Call the Shots (18 page)

She looks at me sideways. “Are you writing a gay porn film, Sean?”

“Why are you even here?” I say.

Cathy plops a Winnie-the-Pooh lamp on my desk. “Mom asked me to bring this up to the baby’s room.”

“It’s not the baby’s room yet,” I snap.

“Oh, really?” Cathy laughs as she looks around at all the baby crap — the crib, the collapsed playpen, the folded-up changing table, the rocker — that Mom and Dad have been squirreling away in here. “Could have fooled me.”

“It’s mine until it isn’t,” I say, shaking my head. “And I’d appreciate you knocking before you just barge in here. Jeez, doesn’t anyone in this stupid house have any respect for privacy?”

“Might as well get used to it, loser,” Cathy says. “It’s not like I’m gonna be knocking on my own bedroom door when you move in. Which reminds me. Since you’ll be invading my space, you’re considered an unwanted guest. Now, I’ve been giving this situation some thought, and I’ve decided that the only way I’m going to be able to tolerate it is by charging you rent.”

I laugh. “Right. I’m going to pay you rent to live in my own house.”

“Great. I’m glad we agree. I was afraid I’d have to threaten to out you to the entire school. And as much as I want you to be true to yourself, I don’t imagine it’s how you’d choose to have the world find out about your love of all things penis.”

I stand up so that Cathy isn’t towering over me, though she’s still two inches taller than me when standing.

“Okay, let’s get a few things straight,” I say. “First of all, I’m
not
paying you rent.”

“Twenty-five dollars a month should do.” Cathy studies her spiderweb-adorned fingernails. “That still leaves you with enough of your allowance to buy your homoerotic video games.”

“And nextly,” I say, “I’m not even going to respond to the gay thing again.”

Cathy smirks. “You just did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Methinks he doth protest too much.” She makes like she’s turning to leave my room, but at the last second she reaches over and plucks the movie folder off my desk. “What do we have here? A collection of love letters from your boyfriends?”

I lunge for the folder, but Cathy spins away. “That’s private property,” I say.

“What the hell is this?” Cathy laughs as she peeks inside and plucks out the TerrorFest entry form. “Oh, my God. A
horror movie
? You
can’t
be serious. You guys are such morons.”

“Yeah, well, for your information, that movie is what’s going to save
me
from having to share a bedroom with
you.
”

It takes about a second for me to realize what I’ve just said. Damn it. Why can’t my stupid brain work faster?

“Oh, really?” Cathy crooks an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“Forget it.” I make another try for the folder.

Cathy just smacks my forehead with it. “
Hello,
turdling? This concerns me as much as you, so spit it out.” As she pulls back the folder, ten fifty-dollar bills — the first installment of Uncle Doug’s investment — slide out and flutter to the floor.

I dive to the ground and snag most of the bills but Cathy’s witch-boot-clad foot pins two of them to the rug before I can get there. I pinch the corners to try to free them, but my sister bears down with her full weight. If I tug any harder, they’ll just rip. Checkmate.

“My, oh my.” Cathy squats and plucks up the money. “This is getting interesting.”

“That’s
my
money!” I seize Cathy’s wrist, but she just raises her arm like the Statue of Liberty, leaving me dangling on her limb like the “Hang in There!” kitty.

“You might as well just give it up, weasel,” she says, peeling me off her arm. “Save yourself the heartache and tell me where you got all this cash.”

“It’s mine. I saved it up.”

“Please.”
Cathy pulls a face. “You’ve never saved a penny of your allowance,
ever.
Spill it. Where’d you get this?” She waves the hundred dollars in my face. “Did you steal it?”

“No, I didn’t
steal
it.”

“Are you turning tricks? Now,
that
’d be cool. Having a gay gigolo in the family.”

“We
raised
the money. From investors. We’re using it to make our movie. Satisfied?”

Cathy stares at me dubiously. “Somebody gave you hundreds of dollars to make a movie?
You
and your idiot friends?”

“Try a
thousand.
Once we get our second installment.”

Ah, shit! Again with the slow brain! I sniff my palm and try to keep from hyperventilating.

“A grand? Someone gave
you
a
grand
to make a
movie
?” Her tone drips with disbelief. “Why would
anyone
be stupid enough to do that?”

“Because they
believe
in us!” My voice croaks with earnestness and I can feel my ears reddening. “Look, this is our Get Out of Jail Free card, Cath. When our movie wins TerrorFest, we’ll have enough cash to build an extension on the house, okay? And then you and me won’t have to share a room.”

Cathy screams with laughter. “Oh, sweetie. That is
so
cute. But as your older sister — and future landlord — I feel it’s my responsibility to protect your fragile little ego by letting you know that there’s not a chance in
hell
you are going to be able to make a movie good enough to win any contest. But”— she plucks one of the fifty-dollar bills from her hand and starts folding it up —“since you’re suddenly so flush, I
will
do you the favor of taking your first and last months’ rent in advance.” Cathy flicks the other fifty-dollar bill at my face.

“That only leaves me with four hundred and fifty bucks!”

“Excellent subtraction skills there, little brother.” She tucks the folded-up money into her back pocket. “I don’t know why you’re not in AP math with me and Nessa.”

I glower. “You know I’m just gonna tell Mom and Dad.”

“Be my guest. I’m sure they’ll be fascinated to learn that you’ve got hundreds of dollars stashed up here. But don’t worry. They probably won’t ask you where you got it. Of course, I
might
just have to let it slip that you’re a gay male prostitute now.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m thinking that fifty bucks is a pretty fair price to buy my silence. But that’s just me.”

“You are such a bi —”

Cathy places her long black fingernail on my lips. “Uh-uh. Mind your words, young man. We wouldn’t want this to be an ongoing extortion thing, would we?”

I swat her hand away. “Oh, you mean like me having to pay rent every month to stop you from spreading lies about me?”

“That’s just basic compensation for the inconvenience you pose. And believe me, it doesn’t even come
close
to balancing things out. You’d never be able to afford that.”

Just then, Nessa pokes her head into my room. “There you are,” she says, completely ignoring me. She’s wearing a blue Wal-Mart vest and pressed khakis that are such an odd contrast to her Gothness. “I knocked but nobody answered the front door. We better get going or we’re going to be late again.”

“I’m coming.” Cathy saunters to the door. “Just give me a sec, okay? I have to go find my uniform.” She looks back at me. “Hey, baby brother. Why don’t you entertain Ness with the details of your brilliant plan? I’m sure she’ll find it fascinating.”

I flip Cathy off, but she just laughs as she exits the room.

As soon as Cathy’s gone, Nessa reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded-up piece of pink notebook paper. She glances over her shoulder, then steps into my room and presses it into my hand.

“Here are some more suggestions for the last few scenes,” Nessa whispers.

“Why didn’t you e-mail this to me? I just finished incorporating all of your other notes.”

Nessa checks the doorway again. “These came to me on the bus ride over here.”

I sigh, imagining all the new work Nessa has likely created for me. “We’re supposed to start filming next week. Could we maybe meet up in person again instead of all this back-and-forth?”

“Tomorrow,” she says, without missing a beat. “My house. Five o’clock. We’ll order pizza. Cathy’s working until closing, so we should have a nice long run at it.”

“Wow, you’ve really worked this out,” I say, running through my schedule in my head. “Yeah, okay. I’ve got to help out my uncle in the afternoon, but later should be fine.”

“Kewl.” Nessa leans in close. “Don’t you love all this clandestine stuff? It feels like we’re spies. Or like we’re having an affair.”

I gulp so loudly that even Cathy probably heard it. Jeez, when did it get so warm in here?

“Oh, and Sean?” she whispers, her breath tickling my neck. For a second I think she’s going to try to kiss me again, and I remind myself why that would be a bad thing. “I was also thinking that maybe Dr. Schmaloogan should have an evil sidekick. Sort of like a Renfield or an Igor.”

I blink and try to clear my head. “A who?”

“Someone to do his bidding. To steal the test chimps and spread the virus and stuff. It’s a classic horror-movie character. Jesus, Sean, we’re going to have to have a movie night and bring you up to speed on these things.”

“A sidekick. Yeah. No, I get it. That could be good.”

“Maybe.” Nessa teeter-totters her head. “Maybe not. I don’t know. Think about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She flashes me a quick smile, and then she’s gone.

I stare at the note in my hand for a second before bringing it to my nose. It smells a little like carnations.
An affair,
I think, a jolt of excitement running through my body.

But then my brain finally kicks in: pink, scented stationery? This whole thing couldn’t be more obviously a trap if her note actually said
This is a trap!

Whatever she and Cathy are up to, as long as it keeps Nessa around long enough for us to finish this screenplay, I don’t really give a flying Fearow. I just have to be on guard and make sure the ensign in my pants follows captain’s orders.

EXT. STREET — NIGHT

Jack and Stacy race down the street, out of breath and sweating. They keep looking back over their shoulders as if they are being chased.

Jack grabs Stacy’s hand and pulls her down a back alley. The alley is lined with trash cans and dumpsters and doors to stores and restaurants.

Halfway down the lane, they notice that it dead-ends at a brick wall.

Suddenly, they hear a GROWLING MOAN. They turn around to see a horde of humanzees shuffling into the back alley, blocking their escape.

The humanzees shuffle toward them as Jack and Stacy try all the doorknobs.

Jack slams his shoulder into one of the doors but it’s not budging. He tries again and again, but the humanzees are rapidly closing in on them.

All morning long, I’ve been pounding energy drinks — I think I’ve had six cans by now — as I make Nessa’s changes to the script and try to write some new scenes.

Nessa keeps saying I have to build the tension. Build the tension before we see the monsters. Build the tension before someone gets killed. And so I’ve been trying to keep the screws turning on our main characters. I’ll know if I’m doing what she wants when I meet with her later today.

In the meantime, I’m trying to get through as much of the script as I can before I have to head over to Uncle Doug’s store and make good on his final condition of the loan. I drain the last drops of my Berry Beast and look over at the clock. Oh, crap! It’s eleven forty. Where the hell did the last forty minutes go? Damn it damn it damn it!

I slam my laptop closed, grab my keys and phone, and bolt for the door. I have no idea what he’s going to make me do at his shop — stocking, cleaning, or something equally unpleasant, I’m sure — but I’ve only got twenty minutes to get there and I know he’s not going to be too pleased if I’m late.

“This costume is itchy,” I say, looking down through a brown spandex mask at the life-size Persian rug I’m wearing.

“I told you you weren’t going to like it,” Uncle Doug says.

“And it smells like rotten eggs.”

He laughs. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Why —?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He cackles as he raises a spliff to his chapped lips and takes a drag. “Suffice it to say, it’s one of the reasons the last guy quit. Not the
only
reason. But one of the reasons.”

“I don’t blame him.” I try to stick my Lycra-covered face farther out of the tiny oval cutout in the rug suit. “It’s disgusting.”