We do, said Dorita.
Shit, he said.
He looked down at his shoes. He gulped his vodka. I looked at Dorita. She wasn’t taking her eyes off him.
Jake began pacing back and forth on the kitchen tiles, mumbling to himself.
Watch your feet, said Dorita.
He looked up.
What? he asked.
He had the vacant look again.
The glass, she said.
Oh, he said, looking down again. Fuck that.
He kept pacing. He walked over the glass. It crunched on the tiles. He walked to the end of the apartment, to the window there. He stood for a while. He leaned his forehead against the pane. Far away.
My glass was empty. It felt lonely. I went to the kitchen for a refill.
All right, said Jake.
He came back to our end of the room. He pulled an armchair over, facing Dorita. He sat down.
I’ll tell you the story, he said. But first I need to know who you are. What the fuck do you care about my life?
He was talking directly to Dorita. It was as though I wasn’t there.
We were just curious, Dorita said. We did a little search. We found some newspaper articles.
Curious? he said, his voice rising. Who the fuck are you? I just met you tonight.
Rick was curious, she said. We were talking. He said he met this actor guy. I did an Internet search. Nothing came up. It seemed you didn’t exist.
He curled his lip.
I exist all right, he said.
That seems clear enough, she said. But nothing came up. We thought it kind of strange. For an actor.
I never said I was a successful actor, he said, with a mirthless chuckle.
Silence.
So I checked with the Actor’s Guild, she said. And I got your real name. Did a search. And there it was.
But why do you care? he asked, a note of pleading in his voice.
I don’t, Dorita said. But Rick does. Rick likes you. And Rick’s my friend. He wants to help, if he can.
Help? How the fuck can you help me? he asked, with an angry look at me.
I don’t know, I said. All I know is that you’re living with a secret. And that isn’t good. It warps you. It makes your life hell. Believe me. I know.
Yeah, he said, with a sneer. I know you know.
What does that mean? I asked.
He paused. He looked straight at me. He seemed to be weighing his options. He shook his head.
You know what I mean, he said.
No, I don’t.
Silence.
All right, he said at last. Whatever. You know about me. You read all that bullshit in the papers, anyway.
That’s why we’re talking to you, said Dorita. We know what’s in the papers is never right.
Who the fuck are you? Jake asked her again, half angry, half resigned.
He looked at me for help.
I’m Rick’s friend, she said calmly.
Friend?
My only friend, actually, I said. Other than you, I added quickly.
He softened.
Okay, he said. Will you let me explain?
We maintained an expectant silence. The moment was excruciating. One wrong word and he could clam up. Throw us out. Disappear.
It’s not like they said in the papers, he said.
Dorita nodded. I nodded.
She was eight years older than me, you know.
I noted the past tense.
The whole thing was stupid beyond belief.
We waited.
She was twenty-two. I was fourteen. I mean, imagine.
He shook his head. We waited some more. I reminded myself that he was an actor, self-described.
We loved each other, he said quietly.
We waited.
Not that way, he said. Jesus Christ. Not that way.
Not the way the papers said? asked Dorita.
Not that way, he repeated. We loved each other so much.
Tears appeared in his eyes.
So what happened? Dorita asked gently.
My dad, he said, choking on the word.
Your dad?
He was an operator. A political guy. He could never get enough of it. Power. Influence. He wanted to be the big man in town. I mean. I didn’t see it then. I see it now. But it was so stupid. It was just a little town in the middle of nowhere. Why the fuck did he care?
He stopped again. If he wasn’t overcome with emotion, he was doing a bang-up job of faking it.
And? asked Dorita, almost whispering.
And he got tangled up with this developer. Ryan. Josh Ryan. A big fat asshole. I don’t know all the details. I don’t want to know.
It started coming out of him in a rush.
Ryan was a big shot. He’d come over to the house. Dad wanted us to like him. To treat him good. He’d give us instructions before Ryan got there. Say this. Say that. Make him happy. We all hated his guts.
Ryan?
Yeah. The guy was so full of himself it made us sick.
Us?
Me, Randy, Mom. We hated the fucker.
Randy?
Short for Miranda.
Okay.
And then one day, Randy’s off at college, Mom and Dad are talking. On the patio, in the back. And there’s shouting and screaming. And I hear stuff breaking. And I run out back there. And Dad’s on the ground. And Mom’s standing over him. And she’s got a big flowerpot in her hand. And she’s about to smash it over his head. And I yell out, and I run over, and I grab her arm. And she screams, and starts crying. And Dad gets up. And he slinks back into the house. And Mom’s crying.
Jake/Brendan’s eyes filled with tears.
I’d never seen her cry before, he said. Never.
We waited.
He looked up at us. His eyes were red.
You’re sure you want to know all this? he asked.
Only if you want us to, said Dorita softly.
He gazed at Dorita. He looked at me. Or through me. He continued.
I don’t even know what set it off. Some stupid deal my father brokered for this guy. Somebody tried to screw
