The Antique

Today is the day I die. I awoke before dawn, shaking violently and struggling against my throbbing temples. My entire bedroom swayed intensely, and I wondered if I was on a boat. It wouldn’t be the strangest place I’ve come to, and I did feel very seasick, but the smell of body odor and the symphony of snoring junkies was unmistakable. My hand shot out to the bottle of Kentucky bourbon on my nightstand, only for my fingers to claw the air. This was not going to be a good day.

As I was fumbling in vain for my absent spirits, my fingertips brushed against the watch. The watch was priceless and irreplaceable, my hope and my anguish. I bought it for Bryan one day while we were out shopping. I ran my thumb across the faceplate like I do each morning. The shattered surface scratched gently at my open heart. I silently sobbed for a while, face buried in my pillow, my eyes stinging from the tears. The watch was all that remained.

Eventually I climbed out of bed and tried to ignore the tightness in my lungs and the sharp pains in my legs. I shuffled across the velvet black room, kicking empty liquor bottles and tripping over piles of comatose leeches. I finally found the door to the bathroom, stumbled in and switched on the light. I was blinded by the sudden burst of pure white light that threatened to illume my noxious character. My head split apart at the seams and I barely made it to the toilet. The bill for the bender came due with such force that little drops splashed back, tapping my face and leaving reddish-brown droplets on the rim of the toilet. My diaphragm was trying to break free from my body and my hands were shaking like the needles on a polygraph. My core was frozen and if I didn’t get something into my body immediately, I might actually kill someone. 

After I turned on the shower, I opened the medicine box mounted to the wall. The box was filled with various vitamin bottles. In truth, I had way more than I needed in this box. Besides the Narcan, it was all poison. 

I pulled out a bottle of once-a-day testosterone booster. I pulled two of the pills out and immediately crushed them between my teeth. The bitter medicinal flavor used to be hard to choke down, but I had become well accustomed. I felt better almost immediately. I stepped into the shower and turned it on as hot as I could handle. The rhythmic beads of hot water soothed my pounding temples and washed away the filth of the night before. When did I even go to sleep? I wondered to myself.

      I turned off the water and dabbed my face with a soft, warm towel. I looked around at my large private bathroom, located in the master bedroom of my home, Schrödinger Ranch. The bathroom was big enough to be converted into a studio apartment. Who the fuck do I think I am? I thought to myself. I draped my kimono over myself and got a little glass bottle and a compact makeup mirror from the medicine box. The card clacked across the mirror, driving the fine white powder into little rows of soldiers, eager to do their duty. As the sweet smell of diesel dripped down the back of my throat, I got a sudden rush of energy, pocketed Bryan’s watch and made my way down to the kitchen to break my fast.

            There was a time when this hallway would have been immaculate, and full of busy servants dusting here and there. I paid them to clean my home, but they were mostly there to inflate my ego. At first, the staff was well paid and happy. Jennifer wore that ring better than any woman who ever lived, and Bryan was starting Kindergarten, eager to learn. Things had gotten pretty bad after the incident, and I basically shut down once Jennifer packed her shit.  More than a few butlers, cooks, and maids left my employ due to my belligerent behavior. I no longer have any employees, and can’t afford to hire any more.

            I went into my kitchen to mix up a drink and that’s when I saw it. The piece of paper on the countertop that weighed heavy on me now. The concisely worded document informed me in no uncertain terms that I was to vacate the property by today, and relinquish any property herein. Over my dead body. I don’t have any friends left in this town, and my parents died years ago. I don’t even know where I’d go. I ended up skipping the chaser in lieu of a long pull from the emergency bottle of Jack I keep hidden in a houseplant.

            I wasn’t always a washed up has been. Once I was starving, living among the bedbugs in a seedy motel room, and working at a fucking car wash. I got a few callbacks for commercials, but I couldn’t seem to land those either. I was desperate. I would have done anything, killed anyone, to get my foot in the door. I had long since given up when I finally got my break. Long Arm of the Law was a western film, and nobody wanted to touch it. Ethan Hawke had just backed out of the film on the advice of his agent, who assured him the film was career suicide.

I could see why. The film was a cheesy, cliché spaghetti western and it was sure to tank. I would have left it alone myself, if not for the barren pantry, empty refrigerator, and the foul odor of cockroaches that hung on my being like a shadow. I became notorious gunslinger Butch O’Connell, second in command of the Donohue gang. 

That was ten years ago now. The bright-eyed kid who came out of college ready to tackle the world was replaced by a strung-out shell with bags under his eyes and holes in his teeth. I did another rail of that sweet fucking blow, ripped up the eviction notice and dialed up my agent on the phone.

“Your call is very important to us,” the robotic voice began. “Please continue to hold and your call we be answered in the order it was received.” Some awful elevator version of Don Mclean’s Vincent came on the line. My eyes welled with tears, I tried in vain to keep the memories of another life subdued beneath my stupor. I cursed Evan Simpler for choosing this tune.

Back in the day, after Long Arm of the Law wrapped up, a lot of the cast members went on an excursion to Atlantic City. At the time I had a freshly cashed ten-thousand dollar check from the studio. My contract entitled me to the lions’ share of the points after profit. None of the main cast had any faith in the project and negotiated for total upfront payment. I had attempted to do the same, but at that point in my career my name carried no weight for leverage. The film was fairly low budget, so I figured if I was really lucky, I might even make a few thousand more.

I blew through half of my earnings on the casino floor in about an hour. Disgruntled, I made my way to the bar and ordered a beer. Pilsner in hand, I made my way outside to burn a joint. I made my way around the back where the employees would come for their smoke breaks and lit it up. I ducked behind a dumpster quick for some added stealth and ran straight into the woman who would eventually be my wife.

“Jesus Christ!” She shouted, trying to hide her bowl. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I would later find out her name was Jennifer Showerman. I was struck by her beauty. Her face was smooth and slim, she had freckles running across the bridge of her nose, and her shoulder length hair was jet black, save a toxic green stripe that ran across the side of her head. She had hoops in her ears, lips, and nose. She was small, but athletic, and sported a cut-off shirt that barely covered her full, perfect bosom and exposed a diamond stud in her naval, shining in the light and enticing me to come closer. Her jeans were faded and torn, and her arm was tattooed with a portrait I had assumed was her late grandfather, only to discover later it was notorious serial killer, Ed Gein.

“I’m sorry,” I told her, coyly. I was never good at talking to girls, and this one had taken me off-guard. I tried to discreetly wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before I continued. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, I was just lookin’ for a quiet place to burn this.”

I expected her to call me a hick, or wander away. Instead she smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth that somehow added to her charm. “Well it looks like you found it,” she told me. I offered her my joint, she took a puff of it and laughed. “What, did you steal this from your granny? Here, try this instead.”

She handed me her bowl and I took a long toke. I surprised at how different the taste was from mine, and I was pleasantly stoned after just a couple of hits. We stayed out there for an hour, talking about space, gods, and aliens. She told me how to find her favorite star, Rigel.

“It’s too bright out here,” she said apologetically. “But if you find Orion’s belt, just draw a line at a downward angle like this,” she continued, tracing a line in the air with her fingers. “And it’s right there, my blue supergiant.” We finished the pot and went back into the casino.

We gambled, drank, smoked, and blew through most of my check, only to win it back and lose it twice more. I ended up leaving with eight grand, not too bad, all things considered. We went to one of her friend’s house around two that morning so she could score some acid. I had never done it, but I felt safe with her. We laid on her friend’s pull-out couch for what seemed like months, listening to Pink Floyd, The Grateful Dead, and any other smooth classic rock we could dig our brains into. When Don McLean came up to bat, we both cried passionately for Vincent Van Gogh. We made love with the rising sun and our souls merged into each other, and we collectively dissolved into the universe.

“Evan Simpler’s Talent Management, where fulfilling your dreams is even simpler than you dreamt, how can I help you today?”

I snapped out of it. I would know that saucy, Brooklyn accent anywhere. I smiled for the first time in weeks. “Janine,” I said. “Hey, it’s Jeremy Waltz. I really need to speak to Evan, can you please check if he’s available?”

“Sure!” I knew the excitement in her tone was genuine. Janine was a rare angel in a town full of hedonists. “It’s been so long, we’ll have to catch up soon, he’s finishing up a call now, can you hold for a minute?”

“Of course, thanks Janine.”

“No problem, sweetie.”

The music came back on, this time it was cheesy version of Billie Jean and I made my way down the hallway to my office, opened the hidden drawer on my custom mahogany desk and pulled out a lockbox.

I put in the combination and pulled out my Smith and Wesson. The gun was an antique; meticulously cared for over the years and looked brand new to this day. The polished six shooter had white grips with roses painted on them. I carried that gun on my hip for four months while shooting the film. When production wrapped, I decided to keep it as a souvenir of my debut into acting. I planned on selling it to make rent when the movie bombed.

I begged my mother not to watch the movie. I never even watched it myself, but the movie was a huge success. I was made overnight, I did interviews on all the talk shows, I had more money than I ever thought I would make in my life. Jennifer and I had been going steady for months, and we celebrated by tying the knot. Within a couple of months she was pregnant, and we had our son Bryan. We were more or less your average happy family. I had job offers pouring in from everywhere and spent a lot of my time on the road, but whenever I came home Jennifer would be there waiting. We’d go to the park and museums and movies with Bryan by day, and by night we would smoke up and fuck like rabbits.

 But fame had come with a price I had not anticipated. Even tasks as simple as buying groceries became impossible for me. Everywhere I went, people would swarm me. They tell me they loved me in Macabre Magic. They all claim to be my biggest fan but most of these peasants don’t even know my fucking name. My name is Jeremy Waltz, it’s not a stage name, and I’m not descended from dance pioneers. I’m not Orville Whitmire, 17^th century poet who speaks to the dead. I’m not Gary Fissile, Attorney at Law. And I’m certainly not Michael Hume, wrongfully imprisoned veterinarian who never loses his sense of hope. 

Everything I built fell apart in one moment. We were fond of secluded places, where we were less likely to get mobbed. We were coming home from a family picnic when we blew a tire. Jennifer had Brian in the field playing with a soccer ball. I had just about finished up we joined me.

“Hey hot stuff,” she said. “Just grabbing a Capri Sun for your wild man, almost done?”

“Yeah,” I grunted. “Just about, give me-”

What she was supposed to give me, I never got a chance to say. Jennifer dropped the juice pouch and started running away from the car. Startled, I looked up to see our son sprinting after the ball, running straight for the road.

“Jer-Bear!” Evans voice was never more welcome than in that moment. “Long time, pal. How are ya? Are you clean?”

I sniffled and wiped my eyes. “Yeah man,” I said. “Mostly, you know. Listen I need a favor.”

“Look, Jer-Bear. You know I love ya, I always believed in you, but I already told you what you need to do. I’m not a miracle worker, I can only do so much. Now, that in mind, you know I’ll do anything I can for you, what do you need?”

“I’m broke Evan. They’re kicking me out of the ranch. I need a role, man, and I need an advance, like today.”

“Come on, man. You know I can’t do that, I can’t get you anything until you seek help.”

“Evan, I’m begging you, I don’t have anywhere to go. I haven’t had a role in two fuckin’ years! Nobody wants to work with me. How am I gonna eat man? You know what I’ve been through, please just help me out. Please?”

“Baby, baby, baby,” I hate when he plays the condescending agent. The smugness in his tone stiffened my body, my hands clenched the phone. He must have known he was pissing me off, but he continued. “We’ve been over this a hundred times, you’re blacklisted. End of story. I can get you back in the door again, but you know what you have to do first. Go to rehab, Jer-Bear. Get clean, issue a statement, do some community service talking to kids about drugs. You did a lot of damage, and it’s gonna take some work to clean it up again.”

“But, my home man!”

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up your end of the bargain, I can make some calls and see if I can buy you some time. When are you supposed to be out?”

“No later than midnight.”

Evan sighed. “Man you really should have called sooner. Do I at least have your word that you’ll do treatment? I can secure you a bed ASAP.”

“Man, I’ll fuckin’ think about it, are you gonna help me or not?”

“Well I guess we’re both gonna have to think about it. I’m pretty busy today, but I can swing by later tonight. You gonna be up around ten?”

“Who knows, man,” I hung up the phone.

It really wasn’t Jennifer’s fault. Could have happened to anybody, she had only turned her back for a moment. We were both devastated, of course. She found comfort in scripture while I drowned my sorrows in liquor. I never explicitly blamed her for the accident, but she could tell I resented her. About four months after we lost him, she picked up and went home to her parents. I didn’t try to stop her, but I still stalk her on social media. She’s married to an architect and their third child is on the way. She seems happy and I suppose that’s good.

So, there I was, vulnerable and freshly single in Hollywood. These streets have no sympathy for a wounded soul. Everyone her sold themselves to the devil for a taste of the light, our torment is the price we pay.

As the cliché goes, I was surrounded by drug dealers and loose women whenever I wasn’t working. Cocaine had consumed me in no time, and I had more women than I knew what to do with. They wouldn’t leave me alone. They weren’t really interested in me, they only wanted my money. I didn’t care. I had more than I needed, and pussy is the only thing that smells better than cocaine. Before long I was taking anything I could get my hands on.

Whenever I would dream of being an actor as a child, I always thought I’d feel happy. Now, as I chew on an Oxycontin, I only feel numb. Surely by now this charade has run its course. I took my drugs and weapon down to the pool. I like to float when I need to think. I seem to spend nearly all of my time here these days. I chewed down a couple more Oxy’s and got myself positioned in my floating lounge chair. I pulled Bryans Avengers watch out of my pocket and rubbed my thumb across the shattered face. I traced the wristband all the way from the base to the severed, melted end. I studied the bloodstains as if searching for some clue previously overlooked. I can still hear the screeching tires, Jennifer’s wails, the sirens, and the buzzing in my ears. I pulled out my gun and put the barrel flush to my temple. The cool steel might have been soothing if I had any feeling left. My hands shook as I cocked the six-shooter. 

How many times have I performed this ritual? Monthly? Weekly? Lately it’s been daily. The weight of my failures, the scope of my shame, and the desperation in my bitter, drug-fueled depression have me doing this dance regularly. I took in the glimmer of sunlight off the sapphire pool water, the smell of my rosebushes, and the tranquil sound of birds chirping and tweeting amongst themselves, free of the burdens overwhelming the humble primate below. I couldn’t do it.

            I put the gun down and sobbed. I desperately wanted to pull the trigger, to stop wallowing in my pity, to see my baby boy again. My wild man. My son. Unfortunately, I was just as scared to end my pain as I was to face it. You’re just not strong enough, I told myself. I cried for a while longer, and fell asleep in my chair.

            I was in Bryan’s room. I had just finished reading him a bedtime story. One of those Little Critters I loved as a boy. I pulled his Spiderman blanket up to his chin, wrapped him like a burrito, and pretended to eat his tummy. His sandy blond hair danced across his forehead as he giggled. “You’re strong, daddy,” he said to me.

            I looked into his eyes, suddenly bewildered. This isn’t a nursery, I realized. It’s the goddamn funeral home. The room was softly lit, I took in the flowers and the pews with horror. I looked back to his bed but it was gone. Nothing remained but a small, closed casket. I felt  pit in my stomach. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I love you.” I felt his tiny arms wrap around my shoulders as he hopped up for a piggyback ride.

            “I love you, daddy,” he whispered in my ear.

            “Please don’t go.”

            “I love you, daddy.”

            I love you too, what can I do?” I begged. “Please don’t leave me, I need you.”

            “You’re strong, daddy.”

            “What?”

            “You’re strong, daddy. Be strong. I love you.” I could feel his weight disappearing from me, and I desperately tried to hold on to him.

            I sat up suddenly, trying to catch his hand and found myself lost in a blue abyss. I couldn’t breathe, and my eyes were stinging. After a moment I realized I had fallen into the pool. I was sinking like a stone with Bryan’s watch in one hand and my gun in the other. In a blind panic, I pumped my arms and feet furiously. My face broke the surface and I swam to the edge, coughing, sputtering, and gasping.

            “Jesus Christ dude!” Evan yelled and pulled me out of the pool. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

            “I, I,.” I couldn’t find the words. I laid on my back and looked up at the sky. My focus fell on three little dots in the sky. Orion’s Belt, I thought to myself. I put my finger in the air and started to trace my line. Just down and over a bit. There it was. A tiny blue spec in a sea of stars, Jennifer’s favorite star. I never seen it before, but it was beautiful.

            I sat up and looked at my hands. I was still clutching the remains of Bryan’s watch tightly, but the gun was absent. I looked around but couldn’t find it anywhere. Finally, I looked in the pool. Baggies of boy and girl floated on the surface, a nearly empty bottle of liquor bobbed gracefully across the pool, and the chrome of the gun was just visible, resting peacefully at the bottom.

            I knew what I had to do. “Evan, did you ever find out about a bed?”

            “Sure buddy, I can take you tonight if you want. The ball’s in your court man.”

            “Give me a second.” I stood at the edge of the pool, crying silently. I brought the watch up to my face and gently kissed the shattered face. “I love you buddy, be good,” I whispered. I threw the watch into the pool and turned to face Evan. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Don’t you even wanna pack, man?” I shook my head. I didn’t need to go in there. Judging by the noise, they either hadn’t noticed I was gone, or they didn’t care enough to stop the party. I decided not to warn them about the eviction. Evan put an arm around my shoulder and walked me to his car. I laid in the backseat shivering all night while he drove, stopping only for gas and to let me puke. We finally got to the center around nine the next morning. I got out of the car and turned to him.

            “Thank you for everything Evan.”

            “Hey don’t worry about it, man. You just get clean and I’ll handle the rest. I got a meeting with tomorrow with a bank about saving the ranch for ya.”

            “Forget it, man. The place is nothing but bad memories. Let it go. I’ll call you when I get out of here.” With that I turned around and went into the hospital. I filled out all my paperwork and they brought me to a room to detox. I laid down, sick and shaking, but unafraid of the future for the first time in years. Today I am reborn.