Читать книгу One Last Class - Karen Mueller Bryson - Страница 3

Thirty-two year old, Zak Spencer was sound asleep in his tousled bed, naked, except for the thin white sheet that covered the lower half of his body. Zak had been aged by recent disappointments but remnants of his boyish good looks were still visible. Elvis, Zak’s two-year old basset hound, snored on the floor next him.

Mindy, a 40-something cougar, slowly rose from the bed trying not to wake Zak. She carefully removed her clothes from the floor then snuck over to a corner chair and grabbed her purse for a quick escape.

But when Mindy tripped over Elvis and he let out a yelp, she crashed to the floor.

Zak awakened and noticed Mindy was no longer next to him. He scanned the room but didn’t see her anywhere. “Mindy?” he called.

“I'm down here.”

Zak peeked over the end of the bed and saw Mindy on the floor clutching her clothes and purse.

“What are you doing down there?” he asked.

“I tripped over your dog.”

Elvis wagged his tail.

Zak rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You're leaving already?”

Mindy pushed herself up from the ground and tried to cover her nearly naked body.

“But it’s so early,” Zak continued.

“I've got a lot to do today,” Mindy lied. “I'll call you. I promise,” she blurted as she hurried out of the bedroom.

Zak jumped out of bed and pulled the sheet as a covering as he tried to catch Mindy. But she was quick. She had already made her way through the apartment and grabbed a jacket from a hanger next to the door before Zak caught up to her. Zak was now tangled in the sheet as he tripped up to Mindy and said, “You don't have my number.”

As Zak scrambled for something to write with, Mindy admitted, “I'm not really going to call you.”

Zak was genuinely hurt. “Why?” he managed to get out.

“This was fun and everything but I really don't want to date a former Malibu Boy. It's so last decade.”

“But…” Zak searched for something more to say.

“I've got to go,” Mindy shouted as bolted out the door.

As the door slammed shut, Zak was left standing naked and alone. He completely deflated. When he was in his prime, and the lead singer of one of the most successful fake boy-bands in the country, he couldn’t keep the women away. They swarmed like Africanized bees. Now, he couldn’t even keep a cougar interested for more than an awkward one-night stand.

With his tail wagging, Elvis waddled over to his master.

Zak sighed and said, “Somewhere beneath the sun, these quivering heart-strings prove it. Somewhere there must be one, made for this soul, to move it.”

Elvis whimpered.

“Too sappy?”

Elvis stared at his owner.

“Don't look at me like that. I was an English major in college.”

Twenty minutes later, a barely-put-together Zak, raced around the living room searching for his missing left shoe. He rifled behind the couch cushions but came up empty-handed. He glanced at Elvis, lying on a throw rug, watching him. “Do you have any idea where my shoe is? I'm going to be late for my audition.”

Elvis yawned.

“You're no help.”

Elvis rolled on his back. As Zak scratched the dog’s belly, he noticed his shoe under the couch and grabbed it. “Thanks, Elvis,” Zak said as he patted the dog’s head. “Wish me luck. I'm going to need it.”

Elvis rested his chin on his paws and heaved a big sigh.

As Zak exited his apartment, he noticed a document tacked to his front door. “What the heck?” he said as he removed the paper and examined it. “Notice of eviction. Tenant has fourteen days to pay all monies owed plus legal fees.”

Zak sighed and tore the notice into pieces.

About an hour later, Zak found himself in an audition room filled with 18-year old hunks. He wondered what he’d gotten himself into. A young woman, with black-framed glasses, perched at a table in the front of the room. As Zak approached, the young woman gave him the once-over. “We auditioned the dads yesterday,” she said barely hiding her contempt.

“I'm here to audition for the role of Nick,” Zak said as he tried to maintain his last bit of pride.

“And you are?”

“Zak Spencer.”

The young woman scanned her audition list. “Have a seat until your name is called.”

Zak glanced around the room. There was only one empty seat left. He squeezed himself between two young studs. As he sized up his competition, he sucked in his stomach but he could only hold it so long. He was finally forced to release the paunch. With a look of certain defeat, Zak gazed down at his script.

In his peripheral vision, Zak noticed a hand waving. The young hunk seated next to him was trying desperately to get his attention. “Hey, weren't you a Malibu Boy?” the young man asked.

Zak inflated with the recognition. “I'm Zak. I mean, I played Zak and I am Zak.”

“Yeah, I remember you. You were the lead singer. I used to love that show.”

A smile began to creep across Zak’s face.

The young hunk continued, “It was, like, the only thing I watched when I was in elementary school.”

Zak deflated. Again.

“Man, what happened to you after the show ended? You, like, disappeared. Totally.”

“I did a few commercials.”

“Your career tanked, huh? That sucks.”

Zak nodded. “It does suck. May it never happen to you.”

A casting manager, who looked barely able to vote, read from an audition list. He called Zak’s name and Zak hopped up and headed over to the boy. The casting manager gave Zak the same look of disdain that he got from the young woman when he entered. “Are you here with your son?” the young man scoffed.

Zak frowned.

“Your son, where is he?” the casting manager squawked impatiently.

Through clenched teeth, Zak said, “I'm Zak.”

The young man snickered. “You're Zak? I think there's been a mistake. We're looking for somebody a little more, um, youthful.”

“But…”

“Maybe ten years ago we could have used you but not now. Sorry, no can do.”

“Can you just read me while I'm here?”

“No.”

“Please.”

The casting manager pushed Zak toward the door. “Thanks for coming in.”

Zak jumped into his Mini Cooper convertible and sped away from the audition. He’d never been so angry and humiliated in his life. Since when is 32 considered old, he thought. Only in Hollywood. Zak grabbed his cell phone as he headed down the highway. He dialed his agent.

“Maurice, the audition was a disaster. What were you thinking sending me for House of Hot Wax 3 in 3D?”

On the other end of town, Maurice, a fastidious Black man, talked on his speaker phone. “You begged me for an audition.”

As Zak barreled around a bend, he said, “There has to be something out there that's more appropriate for my—”

“Age?” Maurice ventured as he examined a fingernail.

Zak raced down the highway. “I was going to say stage in life.”

Maurice studied his thumbnail more closely. “I'm sorry, Zak. That was the best I could do.”

Zak weaved through traffic. “Really?”

Maurice filed his thumbnail. “Making the transition to mature roles is difficult for a lot of actors, who found success at a young age. Do you want my advice? Do something else with your life. Have you thought about real estate?

Zak slowed to a halt in traffic. “Acting is all I've ever done.”

“No one wants to hire a former Malibu Boy. It's just so—”

“Last decade?”

“Exactly.”

Zak was now stuck in a traffic jam. “Are you saying I'm washed up?”

“I'll let you know if I get a casting call for the Maytag Man.”

“Thanks for being straight with me.”

“As straight as a gay man can be.”

Lying on his couch, Zak was so depressed, so utterly and completely demoralized, he could barely lift the remote to change the television station. But when The Malibu Boys theme song started to play, Zak had to act fast. That reggae/ Beach Boys sound grated on his nerves. Zak lifted his head and caught a glimpse of the young stud he used to be. As the fake boy-band performed, a youthful Zak, still filled with promises of a bright future, pretended to sing. As The Malibu Boys music softened, an announcer’s voice played over the tune. “Surfin' all day, jammin' all night, they are Zak, Josh and Chay, the Malibu Boys.”

Elvis, who was lying on the floor next to his master, buried his nose under his paws and cried. Zak zapped the television with the remote and stared at the ceiling. Elvis stared at Zak. The two seemed frozen in time and space until there was a knock at the door. Elvis perked up but Zak didn’t move.

Chay Robinson, also 32, barged in carrying a case of beer. Unlike Zak, Chay was still the carefree surfer-boy of his youth.

“Hey, Dude. What's going on?” Chay said as he sprawled at the end of the couch.

Zak didn’t budge.

Elvis heaved a heavy sigh and went to sleep.

“I had another audition today,” Zak said. “No job. And I'm being evicted.”

“My band's not playing tonight. I stopped by to see if you want to hang out, hoist a few, whatever.”

“My life is over.”

Chay glanced around the apartment. “Do you have any pretzels, Bro? I can't drink beer without munchies.”

“I've never done anything but act.”

“Do you have any chips?”

“I don't know what I'm going to do.”

“I'll settle for some Doritos, Man.”

Zak finally sat up and stared at Chay. “Are you listening to a word I'm saying?”

“Dude, I'm starving.”

“You have your band. You surf. You never really cared about acting.”

Chay handed Zak a beer. “It's all about attitude, Man. Stop whining and start downing the brew.”

After several hours of heavy drinking, Zak and Chay were both now sprawled out on the couch. Empty beer cans and snack food containers were strewn everywhere. One empty beer even sat atop Elvis's head.

“Is this all there is?” Zak wondered aloud.

“We can get another case, Man.”

“To life,” Zak added.

Chay jumped up from the couch. “Dude, you should join my band. It'll be like old times. Where's your guitar?”

“I don't actually play the guitar, Chay. The Malibu Boys wasn't a real band, remember? You were the only one of us who could really sing and play an instrument. My voice was so bad they had to overdub all of my vocals.”

Zak grabbed the beer can from Elvis's head and the sleeping dog let out an ungodly sound.

Chay jumped away from the hound. “Man, what was that noise? Is your dog possessed?”

“It’s a snowl.”

Chay looked puzzled.

“It’s a cross between a snore and a growl,” Zak explained.

Chay went back to the matter at hand. “With you in my band, we could really score with the babes. The dudes I've got in the band right now are butt ugly. It's a real horror show.”

“Thanks for the offer but I don't think joining your band is the answer,” Zak said as he picked up litter around the room.

“I heard the Kit Kat Club is looking for a bartender for the midnight to 6am shift. With you at the bar, I could score free drinks.”

“I don't think so.”

“Have you thought about real estate?”

Zak gave Chay a dirty look. When he spotted a nearly empty bag of Doritos on the floor and reached for it, Chay snatched the chip remains from his clutches. “I want those.”

“There's nothing left but crumbs.”

“They're still good.” As Chay poured Dorito crumbs into his pie-hole, he mumbled, “WadayadooborMaboobu?”

“What? Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to speak with your mouth full?”

Chay swallowed and repeated, “What did you do before you became a Malibu Boy?”

“I was a college student. I dropped out of my last class senior year.”

“That was dumb,” Chay said as he emptied the remaining crumbs into his mouth.

“Leaving school to become a television star seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Why don't you go back to school? College chicks are hot.”

Zak contemplated the idea for a moment.

Chay continued, “Plus they have dorms, Dude. That would solve your eviction problem.”

“Maybe, I can finally finish what I started.” Zak said thoughtfully.