The others nod back. We head to the kitchen where he opens the fridge. The door opens toward the group so they can’t see as he grabs two waters and “accidentally” drops one out of sight behind the counter for me. I mouth a thank you and hide it quietly in the cabinet. I deposit myself behind the counter but stay Under a minute longer as he heads over to join the table, to see who made it to the VIP room.
If he tries to sneak a peek at me, he does so without me noticing. I’m disgusted with myself when I realize that bums me out. There are only four other men, including Zebulund. I recognize another actor and I think an agent. Sure enough, Zebulund begins introductions in his deep, slimy voice.
“You all know James Roe.” He points to the first guy—a handsome blond that starred in the lastSuper Heroesmovie. “You probably recognize Viktor Karlsson.”
I perk at the name, popping my head up over the counter. He was on my list of names too, but also hard to pin down. He’s the action star of the moment, built like a Viking, complete with blond beard and ice-blue eyes.
The two actors exchange the international manly chin raise.
“Hey man,” Viktor says.
“Long time, no see. We worked together way back in the day on that indie flick,” Roe explains, probably for my benefit.
Viktor shakes his head, with what seems like shame. His eyes are bloodshot, and his leg shakes incessantly under the table.
“Don’t remind me. I was sixteen and trying to prove my acting chops. I did squinty-eyed crying for half my lines.” He has a slight accent that I can’t quite pinpoint, noticeable in the blunt way his words cut off.
The room laughs.
“You made a very believable teenager,” Roe teases and I relax a little.
Zebulund’s at the head of the poker table, rather the seat facing the door, and taking up half the real estate. He gestures to his right and introduces Craig Meisner, a lawyer with thick curly hair and a toothpick twirling around his mouth. I recognize his name as being linked to all the top stars who’ve found themselves in hot water.
To Craig’s right is celebrity agent, Kyle Altman; he’s older than my father but rocks pierced ears and a silver goatee. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes me think of the kid that likes to yank out chairs right before people sit down.
To Kyle’s right is Roe, and Viktor rounds out the group. The power in this group is tangible. With each introduction, Roe manages to come off witty and charming with just the right amount of humility. Okay, it wasn’t dumb luck and good looks that got him here. He certainly knows how to read people. I’m a little jealous, to be honest. Normally, I tend to say exactly the wrong things.
Being in this room is a big deal. I want to watch longer but the spins and dryness kick in, and so I hide again and come Up. Under the empty bar, I hide while the men deal the first round, say the rules, and set about getting to know each other as only men know how; by giving each other shit and disguising their emotions with posturing. Quietly, I open my water and chug half.
When I feel better, I drop back Under and walk around a little. The music is low and all the other lights are out except the lamp directly above the green felt table, spotlighting their game. The swirling smoke and darkness make for a spooky vibe. Swap the cards and beer for candles and a Ouija board, and you've got yourself a séance.
Zebulund’s bedroom is sparse and reveals no secrets. It takes a few minutes to search because I have to stop often to listen. Zebulund’s bags and closets turn up nothing of interest. I take another break to get my bearings and finish the water before I make my way back to the table.
I circle the men, studying their hands, feeling a little bored, keeping myself to the shadows. It was silly to hope tonight they’d all decide to spill their deepest secrets. My gaze crashes with Roe’s. I stick out my tongue and cross my eyes. He looks back at his hand, as smooth as ever, but maybe I detect a smile?
My modesty fled a few hands ago. So when I pass by him I don’t bother covering anything. It’s too dark to see me and he’s always the gentlemen.
But when I pass Zebulund, I shudder. My body reacts with a familiar tension, waiting to curl up and somehow purge itself. It’s childish, I know, but I flip him a double bird with strength I don’t feel. As I pass Kyle I stick my head out into the light. Roe glances up to see my floating head. He chokes on his water and falls into a coughing fit. I smile, quite pleased with myself.
“Okay there, Roe?” Kyle asks, smirking at the display.
“Swallowed wrong.”
“Relax your throat, bro,” Viktor says. He’s increasingly drunk as the night progresses.
“You’d be the expert on that,” Kyle says evenly.
The table laughs at the quick comeback. Everyone except Viktor, who blushes bright red and glowers. I thought this sort of talk went out withMad Men.
Roe’s silent at first but his cheek works like he’s biting it. Viktor’s nostrils are flared and he glares around at each guy like he’s a second from standing up and flipping the table.
“Viktor,” Roe says smoothly, “Heard you got the new Pechenko film?”
“Damn right I did.” The kid lifts his chin, eyeing each of the others in challenge.
“Nice. I auditioned and couldn’t cut it. Congrats, man.”
The men all nod and murmur congratulations. Some of the tension lifts. I let out a breath. There’s something off about this whole meeting. I’m sure that Roe senses it too. His gaze moves from one guy to the next, seeking out any conflict. It’s like all these guys are pumped with extra testosterone and fear, one bad joke from losing their cool.
