.”

“So you do know then.”  It wasn’t a question.  It was a statement.  Words spoken out loud, mostly to himself.  Warren sighed deeply.  Everything was clear to him.  At this point he knew he should simply walk away.  Instead he pulled out a stool and sat down.  He put an elbow on the counter and leaned his forehead against the fingers of his right hand.  It seemed there was nothing left to say, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“It hurt.  I’ll admit it,” said Bridget softly.

“I didn’t mean for things to happen that way.  I didn’t plan it.”

“You don’t owe me anything.  It’s not like we were dating.  One kiss doesn’t tie you to me.  I know that.”

 Warren raised his head to take a better look at her.  She looked so sad, standing there with her big brown eyes, that it nearly broke his heart.

“Besides,” Bridget added.  “Jessica Turnbull is a beautiful woman.”

“It wasn’t that,” he said.  “The thing is…”  He paused, unsure what to say.  “She reminded me of Ophelia.  It was like we were back together after all these years.  I can’t explain it any better than that.”

Bridget thought this over, drying one eye with the back of her hand.  She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.  “I think I understand.”

“Does that mean we can try again?  Maybe have dinner, once more before you go?”

“I think you need to work a few things out still, Warren.  It’s obvious you’re still in love with Ophelia.”

Warren nodded slowly.  He couldn’t deny it.  Not to himself or anybody else.

“You’ll never be happy until you sort out your feelings for her.  I hope you realize that.”

Warren nodded.  He knew it only too well.  Without another word, he stood up and walked out the door, afraid to look back.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Warren sat in the same dimly-lit Hollywood bar, at the same table he’d shared with Bridget a few weeks earlier.  This time he had Smiley, Slim and Duke for company.  The table itself was strewn with empty shot glasses and bottles of cheap wine.   The same middle-aged cocktail waitress stopped to pick up the empties and arrange them on her tray.  Warren wondered how long she’d been here in this bar, swallowing her pride and her dreams.  At least she had a job.  At least she could support herself.  Warren had one more day on the set and then it would all be over.  He did still have a pocketful of un-cashed vouchers.  Each one was worth his daily rate of $200 dollars.  They’d offered to pay him with a check for the full amount, but he liked it better this way.  It just seemed simpler.  Who needed banks when he could just cash a voucher anytime he needed to?  Sitting here in this dive with his friends, he didn’t want to think about any of that.  Instead he waved a hand in the air.  “One more round of shots, please!” he called out.  The waitress nodded tiredly before moving away toward the bar.

“Man, where you gettin’ all of this money?  I know you ain’t no movie star for real,” said Smiley.

“Well, they’re paying me.”

“So where’s the fancy car and the beautiful women?  Movie stars always have women!” said Duke.

“Yeah, man, where’s the bitches?” said Smiley.

“All right, Smiley, calm down,” said Warren with a slight laugh.

“Somethin’ just don’t smell right,” Smiley continued.  “If you’re some hot shot movie star, then how come you’re down here drinkin’ with us?”

“That is a good point,” Duke concurred.

“You fellows don’t think you’re worthy of my company, huh?” said Warren with an eyebrow raised.

“That ain’t what I’m sayin’!” Smiley fumed. 

“You think I should be hanging out with some beautiful women, is that it?”

“Damn straight!” said Slim.  “I know I would.”

“How about Jessica Turnbull?” Warren asked.

“Ha!  Jessica Turnbull…” Duke spat in condescension.  “In your dreams.”

“She’s probably up at her house waiting for me as we speak,” said Warren smugly.  “She can’t get enough.”

Smiley was incredulous.  He shook his head.  “You ain’t been with no Jessica Turnbull.”

“No way, no how,” Slim concurred.  “She is one fine woman.”

“Yeah, well, she couldn’t get enough of me,” said Warren.  The truth was, he could hardly look at Jessica at this point without feeling angry and betrayed.  It was a struggle on the set every day.  One more and it would all be over.  After that he could put this all behind him.  In the meantime, the waitress arrived with a tray full of whiskey shots.  As she placed the glasses one at a time on the table, Smiley ogled her with his one good eye.  The waitress glared back at him and then returned to the bar. 

Smiley picked up his shot and looked at Warren.  “So when you gonna bring this Jessica Turnbull woman down here, so’s we can all meet her?!” he said.

“You think she’d hang out with you rejects?” said Warren with a laugh.  “In a place like this?”

“If you expect us to believe your cockamamie story, then you’re gonna have to prove it,” said Duke.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you guys.  I don’t have to prove anything to anybody.”

“Come on, man, don’t you want her to meet your friends?” said Slim.

“What do you want from me?  She’s not coming down here, so just get that out of your heads.”  Warren was becoming a bit annoyed.

“So take us there,” said Slim.

“Where?  You want me to take you up to her house?” said Warren, astonished at the thought.

“Damn straight!” said Smiley.  “Why the hell not?  I’ll go!”

Warren picked his shot and gazed at the brown liquid as he spun the glass around in his fingers.  Take these guys to Jessica Turnbull’s house?  He had to admit, there was poetic justice in the idea.  With whiskey softening the edges of his reason, it sounded almost brilliant.  This could be a little payback for driving Bridget away.  After all, Warren still blamed Jessica for that sad turn of events.  It was so much easier than blaming himself.  “Ok, fine.  We’ll go see her,” Warren said.

“For real?” Duke replied.

“Hot damn!” said Slim.

“Down the hatch, men!” said Warren.

“To Jessica Turnbull!”  Smiley held up his shot.

“To Jessica Turnbull!” said the others.  They threw back their shots and slammed the glasses on the table.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Roger Craddock sat on a couch with a half-empty high ball glass in his hand and a leering expression on his inebriated face.  He gazed before him at the body of Jessica Turnbull, moving in syncopation to the tune of an old-fashioned striptease.  She wore purple lace panties and held a matching scarf between her hands, covering and then slowly uncovering her bare breasts.

“Go on!” Craddock spat.  “Let me see!”

“Not until I get a raise!” retorted Jessica.

“I’ll give you a raise!” shouted Craddock, who dropped his drink on Jessica’s white carpet and then jumped up to chase her around the house.  Jessica screamed with feigned terror and ran through the living room and into the kitchen with Craddock hot on her heels.  She led him around a center island in circles and then stopped and gaped at him from across the range.

“What’ll you do when you catch me?” she asked.

“Oh, I’ll come up with something!” he said, lunging to his left.

Jessica screamed again and then laughed as she led him out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

A taxicab pulled up to the gates of Jessica’s estate and eased to a stop.  “You’re sure this is it?” the driver asked skeptically as he looked at Warren beside him.

“Yeah, this is it,” Warren answered, pulling some bills out of his pocket.  He looked at the meter and then counted out the fare.  “Keep the change,” he said, handing over the money.  The driver eyed the other three characters in the rearview mirror as they climbed out of the back seat.  Warren opened the front passenger door and then joined his friends at the gate as the taxi pulled away.

“You sure you know this chick?” said Slim uneasily as he looked past the manicured lawns and gardens to the massive home, with clutches of palm trees on either side of a wide doorway.

 “She’s crazy about me,” answered Warren, a little unsure himself.  Whatever hesitation he felt was tempered by the alcohol flowing through his veins.  From where they stood he could see Jessica’s blue Ferrari parked with the top down at the end of the drive.

“You gonna ring the bell, or we gonna stand out here all night?” Smiley complained.

Warren pushed a call button mounted on a panel beside the gate.  He knew he was on a surveillance camera.  He tilted his head back slightly and stood straight and tall, waiting for a minute before he pushed the button again.  There was no answer.

“Looks like maybe she doesn’t dig you as much as you thought,” said Duke.

“Aw, can it Duke!  She digs me just fine,” Warren replied.  “Someone lift me over!”

“What you mean, lift you over?!  What about the rest of us?!  I ain’t climbing over no gate!  No way, no how!  I thought you said you knew this chick!” Smiley protested.

“Just lift me over, will you?!” Warren countered.

“If you want to make a fool of yourself, go right ahead,” said Duke, clasping his hands together and reaching low.

Warren put his right foot in Duke’s hands and grasped Slim’s shoulder.  “Now I see who my real friends are,” he said to Smiley.

Duke stood up tall, hoisting Warren to the top of the gate.  Warren grasped a metal bar with his free hand and spun himself up and over, and then down on the other side, crumpling to the ground.  “Ow!” he shouted.

“You all right?” said Duke.

Warren didn’t answer right away.  Slowly he stood and brushed himself off.  “Yeah, I’m all right,” he muttered.

“So what about us?” complained Smiley.  “Ain’t none but you gonna jump over the damned gate!”